Room For Rent

Lucky Charm jerked awake with a start as a loud, resounding crash echoed downstairs.

The stallion stared at the ceiling for several long moments, sleepily trying to process what he had heard, pushing unkempt green sleep-mane out of his eyes.

Carefully, he rolled over onto his side, extricating himself with some difficulty from the tangled grasp of twisted blankets. Once free of the fabrics, he dropped carefully onto his hooves, stepping towards the door.

“Hello?” Lucky called down the stairs, squinting into the gloom. The moon shone far overhead, casting shafts of meek light down through the skylights. But it wasn’t enough light to see a great deal of detail.

There was a faint groan from somewhere downstairs, and Lucky frowned to himself, staring down the stairs.

Reaching the door on the second floor from where he suspected the noises were coming from, he frowned deeply, lifting his hoof to awkwardly knock on it.

It was the only room in the entire house that he had no idea what was behind. For the last six months, he had been renting it out to a mystery guest.

Lucky was, fortunately and unfortunately, extremely lucky. He had resigned himself at an early age to never abusing his ‘gift’, but had, at a party, accidentally entered himself into the Cloudsdale lottery. And of course he had won the first prize of more bits than he could ever conceive of spending.

Or at least, that’s how it had first seemed.

The house had been his first major purchase. Paid for for the next three decades, he wouldn’t have to spend a bit on it until he was going grey in the mane. Or so he thought. ‘Hidden’ charges that he had overlooked began to build up, and his decidedly lacklustre ability for any kind of discretion in his spending habits had led to him racking up quite a debt. In desperation, he had tried to rent out one of the rooms to get some kind of income going.

That was when his mystery guest had showed up, dressed in a dark cloak, offering him twelve months worth of rent right off the bat.

After some hesitation, Lucky had accepted.

All he knew about his guest was that she was female.

And so, for six months, Lucky didn’t know what lay behind the door. He had respected the privacy of his guest. He hadn’t even noticed her presence before. She was quiet, clean and came and went through the window, he assumed.

“A-are you okay in there?” Lucky asked, his voice cracking slightly with nervousness.

A pained groan greeted him.

“I’m coming in!” Lucky announced loudly.

Lucky reached for the door handle, and it wouldn’t budge. Locked.

Snorting once, Lucky reached into the alcove beside the door, groping around behind one of the statuettes there until he found a key. He inserted it into the lock, twisting it and then pushing the door open.

The meagre light of the moon coming in from the open window barely illuminated the bookcases that lined the walls. Lucky didn’t know where they had come from. They weren’t there when he had rented out the room. One corner of the room was given over to some kind of display stand, a blank pony body to place clothing upon. A Wonderbolt uniform was stretched across this one, with a pair of goggles sitting on top of its bare, smooth face.

A bed sat in the other corner not occupied by bookshelves, and the bookshelves themselves were littered with books in various positions. It was untidy and disorderly, and Lucky very much doubted that any of the books were kept in alphabetical order.

But the main focal point of the room was the mare, in a Wonderbolt uniform, laying on her side in a pool of vomit.

Lucky scrunched his nose up as the vile smell assaulted his senses. His eyes immediately began to water, and he felt the urge for himself to throw up in kind rising and clawing at the back of his throat.

“H-hey, are you okay?” Lucky asked, gagging faintly and trying to breathe through his mouth.

A faint mumbled groan was his only response.

“Are you some kind of cosplayer?” Lucky asked uncertainly, even as he cringed and stepped closer to her, ears splaying back. Hesitantly, he reached for her shoulder. “Can you stand?”

“Do I look like I c… c... “ the mare trailed off, stuffing a hoof against her muzzle and then heaving, throwing up against her hoof and making a mess of the suit covering it.

“Oh yuck…” Lucky winced, cringing deeply. Taking a shallow breath through his mouth, he stepped in behind the mare and wrapped his hooves around her, tugging her upright.

The mare swayed unsteadily, and almost toppled, but Lucky steadied her with a hard shove of his shoulders, giving a dismayed glance at the disgusting bile that was getting on his wings.

“F-fuck rookie… don’t be so… so…” the mare swayed again, dropping onto her rump and looking like she was going to throw up again.

“No! Stop!” Lucky protested, waving a hoof in front of her face for attention. “Stop! Look at me!”

The mare gave him a long stare, unblinking, and unseeing. She had very pretty eyes.

“Focus on me. Just look at me. We’re getting you to the bathroom, okay?”

The mare stared at him, head tilting slowly to the left, her body starting to lean.

Lucky straightened her up, shaking his head and then pushing underneath her, supporting her further. “C’mon, lean on me. Sunshine and puppies. Just think of sunshine and puppies!”

“W-what… what are you talking about, rookie?” the mare queried weakly.

“Focus,” Lucky said quietly, staring into her eyes seriously, even as he began to walk her towards the door.

Awkwardly, the mare leaned against him, and he pushed and tugged her as best he could out the door and down the hallway. Eventually, he got her to the bathroom, and then quickly slipped away from her, holding her at hooves-length and nudging her towards the toilet.

The mare staggered slightly, and then blinked at the toilet, before stumbling to it and throwing up into it violently.

Lucky watched for a moment in almost abject horror, before he quickly stepped over to the sink and began to vigorously splash water onto his neck and chest, scrubbing off the mess that had been spread onto his fur. “Ugh…”

“Urrrgh…” the mare groaned, swaying heavily, before resting her chin on the edge of the toilet.

Gagging slightly, Lucky crept over to the mare, brushing her mane out of her face with a hoof, and then delicately holding it away from her face. “Don’t worry, you’re going to be fine. Just take deep breaths.”

After a solid half hour of watching the mare throw up into the toilet, and being subjected to the fetid stench of vomit and stale sweat, Lucky was just about at his breaking point. He left the mare with her chin on the edge of the toilet, and then went to the bathroom window, shoving his head out of it entirely and trying his best not to throw up himself. His dinner was trying very hard to make a reappearance, and he was desperately trying not to view the encore.

After taking several gulps of fresh air, he withdrew from the bathroom entirely, heading to the kitchen and grabbing a pitcher of water and a glass, bringing it to the bathroom. He set the glass on the edge of the toilet, filling it with water and then offering it to the mare.

The mare groaned softly, but took the water almost greedily, shoving the glass against her mouth hard enough to chip a tooth and downing half of it one greedy, far-too-large gulp. A splash of water left her mouth, and Lucky leaned backwards, wincing, as she threw up again.

On the second try, however, she managed to keep some of the water down, groaning pitifully and then whimpering, the fabric around the eyeholes of her suit matted with tears.

“You are a mess,” Lucky stated.

“And you are… you are… you are green,” the mare protested, pushing at him weakly with a hoof.

Lucky winced slightly at that, having no real comeback. He was green.

“Good lord, did you drink an entire keg?” Lucky asked bluntly, looking the mare up and down. “You look like you threw up and then swam in it.”

“Don’t drink,” the mare said shortly, before retching again, but this time, she didn’t throw up.

“Look, we gotta get you out of that suit,” Lucky said, making a motion with a hoof.

A faint groan left the mare as her only response.

Lucky frowned deeply, scrunching up his face as he stepped closer and then looked intently at the suit, trying to find the zipper.

“Front,” the mare said, voice muffled by the bowl.

Lucky nodded, awkwardly slipping a hoof up between the mare’s forelegs to find the end of the zipper, and then drawing it down her chest and across her belly. He paused halfway down her form, and released it. “Could you, uh… get it the rest of the way?”

“Fucking rookie…” the mare muttered, lifting her own hoof and leaning so far to the side that Lucky gripped one of her wings to hold her steady. She pushed the zipper the rest of the way down, to the very end that rested just in front of the visible mound of her cunny.

Lucky blinked once as he noticed it, but was far too close to gagging and throwing up to be remotely aroused. He began to tug the flight suit from around her shoulders, urging her to slip her hooves out of it. It was clammy and cold from the stale sweat on the mare’s body, and was thoroughly unpleasant.

Carefully, he rolled the suit down to her rump, and then paused uncertainly. “Uh…”

“Rookie…” came the muffled jab, even as she lifted her rump and pushed the flight suit down over her rump and tail, tugging the fiery length of it through the hole in the suit. The suit pooled between her hindlegs, exposing her body to the stallion behind her.

Lucky wrinkled his nose, ducking down to grab the flight suit and toss it into the sink. He then pushed the mare sideways, carefully, towards the shower.

After a little bit of confusion and resistance, the mare allowed herself to be led to the shower, until Lucky turned on the hot water and stepped in with her.

A low groan of delight left the mare, and she dropped onto her stomach, letting the water wash down over her fiery mane, slicking it down and hopefully cleaning some of the vomit from the ends of the strands.

“This would be mildly sexy if I didn’t feel like throwing up,” Lucky admitted, making a face as he picked up a bar of soap, pushing it towards the mare across the bottom of the shower. “Clean yourself up a bit.”

“Not… not gonna help me?” the mare slurred.

“No, no, not a chance,” Lucky said with a strained laugh, shaking his head. He spread his wings slightly, a disgusted look on his face as he scrubbed at the portions of his body that had come into contact with the mare.

“Am I really that disgusting?” the mare asked, forlorn.

“Sweet Celestia, yes,” Lucky scoffed, giving a shudder. “At least, the contents of your stomach are. Especially when they’re all over me…”

“Sorry… I’m terrible…” the mare said, sniffing faintly.

“Oh… oh please don’t cry…” Lucky said, hanging his head slightly and giving a long-suffering sigh.

“B-but I’m terrible…” the mare whimpered, starting to sob brokenly.

Lucky gave a helpless groan, resting his head against the cool tile wall.

“I don’t even know where you’re going to sleep,” Lucky stated, scratching behind his ear with a hoof.

“Sleep here…” the mare muttered.

The two ponies were still in the shower, and the mare’s mane covered most of her face. The faint, but pervasive smell of vomit was still noticeable intermittently.

“You can’t sleep in the shower,” Lucky stated flatly, shaking his head. “C’mon, you can sleep on the couch in my room.”

“Not bed?” the mare slurred, gazing at him.

Lucky shook his head firmly. “No, no, not a single chance in tartarus are you sleeping in my bed. You will be sleeping on the couch with a bucket close at hoof in case you want to be sick again.”

“Fine,” the mare muttered, before groaning heavily and slumping against the shower wall.

“C’mon, let’s get you dry and warm,” Lucky said, checking himself over to make sure all traces of her sick was off his fur, rising to his hooves and then stepping out of the shower, grabbing a pair of towels for them both.

A low, faint groan left the mare as she awoke, and her eyes opened for a solid quarter of a second before snapping closed again as they were assaulted by the weak rays of morning light.

“Oh… oh sweet Celestia, my head…” she whimpered, swaying slightly and then going limp once more, feebly tugging the blanket up over her face.

“Good morning, my fine alcoholic friend,” Lucky said, placing a cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice on the arm of the chair in front of her.

The mare sniffed slightly, nose poking out from under the blanket. She carefully took the orange juice, sipping it once or twice, and then downing it in one go, before groaning faintly again.

“Head hurts?” Lucky asked sympathetically.

“Pounding… pain…” the mare muttered, groaning faintly. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” Lucky queried.

“Just a… a blur. I only remember showing up at the party,” she responded brokenly.

Lucky raised an eyebrow at that, before shrugging slightly to himself. “Well… I found you passed out on the floor in the room downstairs in a pool of your own vomit. Quite disgusting, actually.”

The mare wrinkled her nose deeply. “Oh… that’s… disgusting. Was it in my mane?’

“I think we managed to get it out after some scrubbing,” Lucky said casually.

“Scrubbing?” came the blank query.

“Scrubbing. I pushed you into the bathroom and shower since you were throwing up. Your flight suit looks pretty ruined. And you probably paid quite a lot for it. Looks like actual Wonderbolt material. You some kind of cosplayer?” Lucky asked, lifting the edge of the blanket slightly.

“I’m Spitfire, you moron!” the mare hissed, tugging the blanket back down.

“So… my mystery guest, who I never see come or go, and has been renting out a room for six months now, is Spitfire, Captain of the Wonderbolts?” Lucky asked dubiously. “Look, I’m all for character acting, but this is sad. I found you passed out in a pool of your own vomit, for Celestia’s sake. At least a Wonderbolt would be able to hold their alcohol.”

“Someone must have slipped me some without telling me…” Spitfire muttered darkly, voice muffled by the blankets. “When I find Soarin, I’m going to wring his bloody neck.”

“Yes, yes, sure you are,” Lucky said airily. He nudged her side with a hoof. “C’mon, get up when you’re ready. You have to help me clean up down there.”

“Clean… up?” Spitfire asked blankly. “Do you… know who I am?”

“You’re Spitfire,” Lucky said with a certain tone of condescension.

Spitfire stared at him for several long seconds, eyes widening slightly at the stallion, confused and almost stupefied.

“Now, you made a mess in my home and you’re going to help clean it up. Your rent agreement does not contain a clause for a maid,” Lucky said, waving a hoof and turning about with a flick of a green tail, heading back downstairs.

Spitfire watched him go, stunned.

Lucky gagged faintly as he scrubbed at the floor with a thick, stiff-bristled brush. A bucket of water sat next to him, with a faint swirled rainbow colouration in it. It smelled faintly of sunflowers and daisies.

Spitfire paused awkwardly in the doorway, a hoof lifting to brush her mane back, her wings giving an anxious little flick and quiver. “Uhhh… do you… have another brush?”

“Over there,” Lucky said, motioning with his nose towards the top of a bookshelf. Another scrubbing brush was resting next to a Daring Doo novel. “You do a lot of reading?”

“Uh… yeah…” Spitfire said awkwardly, picking up the brush and wrinkling her nose deeply, almost gagging at the powerful stench of drying vomit. “I l-like to… to you know… read books and stuff. Between shows.”

“So a cosplayer and a connoisseur of the writing arts?” Lucky asked, even as he rose and stepped over to the open window, hanging his head out it and taking several deep breaths of fresh air.

Spitfire joined him a few moments later, panting heavily and looking like she was going to throw up again. “I already told you, I’m not a bloody cosplayer!”

Lucky raised an eyebrow, and then bopped her nose lightly with a hoof. “I don’t believe you and never will. And sweet Celestia what did you drink? It’s like you threw up, drank it, and then threw it back up again when it was good and fermented.”

“I’m going to kill Soarin,” Spitfire panted, taking deep breaths through her mouth. “He gave me alcohol. He insisted that he get me my drinks… always trying to make me ‘lighten up’,” she growled darkly.

“He probably thought you were the real Spitfire,” Lucky said blithely.

Spitfire gave him a long, bewildered stare.

“So… I’m guessing you come and go through this window so nobody sees you?” Lucky asked simply, tapping the windowsill with a hoof.

“Uh… yeah…” Spitfire responded awkwardly, looking away. “I kinda needed a place to hide away from… everypony.”

“How odd,” Lucky said, scratching his chin with a hoof. “I thought cosplayers lived for the fantasy of who they’re playing as. So you’d want to be constantly in the limelight, wouldn’t you?”

Spitfire gave him a long, blank stare.

“I took the liberties of taking your suit to the drycleaners this morning,” Lucky said with a jerk of his head towards the front door. “You owe me fifty bits, by the way.”

“Fifty bits?” Spitfire asked, “Couldn’t you just put it on my… Oh.”

“Account?” Lucky asked with a faint smirk. “You don’t have an account with me. You paid up-front for twelve months of room rent in a very untraceable banker’s cheque. Trust me, I asked around to see if I could find out who owned it.”

“But you never looked into the room yourself?” Spitfire asked blankly. “I would have known if you did. I had things propped against the door.”

“Yeah, I never looked into the room myself. Figured I didn’t wanna know,” Lucky said with a shrug of his shoulders. “But had I know it was inhabited infrequently over the last six months by a very cute cosplayer, I would have barged in much sooner, trust me.”

Spitfire cleared her throat, looking away. “I never did… uh… thank you.”

“No, you did not,” Lucky said simply.

“Well… thank you,” Spitfire said carefully. “Thank you for… you know… all of this. You’re not going to… tell anypony that I’m in this room, are you?”

“Yes, I’m sure I need to tell everyone I know that I have a cosplayer staying in my home,” Lucky said, rolling his eyes.

Spitfire looked away again, nodding awkwardly. “Yeah… just a cosplayer. Nothing to tell anypony. Well… if there’s anything I can do for you, don’t hesitate to ask?”

“Have dinner with me,” Lucky said instantly.

Spitfire baulked. “W-what?”

“Have dinner with me,” Lucky said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “I won a coupon for a free dinner at a very nice restaurant, but it’s for two ponies. Won’t accept single diners.”

“Now that, is a lie,” Spitfire said, turning to face him, eyes narrowing. “I know for fact that a restaurant wouldn’t turn down a single diner if it’s a coupon for a double. What’s the real reason?”

“Well, I don’t get out a whole lot,” Lucky admitted, head tilting slightly to the left as he gave an easy shrug and a wry smile. “I don’t want to sit at a table, alone. Especially not in a fancy, upscale restaurant. So I haven’t had any real reason to use the coupon. Plus… you’re cute. I’ve always been a fan of Spitfire. She has a really nice colouration, so looking like her doesn’t detract at all.”

Spitfire gave him another long, dubious stare. “You’re not really this stupid, are you?” she asked, exasperated.

“Smart enough to know a fake Spitfire when I see one,” Lucky said with a grin, watching her brightly. “So, you gonna tell me your real name, or will I have to think one up?”

“You’re going to have to think one up,” Spitfire said carefully.

“I think I’ll call you… C.J. Cosplay Junkie,” Lucky said with a firm nod. “So… dinner tomorrow night, be in your room, fancy clothes optional, at sundown, C.J.?”

Spitfire gave him a guarded stare. “Ponies will recognize me…”

“Good,” Lucky said with a bright smile. “They’ll think I’m with the real Spitfire. And that’s a score!”

Slowly shaking her head, Spitfire just continued to stare at him.

Lucky jerked his head back over his shoulder, giving a long-suffering sigh. “Well, time for us to get back to work. We’ve got a lot of scrubbing to do.”

“Going to murder Soarin…” Spitfire said darkly, turning away from the window.

Lucky raised a hoof. “Wait here a moment!”

Spitfire turned back to the window, sucking in a deep breath of the fresh outside air while Lucky bounded down the stairs.

Lucky came back a few minutes later, holding a pair of washcloths in his hoof. He offered on to Spitfire. “I drizzled some vanilla over them, put it over your nose to block the smell.”

Spitfire nodded, taking the cloth and putting it over her nose, inhaling and then giving a sigh of relief. “That’s better.” Her voice was muffled by the cloth.

“Time to scrub some more, C.J.,” Lucky said, motioning towards the floor, picking up the brush.

Spitfire nodded, peering sideways at Lucky, picking up her own brush. She smiled faintly behind her cloth.