Chapters “I don’t know what I am looking at.” Rhubarb said, looking down into the crib. She threw her head back in disgust, failing to be objective about the horror that she saw. What she saw was unthinkable. And having to play nursemaid… Ugh!
“Be reasonable Rhubarb.” Doctor Broadneck begged. “They’re a little odd, but these foals are sweet enough. And they grow on you.”
Rhubarb recoiled in horror. “I don’t know if I want them touching me.”
“They need care. They cannot stand up or walk like normal foals. Not yet. We don’t know why.” The doctor said, shaking his head.
“But what are they?” Rhubarb said, cringing.
“Remember those human women from beyond the mirror that those extra equestrial lifeforms abducted and then dumped off here, in Equestria? They also abducted many ponies, probing their plots and dropping them off after a night of reckless rectal spelunking.” The doctor said, terror spreading over his features.
“Yeah…” Rhubarb nodded.
“Well, all of them were pregnant as you recall. These are the human-pony hybrids.” Doctor Broadneck shuddered violently.
Rhubarb looked down into the crib, one of three. She didn’t know what it was that she saw. It had a head, like the humans did. A torso. Arms. Hands. Fingers. All human. Until you reached the waist. From the waist down, it was a pony. Right where a pony’s neck and head should be, a human torso sprouted. It was an odd horrifying creature.
“Celestia calls them centaurs.” The doctor said helpfully.
The tiny centaur foal began to cry as Rhubarb looked down upon it. Something in Rhubarb broke. She felt awful. She felt a strange feeling creep through body and she felt horrified at what she was about to do.
She lifted the tiny odd foal out of the crib with her magic, carefully holding the fragile body that seemed awkward and limp, cradling the overly long spine and the delicate place where it hinged. She eased herself down on a large cushion, laying on her side, making herself comfortable. She positioned the foal against her belly, her skin suddenly crawling, and gently spread her hind legs, kicking one out and away from the other, giving the gross creature a place to rest its head. She felt the tiny weird head resting on the inside of her hind leg, and the strange face pressing up against her most delicate of places.
She fought back a wave of nausea as the odd creature began to suckle, the sound echoing oddly in the large room.
Her motherly instincts battled with her sudden need to vomit.
She closed her eyes and allowed the odd creature to feed as the doctor watched and took notes. This is what she had been hired to do after all. She was in an odd position as a scientist, studying extra equestrial life forms.
“A centaur you say?” Rhubarb asked as the tiny hideous creature suckled at her teats. “What an odd name for an odd creature.”
“What is it like?” The doctor asked, clutching his clipboard.
“It has no teeth. A funny nose that pokes into the soft skin. A flat weird face. How do you think it feels having an extra equestrial life form sucking on your flesh?!” Rhubarb asked.
“I don’t know, which is why I was asking.” The doctor replied. “The humans are especially helpless after birth. They take a long time to learn how to walk and talk. We don’t know what will happen with these three.” The doctor announced helpfully.
“Oh, this is, eww, oh, so gross.” Rhubarb said.
“Is that your scientific opinion?” The doctor asked.
“What happened to the mothers exactly?” Rhubarb asked.
The doctor said nothing, offering no reply whatsoever.
“I am feeling somewhat motherly.” Rhubarb announced, causing the doctor to begin scribbling notes furiously. “But also repulsed and disgusted.” The doctor’s pen scratched furiously on the paper covered clipboard.
“Do they have names?” Rhubarb asked.
“Yes.” Said the doctor. “Subject One, Subject Two, and Subject Three.”
“Those aren’t names!” Rhubarb snapped.
The doctor shrugged. He stared at the other two cribs.
“This one does not have human ears.” Rhubarb announced. “It has pony ears where human ears should be. How strange.” She lifted the foal’s tiny hind leg and looked under the tail. “Female. Dark blue. Two tone hair, pink and light blue. She’s cute. In a hideous brain numbing way.”
The doctor scribbled more notes.
“All of them are female.” The doctor said. “The one in the incubator crib on life support has wings. Pegasus. On the equine portion, where wings would normally be. Subject Three.”
Rhubarb shivered violently as little fingers clutched her pelt.
“I don’t know if I can do this, but I really need the bits.” Rhubarb said. “Plus, I feel bad for them.”
The doctor nodded, but didn’t take any notes. “All you have to do is feed them. Both teat milk and formula bottles. Bond with them. See what emotions they might develop. How they behave. Document their growth and progression. Determine if they pose a threat to ponies.”
“And I am to do this by myself?” Rhubarb asked.
“No, one more mare is coming. Buttermilk. Student of foal development and growth. Clever. Bright. Also deeply in debt.” The doctor nodded.
“Think she’ll stay?” Rhubarb asked, hearing slurping sounds and cringing.
“No idea. Quite a few have ran away screaming. None have made it as far as you have.” The doctor replied. “Also, Buttermilk is a pegasus. She doesn’t have magic, she may need your help from time to time. Brilliant mind though. By any standard.”
Rhubarb nodded.
“You are very brave to allow extra equestrial life forms to suckle upon your teats. I predict a lot of big time science grants in your future.” Doctor Broadneck smiled.
“I want to work at the Royal Academy of Science someday.” Rhubarb said.
Doctor Broadneck cleared his throat. “You are ma’am.” He said in a low voice. “This is the top secret skunkworks division.”
Rhubarb perked. “Really?”
The doctor nodded.
Rhubarb beamed. Suddenly the odd foal was very tolerable. Almost. Once you got past the gut churning nausea.
“Eventually, Celestia wants to release them into society.” The doctor said. “If such a thing is possible and safe.”
Rhubarb stood with Buttermilk, looking at the odd foals. Buttermilk had a sour look about her. They exchanged a glance with one another, and then looked at the foals again. Rhubarb noticed a small tag had been added to Subject One’s crib. She peered carefully, trying to read the poorly written scribble.
“Bon Mot.” The tag stated.
“Doctor Broadneck?” Rhubarb asked.
‘What?” Asked the doctor impatiently from the corner of the room.
“Bon Mot?” Rhubarb asked.
“Well, you told me to put in a good word for her after the initial test feeding the other day. The directors agreed. A good word was prudent.” The doctor said.
“Oh.” Said Rhubarb, her muzzle scrunching. “But why Bon Mot?”
The doctor let out an annoyed whinny but said nothing.
“Subject Two needs to be fed. Buttermilk?” Rhubarb said, looking at her companion. “Ready for your first time?”
Buttermilk went and laid down on a large cushion. She flopped on her side and kicked out her hind leg, exposing her teats.
Rhubarb gently lifted Subject Two and carried her through the air. She then carefully lowered the malformed centaur foal down upon the cushion, carefully placing her against Buttermilk, positioning her so that she might nurse.
Buttermilk sat in silence for a time, contemplation on her face. Her wing flapped a bit, she looked around the room, and finally flopped her head down upon the cushion.
“This is the most disgusting and uncomfortable thing I have ever endured, and I have crawled through the Canterlot sewer system looking for new kinds of cockroaches.” Buttermilk said, her voice slow and patient. “I can feel little fingers!” She shuddered violently, nearly dislodging the foal at her belly. She looked down at Subject Two. Subject Two was chocolate coloured, dark, with a two toned cream and caramel coloured mane. She had human ears. “Suddenly, I’m in the mood for coffee.” Buttermilk said as she looked at the foal. Her eyes rolled back into her head and her ears fell flat against her skull quite suddenly. “I can feel that horrible little nose pressing against me.”
Rhubarb nodded in understanding.
“ACK!” Buttermilk cried. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I can feel her flat little face!” Buttermilk exclaimed in tart tones. Buttermilk squirmed. “I need a bucket!” She shouted.
Rhubarb brought the bucket just in time as Buttermilk’s lunch made a hasty exit. A pair of daisy sandwiches and a tall glass of iced coffee exited violently, shooting out of her mouth and nose. The foal continued to suckle.
Rhubarb helped Buttermilk clean her face. In the distance, Doctor Broadneck could be heard scratching away with a pen. “Vomit!” He exclaimed. “What a delightful response!”
“It is so alien…” Buttermilk said sourly, “so weird.”
Rhubarb went off to fetch a breath mint. She had needed one herself not long ago. Good thing the doctor had also been quick with the bucket.
“I could really use some coffee right about now.” Buttermilk said, looking at the foal. “Cafe mocha would be pleasant.”
“Cafe Mocha!” Doctor Broadneck exclaimed, his pen scratching filling the room.
“Huh?” Said Rhubarb, not knowing what was going on.
“Cafe Mocha.” The doctor repeated impatiently, offering no other explanation.
The mares exchanged a glance. “One time…” Buttermilk began, “I had to get a semen sample from a manticore. I’d rather go back to doing that.” She finished. “It is gumming me!”
Rhubarb nodded knowingly.
“Thank you, by the way, for milking the manticore.” The doctor said absentmindedly. “Doctor Eyesore accidently stirred some of the manticore ‘milk’ into his tea after grabbing the wrong container.” The doctor chortled. “Such a common mistake, not labeling your sample jars.”
Both mares gagged in unison.
“How do you milk a manticore?” Rhubarb asked in a small voice.
“Do you really want to know?” Buttermilk said in acidic tones.
“Actually, no. Never mind. I’m not as scientific as I thought.” Rhubarb said while blushing.
There was a beep and a blinking light. “You stinka!” The doctor said. “The directors approve of Cafe Mocha.”
“What?” Rhubarb asked.
“How does one so slow get into science?” The doctor muttered. “Subject Two. Cafe Mocha.”
Rhubarb said nothing, and Buttermilk nodded in approval.
“Subject Three needs a name still.” Rhubarb said. “I apparently named one, Buttermilk has named one, so you should name one Doctor Broadneck.”
The doctor knickered in annoyance. “I don’t get paid enough to think of creative names.” He said, scowling. “In my opinion, Subject Three is just fine.”
“Doctor!” Buttermilk cried caustically.
“Doctor seems a bit slow himself.” Rhubarb said. “Unable to find a name for a foal. How hard could it be?”
There was a clatter as a pen fell to a table. “Excuse me?” Doctor Broadneck said, turning to look at his assistant.
“You heard me. I doubt you could think of anything to name Subject Three. You should see a doctor about that cranial rectal inversion.” Rhubarb said.
There was an angry whinny.
Buttermilk gagged as the foal squirmed against her.
“Did you just say that I have my head up my plot?” The doctor asked slowly.
Rhubarb remained silent, glaring at the doctor.
“Fine!” The doctor shouted. “Subject Three shall henceforth be known as Betelgeuse.”
“What?” Said both mares in unison.
“It is a star.” The doctor replied. “Betelgeuse. Very bright. Beautiful. Shining white. Like Subject Three. A name suitable for science.”
“Are you sure?” Buttermilk asked.
“Of course I am sure that Betelgeuse is a star!” The doctor bellowed in annoyance, He stormed out of the room.
The mares exchanged another glance. “It gets better.” Rhubarb said helpfully. Buttermilk cringed.
“I am going to go clean my teats with sulfuric acid when this is over.” Buttermilk sighed. “And there is that gross little nose entirely too close to my filly bits. Ugh!”
“Remember, when you are done nursing, spend lots of time cuddling and cradling the foal. Eye contact is important, as difficult as it might be. Talk to them. Recite the periodic table of magical elements or something, doesn’t matter what you say, just use a nice voice.” Rhubarb paused. “Oh, one more thing.”
“What’s that?” Buttermilk replied.
“All of them are heterochromic. Hard to keep eye contact.”
“Freaky.”
“You have no idea.”
Author's Note
I am so, so very sorry. Really.
**Blinks.**
I couldn't help it. Be gentle.
Three ponies and three not quite pony nor human centaurs stood atop a secret rooftop garden that was magically shielded from outside view. They had been celebrating a birthday party. Now, the sticky foals frolicked in the grass.
“Ugh, Cafe Mocha is crawling on all sixes!” Doctor Broadneck said, cringing. “Looks like a bug. Oh that gives me the heebie jeebies. Ugh! Bugs are not worthy of science.”
Cafe Mocha crawled around on all sixes, walking on four hooves and two hands, continuing to give the doctor the heebie jeebies. And giggling. She was giggling. Her tail swished from side to side, and she wiggled her behind if a way that might be adorable if she wasn’t some hideous otherworldly creature with freakish alien DNA. It was nausea inducing.
Betelgeuse stood on wobbly legs, four legs. Her arms and wings flapped together in perfect time with one another, making gurgly goo goo sounds and slobbering everywhere, covered in cake crumbs and frosting. Had she not been a malformed mutant of questionable origin, she might be diabetes inducing, which was dangerous because ponies were solid animals and needed a lot of insulin.
Bon Mot squealed and made a beeline for the doctor, lurching forward unsteadily on four legs, waving her arms at her sides for balance. She made rude raspberry noises as she lunged forward, her one blue eye and one green eye crossed, her face looking unsatisfactorily silly. She collided with the doctor, who was lying on the grass, on his belly, legs folded underneath him, his head high, embracing him in a very wet, very slobbery, very biological, very sticky hug, throwing her drool covered arms around his neck, squeezing, and clutching his mane with her fingers. She licked the doctor with her gag inducing alien tongue, which was short, broad, and covered in odd bumps. It was completely alien in texture.
Doctor Broadneck turned green. A fantastic shade of green, reminiscent of pistachio ice cream mixed with guacamole and pestilent puss. “Fetch the bucket of science at once!” He shouted, his eyes crossing, cheeks bulging.
Rhubarb got the bucket to him just in time, pulling the foal away with her magic as well.
“Very difficult to show unconditional positive regard while projectile vomiting, Doctor Broadneck.” Rhubarb said as the doctor hurled, his vomit ricocheting from the bottom of the bucket and splashing back into his face, causing him to vomit harder, leading to a horrifying chain reaction that promised to not end until physics had its say.
Buttermilk giggled, feeling a delightful sense of schadenfreude. She privately reveled in the glorious sensation. She still had bad reactions to the foals touching her as well, but felt honest affection for them. She secretly felt shame for feeling uncomfortable at all. She shuddered when she thought of little fingers touching her, pulling her mane. Just thinking about it made her feel slightly queasy, which also made her feel slightly guilty. Another chain reaction.
Rhubarb knelt down in the grass and gave Bon Mot a hug, not bothered in the slightest by the very damp affection. The other two foals ran and crawled over to her and clung to her as well, gurgling and spitting, little tongues out, making flatulent noises as they pushed air out of pursed and puckered lips.
The doctor continued his private war with physics, a new theory forming in his mind about cause and effect, and how biased this reaction had seemed to become. Vomit dribbled down inside of his ears.
“Flurp!” Bon Mot said, causing her sisters to squeal. Well, sisters in a very general sense, as they were probably not related. Nopony was quite sure.
“Flurp?” Rhubarb replied, her eyes wide, smiling broadly.
Bon Mot grabbed Rhubarb’s ear and tugged, pulling Rhubarb’s whole face in for a hug. Rhubarb suddenly found her face smashed against the naked torso of the centaur foal, which was covered in cake and drool. And grass. It didn’t bother her in the slightest.
Finally, thermodynamic principles stepped in and rescued Doctor Broadneck, entropy always getting the final word when physics had become a little testy. The wretched chain reaction ceased, entropy scolded physics, and physics was laid down for a much needed nap.
The doctor rose and went off to clean himself up.
“It took some time, but they are finally kind of cute.” Buttermilk said. “I’m not sure what scale to use to measure cute though. So we’ll have to accept a broad range of values. Not sure if they have reached the adorable scale just yet.”
Rhubarb scowled. “I love them a great deal.” She sniffed, slightly annoyed.
“Well, I like them as well. Just having some lingering xenophobic reactions that I am trying to recondition myself from experiencing. I mean, fingers! Little flat faces.” Buttermilk squirmed.
“Go give Buttermilk a hug.” Rhubarb said, grinning most menacingly.
“Hey! There is no need to sic your hideous little army upon me!” Buttermilk shrieked as the foals charged. They tackled her, causing her to fall over on her side, and then began to crawl all over her, little fingers clutching and grabbing, probing, feeling her smooth shiny coat, delighting in sensation.
Buttermilk squealed and squirmed, wiggling, trying to escape the slobbering stampeding herd. Betelgeuse had ahold of her mane and was tugging, crawling up her neck, lips puckered.
“No!” Buttermilk cried, as two little lips opened and her ear disappeared into a slobbering alien maw. Buttermilk quailed as a frisson of near-loathing crawled under her flesh. “No no no no!”
Rhubarb cackled maniacally, having actually worked on her maniacal mad scientist cackle. It was important to do morning affirmations of self in the mirror and to have goals.
“Mama?” Cafe Mocha asked Buttermilk, flopping her self down upon the pegasus’ wing.
“Buttermilk!” Buttermilk corrected.
Bon Mot’s pony ears quivered, pivoting around, hearing a sound.
“You stinka!” Doctor Broadneck replied, returning to his recurring role of revelation. “I think I have a new theory about the physical properties of vomit. I shall need help testing this as soon as possible.”
“I’m just here for the foals.” Buttermilk exclaimed.
“Time and a half for helping me with side projects.” The doctor said.
“I’m your mare doctor, how can I help?” Buttermilk asked, still buried under foals and trembling with revulsion.
“I shall go and fetch the Ipecac at once.” The doctor said. “The bucket of science may need a thorough scrubbing first though.”
Author's Note
I am so, so very sorry. I seem to be struck with literary diarrhea. This won't stop coming out. Has to be one of the worst things I've ever written. The characters are practically cardboard ponies left to stand in a scene. Tropes galore.
Slobber by the bucket.
Why are you reading this? The author's note is a place to degrade my self, it is private. Now go away!
“I had the most delightful vacation” Doctor Broadneck said. “I went to Horseshoe Bay and attended the mushroom festival. It was most delightful.”
“Just had a great vacation as well. I was on a beach and stallions were rubbing me down with something that smelled like coconuts and made my coat shiny. It was magical.” Rhubarb said.
“You're both lucky. I had to go collect another sample and this time, I had to go milk a sphinx. It was thoroughly disgusting and the sphinx enjoyed it.” Buttermilk had an angry look on her face.
“Wait, if we were all on vacation or out working, who was taking care of the foals?” Rhubarb said, with growing concern.
A dark blue alicorn entered the room, moving silently, unknown to the room’s occupants…
“Sheesh, you give some ponies exactly what they always want and they find a way to ruin everything.” Luna said, her voice dripping with annoyance. She frowned.
“Oh hi Luna, we were just talking about our vacations.” The doctor said.
Author's Note
What?
“Who has pyjamas in a cockroach print?” Rhubarb said.
“I do.” Buttermilk replied rancidly. “I like cockroaches.”
“Gross.” Rhubarb said.
“This is a pyjama party. Plus, I don’t like how Doctor Broadneck has been looking at me lately. This should irritate his entomophobia.” Buttermilk said with sarcasm.
Three foals ran around the room wildly, wearing adorable little pyjamas.
“Egads!” The doctor cried, seeing Buttermilk’s plot plastered with bugs. “I’m out of here.” The doctor said, leaving the room, his Princess Twilight Sparkle pyjamas only visible briefly.
“Meh.” Said Buttermilk blandly.
The three foals were up past their bedtime, having been properly stimulated with all manner of chemicals. Sugar, chocolate, caffeine from a sugary chocolate soda, and more recently, chlorpromazine. Buttermilk regretted that it was sometimes necessary. For her to keep her sanity. Besides, the foals loved the sedative laced s’mores just as much as any other foal would.
Suddenly, the foals stopped running around the room and settled down upon the floor, well behaved, if somewhat limp.
“I’m sleepy.” Bon Mot announced, her eyes pointing in different directions as she yawned, her pony ears flopping down oddly. She was wearing pyjamas covered in dictionary definitions.
“I feel funny. Like I usually do when Buttermilk is cranky.” Cafe Mocha said, settling to the floor in a puddle, suddenly feeling more liquid than solid. Her pyjamas were little cups of espresso.
Betelgeuse blew a raspberry. “I didn’t eat my s’mores.” She said, rising up on her hooves, giggling, and returning to running around the room, flapping her wings. “I gave mine to Bon Mot.” Her pyjamas were covered in little starbursts, and she began peeling them off to run around the room naked.
Buttermilk shrugged. “Bon Mot has remarkable tolerance she’s built up.”
Rhubarb looked a little worried. “She’ll be fine.” Buttermilk said. “Look at her, she’s a champ.” Bon Mot, realising she was being looked at, stuck out her lip and let loose an enormous flood of drool. She wiggled an equine ear. And smiled dopily.
Round and round Betelgeuse ran, flapping her wings and arms, wiggling her fingers grossly at the two mares. As she ran she made flatulent noises with her lips. Buttermilk raised her eyebrow. Betelgeuse wiggled her naked torso and beat her belly like a drum, punctuating her flatulent noises with popping sounds from her lips.
“This is the pyjama party that just won’t end. What time is it?” Buttermilk asked.
“A little past one am.” Rhubarb said, yawning, suddenly a lot less concerned about Bon Mot.
“Usually you slumber at a slumber party, at some point.” Buttermilk said. “Also, I can’t remember when it was that I had some time off last. Working here twenty four seven and always being on duty is really wearing me down.”
“So hard, being a full time surrogate mother.” Rhubarb reflected.
“I want a pickle!” Betelgeuse shouted, streaking around the room. “Look at me, I’m a naked pony!”
“Hard to believe that she has an IQ over two hundred.” Rhubarb said, a faint hint of pride in her voice.
“Pickle! Pickle! Pickle! Pickle! Pickle! Pickle! Pickle!” Betelgeuse said, trying to make her point.
“No.” Said Rhubarb gently.
Betelgeuse froze.
“Don’t you dare…” Rhubarb hissed. Buttermilk flinched and turned away, shielding her eyes.
Betelgeuse's lower lip protruded in a pout. “Don’t make me do it.” She warned.
Rhubarb shook her head no.
“Do it for us!” Cafe Mocha said sluggishly. “Forshush!” Bon Mot added.
Betelgeuse’s pout intensified. Eyes wide, lower lip nearly curling down to her chin, her horrifying human face contorting into pure abominable evil. Her pink and purple hair fell dramatically on to her face, and her pearlescent white coat seemed to shine with inner light, shimmering like a soap bubble.
“Oh, make it stop!” Buttermilk cried, feeling sick. “I’ll get you a pickle. Just make it stop.” Buttermilk stormed out of the room to get a pickle.
“You're a bad foal.” Rhubarb said in her most motherly voice. They had tested it. Miss Sparkle had invented a machine that measured motherly tones. Rhubarb was almost off the charts, her voice dipping into the red on the dial during the long testing and calibration phase.
Betelgeuse sagged. “Still worth it.” She said dejectedly. “I’m getting my pickle.”
Buttermilk returned with a pickle in her teeth.
“Oh gross, Buttermilk cooties!” Betelgeuse said, snatching away her pickle.
“I do not have cooties!” Buttermilk said. “For the last time, do you see any cooties?”
Betelgeuse said nothing, but reached out and touched a cockroach with her finger.
“Why you little…” Buttermilk growled.
Rhubarb watched Buttermilk chasing the naked pickle eating foal around the room in a circle. Betelgeuse had made a valid point. Buttermilk was, in fact, covered in cooties at the moment, wearing the cockroach pyjamas. IQ over two hundred and the body of a kinesthetically perfect pegasus athlete as well. Buttermilk took to the air, an unfair advantage that Betelgeuse immediately protested as being unfair.
“Cooties cooties cooties cooties cooties!” Betelgeuse shouted.
Bon Mot slumbered in a puddle of drool. Rhubarb lifted her and carried her to bed, ignoring the chase. Then, she lifted Cafe Mocha, the extra pudgy foal felt oddly heavy. She’s built like an earth pony, Rhubarb thought to herself.
Buttermilk finally tackled Betelgeuse, pinning her down. Betelgeuse used the dirtiest trick in her book. She grabbed Buttermilk by both ears, pulled her in, and planted a puckery pickle flavoured kiss on Buttermilk’s lips.
“GAH!” Buttermilk said, letting go and scooting away, spitting. “Mouthwash!” She demanded. Betelgeuse lay on the floor, giggling dementedly. “Where is Luna, I need my mind scrubbed.” Buttermilk said, flying in a panicked circle.
Rhubarb gently lifted the still giggling Betelgeuse. “Come on you, time for bed.”
“Okay.” Betelgeuse said, shrugging, yawning, and immediately dropping into a slumber in mid air.
“How?” Buttermilk asked, flummoxed, still spitting out a pickle flavoured kiss.
Author's Note
D'aw...
Hey, what the heck happened to chapter seven?
“Lots of good results being returned on the centaur fillies CNA.” Rhubarb exclaimed.
“CNA?” Buttermilk replied.
“How did you make it through school?” Rhubarb demanded.
“I don’t know.” Buttermilk replied.
“CNA. Cutie Nucleic Acid. The polymeric macromolecular compounds that are the blueprints for all ponykind. The building blocks of life.” Rhubarb explained.
“I can’t remember graduating, how puzzling. I have my diploma on the wall…” Buttermilk pondered, puzzled.
“Cafe Mocha has earth pony CNA. Betelgeuse has pegasus CNA. Obviously. Bon Mot is the most curious. She has unicorn CNA but no horn.” Rhubarb said.
“Shouldn’t things with CNA be cute?” Buttermilk mumbled. “Explains Cafe Mocha’s exceptional strength.” She added.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Rhubarb said, asking, “about your cutie mark. It is a butter churn. How did a pegasus get a butter churn as a cutie mark?”
“It showed up after I milked the manticore.” Buttermilk replied, scowling.
“Oh… GROSS!” Said Rhubarb, her eyes widening.
“Shut… up… Rhubarb!” Buttermilk demanded. “Everypony has something they're good at.”
“Mine is a good sensible microscope.” Rhubarb boasted.
“Bad news everypony!” Doctor Broadneck said, making his entrance with a suitable catch phrase. “The centaur foals have escaped!”
The two mares stood silently, blinking rapidly, trying to take the news in.
“Out into the public?” Buttermilk said, after a long moment of trying to comprehend this magnitude of failure. “Oh, we are all so very horned.”
“Indubitably.” The doctor said. “I expect that Luna will move us to lunar research base thirteen for this foul up. I hope she remembers to close the airlock when she leaves, a real pity what happened to the last research team stationed there.”
**Scene dissolve**
It was a beautiful day in Canterlot. The sort of day that begs for mail to be delivered promptly and on time, bringing happiness and security to everypony, knowing that things like the mail can be counted upon.
Derpy was not on time. But that was okay. Her smile was infectious and nopony could ever stay upset for long over late mail.
She trotted down the lane, not bothering to fly, stuffing random mail into random mailboxes, sort of hoping that everything would sort itself out, like it usually did. She smiled and nodded at the ponies that she passed, her eyes merry and bright.
And pointing in two different directions.
Derpy paused, hearing screams. She stood there, wondering for a moment if she had done something wrong again, and she stood ready to defend herself with her usual catchphrase that was so adorable and cute that nopony could ever hope to stay angry with her for any length of time.
Three almost ponies were charging down the lane. They had pony bodies, but from where the neck and head should be, there was something else. Something off. Derpy had no idea what they were, but, being the unflappably polite pegasus mare that she was, she smiled at them warmly and waited.
The three strange creatures collided with her, hugging her warmly, tugging at her wings, squeezing her neck, and planting wet kisses all over her face and neck with their weird flat faces and odd protruding noses. Derpy giggled, as she found this quite pleasant. One of them had wings, like a pegasus.
Derpy was thrilled. Love and affection without reservation was just what the pegasus had always wanted. The strange foals tackled her, pressing in on her, loving and smooshing her. And she hugged and smooshed and smooched back, reveling in the sudden surprise affection, huggles coming from every which way.
“Uh oh!” One cried, dark blue, her voice alarmed. “They’re on to us! Scram!” She shouted.
And Derpy was left lying there, covered in slobber, feeling very much loved and appreciated, enjoying what had to be the greatest moment in her life. She was going to have to go home and tell Dinky all about this over a muffin. With chocolate milk.
**Scene dissolve**
“Come back here you rapscallions!” Buttermilk shouted, hovering in the air, hoping to catch the foals.
“She just called us a vegetable!” Cafe Mocha said.
“All you ever think of are vegetables!” Bon Mot said.
“I like vegetables.” Cafe Mocha said.
“I like dragging my plot over the carpet and leaving skidmarks for Doctor Broadneck to examine!” Betelgeuse shouted.
“Ack!” Rhubarb said, remembering all the time spent cleaning carpets. “Come back girls! We’ll have ice cream!”
Ponies stampeded in a panic, the odd monstrosities spooking the herd. The hideous mutant foals thoroughly unnerving the pony population and precipitating a panic. There were shrieks and cries, the sounds of doors slamming, window shutters shutting, and hundreds of ponies all trying to run away.
“Think we’ll be in trouble for this?” Cafe Mocha asked Bon Mot.
“Naw.” Bon Mot said, running from an irate Buttermilk.
“Whatever it was you did when you twitched your ears was awesome Bon Mot.” Betelgeuse said, her wings flapping.
“Oh dear, enigmatic exposition.” The doctor announced, running.
“Luna!” The three centaur foals shouted together.
Ahead of them stood Luna, looking somewhat peeved, surrounded by dozens of guards.
“Let’s huggle her!” Bon Mot said, working up a fresh batch of drool.
Luna stood her ground as all around her guard shouted and dispersed, screaming, joining the stampeding masses. She shook her head, looking somewhat sad.
“Cowards.” She said, scowling, standing her ground. These were just foals.
Luna fell under their loving assault, tumbling to the ground, falling over, covered in giggling foals. Drooling slobbering foals. Fear gripped Luna as she realised what was about to happen. “NO!” She cried, seeing Betelgeuse stick a finger in her mouth, moistening her digit.
Suddenly, Luna felt herself being probed. It started with a gentle prod, a poking sensation, testing resistance. And then it was inside after a moment of struggle. She shuddered, feeling the wiggling wet digit finding its way in, deeper, deeper, and deeper still, the gross moistness of it violating her to her very core, being probed by an alien mutant hybrid, in public, on the streets of Canterlot. Her flesh crawled. The finger was sunk in completely now, feeling damp, the tip moving in a slow circle, caressing her insides. She felt every knuckle. It was a sensation that would give Luna nightmares for the rest of her impossibly long life. Discord, in all of his evil, had not managed to violate her in this way. Luna felt that she would never be whole again. She had been violated, thoroughly and completely, every fibre of her being recoiling in horror and realisation of where that finger was and what was being done to her as it wiggled about, invading her insides.
“THERE’S A WET FINGER IN MY EAR!” Luna shouted as the foals continued their assault. “OH MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP!”
The foul foals continued their loving assault, kissing the princess, hugging her neck, little fingers gripping her pelt, and Betelgeuse giving her a wet willy with one slobbery finger.
Buttermilk and Rhubarb could only look on in horror, as Doctor Broadneck took notes about the reactions of alicorns to aural probing.
Author's Note
Well... I feel good about my self.
How's everypony else? Can I see a show of hooves? Feel like I should maybe take a nap. Or have a sandwich. Or a smoke.
Where's that clopping sound coming from?
View Online
How I learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Centaur
Derpy sat with the three centaur foals. She was trying to teach them how to blow bubbles. They sat on the floor together in a circle, with a small table between them. On the table were a few treats, a stuffed doll, and a bottle of bubble mix.
The room was now an eye searing shade of safety orange, with yellow plastic curtains. The foals didn’t seem to mind, but the working adults certainly did. The room was now considered a class 2 safety goggle zone.
There were also some toys scattered about.
Rhubarb, Buttermilk, and Doctor Broadneck all sat at a table nearby, taking notes, observing the social interaction between the gray mare and the odd foals.
“Bubbles…” Derpy began, “are fun.” She demonstrated this by grasping a bubble wand in her wing tip, dipping it into the bubble mix, and then blowing a stream of bubbles at Bon Mot, who sat in wide eyed wonder. She dipped the wand again, this time, she blew a stream of bubbles at Cafe Mocha. Cafe Mocha poked at the bubbles with her fingers, popping several.
Betelgeuse was entranced by the bubbles, clapping her hands together, twitching her tail, and squirming wildly. Derpy blew a stream of bubbles at Betelgeuse, who responded by tackling Derpy with a hug and squeezing her.
“Fun!” Derpy said, while being squeezed. She smiled broadly.
Derpy’s smile turned to a look of alarm as Betelgeuse seized the bottle of bubble mix.
Betelgeuse took a long pull from the bottle… And froze.
“BLEH!” Betelgeuse announced.
“Oh my,” said the doctor, “science is about to happen. Be ready!” His pen quivered, ready to take down scientific notations that would baffle the minds of above average intelligence.
Betelgeuse sat there, her face frozen in disgust, her tongue hanging out, still holding the bottle of bubble mix. She set the bottle down upon the table and began to sputter. “Not fun.” Betelgeuse announced.
“It is soap.” Derpy said patiently. “Soap tastes bad.”
Betelgeuse took a deep breath and blew out a belch.
“BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!” She brapped, blowing out a long stream of bubbles as she burped, causing her siblings to squeal in delight.
“Fascinating.” The doctor said.
Betelgeuse belched again, causing another stream of bubbles. Derpy began to giggle. “Fun!” Betelgeuse announced.
“Betelgeuse will be making carpet art later.” Buttermilk said, sighing.
“I like the browns she uses for texture.” The doctor said absentmindedly, scribbling down notes.
Betelgeuse paused, suddenly looking more than a little green. She ran to Buttermilk. “Buttermilk, I don’t feel good.” Betelgeuse said in a queasy voice.
“Do you want to throw up?” Buttermilk asked with some concern.
“Okay.” Betelgeuse replied, suddenly blowing chunks on Buttermilk.
Buttermilk sat there in shock, suddenly covered in soapy bubbly vomit.
A single bubble formed and blew out of Betelgeuse’s nostril, drifting away, towards the yellow plastic curtain.
“On a scale of one to ten, what is the level of your revulsion right now Buttermilk?” Doctor Broadneck inquired, pen held ready.
“I need a drink.” Betelgeuse said, her mouth forming several bubbles which blew away as she spoke.
“About a ten. Definitely a ten.” Buttermilk said.
“We don’t have a comparative sample.” Rhubarb said. “Have we taken bias into account?” Rhubarb seemed concerned, worried, wanting reliable results for the directors.
“I can help.” Betelgeuse said, turning towards Doctor Broadneck and blowing chunks once again, sending a violent stream of bubbles out of her nose as she did so.
Bon Mot and Cafe Mocha giggled.
Derpy sat in stunned silence, mouth open in an o of horror. A small o, not a large O, as she didn’t want to take any chances with stray vomit.
“Fascinating.” The doctor said. “This is the third time this week and it is only Tuesday. Soapy, rather warm, with a piquant aroma, and there is noticeable traces of the subject's lunch from earlier. Is that macaroni?” The doctor asked. “A ten seems warranted.” He agreed, nodding his head. “The synthetic orange cheese from the macaroni dish provides a most interesting colour contrast on my coat.” He murmured.
Author's Note
You know, theoretically, this story never needs to end.
Horrifying, isn't it?
Top secret! Redacted. Please use Alicorn Class authorisation spell to view document.
Information on need to know basis only. If you need to ask, you don't need to know.
Subject One AKA Bot Mot. Unicorn CNA. Navy blue pelt. Pink and light blue coloured hair and tail. Has pony ears. Shows a distressing ability to use magic when wiggling her ears. Subject is cheerful, highly resourceful, adaptive, and rather manipulative. Shows a high degree of social intelligence and is the leader of the three. Has an astoundingly high tolerance for chlorpromazine.
Subject Two AKA Cafe Mocha. Earth Pony CNA. Chocolate pelt. Cream and caramel coloured hair and tail. Has a freakish level of strength, with projected abilities as an adult currently unknown and incalculable. Rather well behaved. The quiet one. Shows a remarkable ability for problem solving. Eats four times as much as the other two put together. Somewhat pudgy. Known for infectious smile.
Subject Three AKA Betelgeuse AKA Luna’s Personal Nightmare AKA The Prober. Pegasus CNA. Pearlescent white pelt. Pastel pink and purple hair and tail. Known trouble maker. Shows a remarkable lack of fear. Natural risk taker. Exceptionally good risk assessment skills. High degree of physical agility. Flight potential: Very likely. Known instigator and master level manipulator. Shows a remarkable ability to violate personal space. Under no circumstance should you ever allow your guard to drop, as you will be probed with one moistened finger. Warning, subject runs faster than most pegasi can fly.
I can still feel that finger! L.
Three centaur fillies, one unicorn filly, and one grey pegasus mare stood on the deck of a mighty ship that prowled the sea. The boat sort of looked like a bed… Not that anypony would mention that. And the sea looked a bit like concrete flooring. Not that anypony would notice. They were all wearing folded paper hats.
“Shark in the water!” Bon Mot shouted, pointing a finger at Buttermilk, who stood in the middle of the room, looking annoyed. “Look out Captain Muffinbeard!”
Captain Muffinbeard nodded, seeing the shark. She stood on the deck, poised in a salute, one wing raised to her brow. “Poop deck scrubber Dinky!” The captain shouted. “Prepare the cannon!”
Poop deck scrubber Dinky did as instructed, lifting the bubble wand carefully in her magic, and then loosed a stream of soap bubble cannonballs at the annoyed looking shark. “Arr, it does nothing!” Poop deck scrubber Dinky cried.
Cafe Mocha hoisted poop deck scrubber Dinky up over head and held her high. Dinky squealed.
“The shark looks cranky.” Betelgeuse said.
“I told you, I don’t want to play.” The shark said in an annoyed monotone.
Rhubarb slid along the floor, pushing herself along with her hind hooves, her posteriour up high.
“And that shark has a fat fin.” Cafe Mocha said.
“Hey!” Rhubarb said.
Doctor Broadneck entered the room, causing the occupants of the boat to scream. “The Lurking Horror!” Poop deck scrubber Dinky shouted, seeing the doctor. The doctor froze, annoyed.
“Who?” The doctor said.
“You.” Rhubarb said.
“What?” The doctor said, baffled.
“Pirates.” Rhubarb said, as though that explained everything.
“Where?” The doctor said.
“In this room.” Rhubarb said, growing annoyed.
“When?” The doctor said, confuzzled.
“Right now, this moment.” Rhubarb said, rolling her eyes.
“Why?” The doctor said, still confused.
Rhubarb scooted herself along the floor until she reached the doctor. And then she bit him on the leg, just above his hoof.
“Cannibal!” The doctor shouted, turning around and leaving the room.
Poop deck scrubber Dinky blew more bubbles. “Release the cannibals!” She shouted, still held high by Cafe Mocha.
“Cannonballs.” Captain Muffinbeard corrected, cocking her hat to a jaunty angle with her wing.
Buttermilk stood there, looking sour. “Snack time.” She said. “S’mores.”
“S’mores?” Bon Mot said, suddenly looking frantic. “I’ll take a dozen.” She shouted, her face twitching slightly.
Buttermilk almost looked concerned. “Nevermind.” She said in a low voice.
“BUT I NEED S’MORES!” Bon Mot said, suddenly jonesing. She stood there in her paper hat, suddenly looking sad.
Cafe Mocha set down poop deck scrubber Dinky gently upon the bed. “‘Scuse me poop deck scrubber Dinky.” She said kindly. Cafe Mocha launched herself from the bed, and tackled the shark in the water.
Buttermilk saw stars. Literally. The room was suddenly as starry as the night. She couldn’t tell which way was up or down. She felt two strong arms wrap around her barrel, and then suddenly, she felt herself being hoisted in some direction, and she wasn’t sure which one.
“You need a timeout.” Cafe Mocha said. She marched Buttermilk over to the corner, slung over her shoulder. She sat Buttermilk into the corner, facing the wall. “Stay!” Cafe Mocha said, pointing a finger.
Captain Muffinbeard nodded in approval while Rhubarb giggled.
“Did anypony get the name of the runaway wagon that hit me?” Buttermilk said dizzily. She wobbled back and forth on her haunches. “But teacher, I spent all spring break milking minotaurs.” She mumbled.
Cafe Mocha returned to the mighty vessel and boarded, saluting the captain. “Sulky shark in timeout.” She reported smartly.
“Good job first mate Cafe Mocha.” Captain Muffinbeard congratulated.
“Promotion!” Cafe Mocha shouted.
“I don’t want a promotion.” Betelgeuse said, looking disappointed. “I just want to plunder some booty.
“Keep your fingers to your self!” Bon Mot shouted.
Captain Muffinbeard struggled very hard to keep a straight face.
Author's Note
I can't stop now, it is just getting silly.
“Bad news everypony.” Doctor Broadneck said. “Celestia has put her hoof down. She wants the foals out of the lab and moved to a remote location. She desires societal integration!” The doctor said with panic in his voice. “And after we spent our coffee bits remodeling the room.” He sighed, sad, a singular sound.
Buttermilk scowled. “What about our jobs?”
“Yeah…” Rhubarb said. “Our jobs.” A sad look was upon her face.
“Oh, we are keeping our jobs. We’re expected to move with them. That wall eyed mare has done so well with them that Celestia and Luna both feel that the foals should live in a place called Ponyville where Miss Hooves can assist on a day to day basis.” The doctor scowled. “Doctor Eyesore is going to steal my office space!”
Rhubarb perked up. “We get to stay with the little monsters?”
The doctor nodded. Rhubarb seemed genuinely happy. Buttermilk grumbled something unintelligible.
“Is Ponyville prepared for the foals?” Buttermilk asked.
“Miss Sparkle is preparing them.” The doctor said. “I hope she takes my order for protective headgear under consideration. The Prober seeks new subjects.” He said in a wavering voice, his ears flickering. “I can still feel the moment of insertion.” He moaned, drawing a quivering breath.
“You squealed like a filly.” Buttermilk teased.
The doctor’s muzzle scrunched as he tried to swallow his own face in embarrassment.
“What rough beast approaches Ponyville.” Rhubarb said, a flair for melodrama manifesting.
“A house has been secured for us. With furniture. Rooms. Everything normally found in a house. Except this house will be filled with hideous mutant monsters. And Buttermilk.” The doctor said, changing the subject.
“Maybe I’ll teach Betelgeuse about prostates.” Buttermilk said in a low threatening tone.
“You wouldn’t dare!” The doctor protested, pondering his prostate, suddenly looking worried. “You monster!”
“So the fillies will finally be exposed to ponies, and vice versa. My little girls are growing up.” Rhubarb sniffled a bit.
Buttermilk glared at the fuchsia coloured mare beside her. “Get ahold of yourself.”
“Just wait until they discover colts.” Rhubarb said.
“And colts discover Betelgeuse’s need to penetrate.” The doctor said, cringing. “I predict many probings once she enters adolescence and becomes even more curious than she is now.”
“Dinky did remarkably well with the foals. Perhaps the trick is to allow exposure to the fillies at a young age and then allow those foals with exposure to grow up. Perhaps adult ponies experience revulsion simply because of our ages and the fact that we are less open to new experiences.” Buttermilk said, looking thoughtful.
The doctor nodded.
“I no longer feel any revulsion at all.” Rhubarb said. “I love them as though they were my own.” She looked up at the ceiling, thoughtful. “I want them to run free in the grass and terrorise other ponies. They deserve better than concrete and plastic.”
“You want other ponies terrorised?” Buttermilk asked.
“For science.” Rhubarb said, as though that explained everything.
“I’ll be able to take a lot of notes with the much larger sample size.” The doctor said hopefully. “And there will probably be many contributions to my vomit research.”
“Good to have a hobby.” Buttermilk said.
“Like churning butter.” Rhubarb said, looking innocent.
“Hey!” Buttermilk protested. “Spunk Specialist Buttermilk is only one of my many titles.”
Author's Note
Next time... "What rough beast approaches Ponyville."
Stay tuned. And make sure to drink your Ovaltine.
“Bad news everypony!” Doctor Broadneck announced. “Doctor Eyesore and I have been doing some testing. We’ve shown a magically created image of the three centaurs as adults to a test group.”
“What happened?” Asked Buttermilk, eyes widening.
“The test chamber flooded. Thankfully, I found new data for my vomit theory.” The doctor said. “We had a broad test group of all manner of stallions and even a few mares. Luna herself picked out notorious perverts known to her by their dreams, ponies who dreamt of having sexual congress with griffons and minotaurs.”
“Ew.” Said Rhubarb.
“One of them, a Miss Sparkle, even had dreams about having sexual congress with a human. In both her human and pony forms. Even she was horrified by the viewing, and joined the others in turning the test chamber into a vomitorium. Very odd, that Miss Sparkle.” The doctor shuddered, his teeth rattling and clicking together. “Miss Sparkle was most helpful in scrubbing everyponies memories of this whole event, leaving them as clean slates for later. Luna took care of Miss Sparkle. All in all, a very good job of clean up. Except for all of the vomit still flooding the new vomitorium of science."
“Think Luna has ever scrubbed us?” Buttermilk said with a certain sourness.
“I am one hundred percent certain that she hasn’t.” The doctor said. “I mean, I’d remember something like that if it happened. Being scrubbed and having my memory tampered with.”
The two mares exchanged a look with one another, eyebrows raised.
“Test subjects became aroused by humans, and by ponies, but not by the centaurs. This does not bode well.” Doctor Broadneck said, looking sad.
“What was your reaction to the images?” Rhubarb asked.
“You know, I don’t remember, I should go back and check my notes. I’m becoming a bit forgetful in my old age.” The doctor said, scowling.
“There was more I had to say.” The doctor said, scowling. “Suddenly I can’t remember.”
Buttermilk shrugged, suddenly not remembering her reply.
Rhubarb scowled. “What were we talking about again? I can’t seem to remember.”
Author's Note
Suddenly, I couldn't remember what I was writing... Can somepony tell me what just happened?
“What?” Said Derpy, looking slightly confused.
“You show an amazing ability for unconditional positive regard.” Buttermilk repeated.
Derpy sat there and continued to look very confused, her eyes wandering in different directions, her ears doing much the same.
“What Buttermilk is saying is that you have an extraordinary gift that allows you to love ponies or pony like creatures no matter what.” Rhubarb explained. “Which is why we’ve brought you here and you were given the job offer. The foals love you, you love them back, and let’s face it, we need to even the odds.”
Derpy nodded, understanding. She looked thoughtful. She looked around the room, trying to focus, a look of intense concentration upon her face, her mouth settling into a scrunched scowl. “This room is really boring. All dull grey concrete. No wonder those foals misbehaved. I would too.”
“Fascinating.” Doctor Broadneck said. “An actual mother’s opinion. Tell us, Mrs. Hooves, what colour would you paint the walls?”
“A sunny yellow. Maybe with soft orange curtains.” Derpy answered slowly. “And maybe little bunny rabbits and woodland creatures painted on the wall.” She added.
The doctor’s pen scratched furiously. He stopped. “That’s going to cost money. Actual resources. Luna is going to be most displeased.” His pen scratching resumed for a moment, and then paused again. “Oh, the directors are not going to like the use of pastels or non scientific colours.”
“What is a scientific colour?” Derpy asked, not sure if she wanted to know.
“Well, there is concrete grey, institutional green, bile yellow, and faux wood print vinyl wall coverings.” The doctor answered. “Oh, and the fine patina of time, which is cost effective and free.”
“Where are the foals?” Derpy asked, looking around.
“Oh, we fed them some s’mores and they had a nap.” The doctor answered, smiling.
“How come there are no toys?” Derpy asked, feeling very uncomfortable.
“Toys?” Doctor Broadneck repeated in the form of a question.
“Toys. Foals need toys. I didn’t see any in the nursery. And none here either.”
“Foals need toys?” The doctor said in alarmed surprise.
Derpy Hooves scowled. She was clearly dealing with an idiot. She scolded herself, just a little, for scowling. You had to be careful when dealing with the simple minded, she reminded herself. “What do they play with?”
“Oh.” Doctor Broadneck said. “Rhubarb and Buttermilk usually. Interactive and educational!”
Derpy sighed, trying to reign in her temper. She was going to be working with morons.
“So this is it then. We say goodbye to this awful lab.” Buttermilk said.
“My little fillies grew up here.” Rhubarb said.
“I will not be joining you.” Doctor Broadneck said.
“What?” The two mares said together.
“I am going to stay here and research my vomit theory.” The doctor said.
“Oh.” Both mares replied, together.
“I’ve seen the house in Ponyville.” Buttermilk said. “I flew down there the other day.”
“Is it nice?” The doctor said. “The fillies deserve something nice.”
“It is.” Buttermilk said. “Big townhouse. We have one half, and a nice group of mares have the other half. So we’ll have neighbors.”
“Oh. Neighbors.” Said Rhubarb. “I wonder what the neighbors will think.”
“Derpy has been remarkably good about teaching the fillies some manners. I think the neighbors will be fine.” Buttermilk said. “And there is a vast wood full of monsters for Betelgeuse to probe.”
“I am going to miss my little Betelgeuse.” The doctor said, beginning to sniffle slightly. “I gave her the most beautiful name.”
“It certainly fits her.” Buttermilk said.
“I had my doubts.” Rhubarb said. “I can’t imagine calling her anything else.”
“So this is it. Where we say goodbye.” Buttermilk said. “Doctor, it has been strange. I know we’ll see each other again, but I’ll miss you.”
“Me too.” Rhubarb said.
The doctor nodded. “We’ll see each other soon.”
Author's Note
This one is done. Over. Finished.
But the story isn't done. It'll be getting a new format and be continuing in Ponyville as the centaur fillies try to adjust to life in the outside world, and the outside world tries to adjust to them.
Thanks for reading my horrible, horrible story.
Stay tuned for "The Centaur Does Not Hold."
