Chapter 2: A Night and Wine

An hour passes, and you find yourself in the middle of the bustling shopping district of Ponyville. You figured you may as well properly stock your house since you admittedly don’t get out as much as you should these days. You bring a small wooden wagon from home which you have loaded with some fruit, bread, and just because it’s been an interesting day, a copious amount of hard cider (it was the season after all) and a bottle of wine. Having made your rounds and made small talk with some of the inhabitants around Ponyville, the last visit was the local art shop, run by a brunette unicorn by the name of Palette Print. She’s a lifesaver as you hadn’t really done much in the way of art aside from simple writing since you’d arrived here five years ago.

After taking some advice from her you bought three different brushes of varying width, a variety of small containers of acrylic paints (Palette insisted that as a novice you’d want to avoid oil since they dry so quickly) of many colors. You also bought a small container of paint thinner. As you make your purchases it dawns on you why Ponyville was so colorful and why so many of its inhabitants took up the arts, as the supplies wound up being very cheap. Only a few bits total.

Once you had your wagon suitably full of supplies you decide to head on back. You briefly consider telling Dash or Pinkie about your new friends but decide it may be better to keep them your little secret for just a little while, at least until you understand more about them. Heck, you don’t even know the Lady of the Manor’s real name yet. Thus your trek uphill to your home, wagon in tow, begins.

You make your way inside, grateful your kitchen is immediately on the left so you don’t have to worry about your new guests the second you get home. After a few trips you load all your groceries into your cabinet. You leave the cider and wine on the counter for later in the evening. You set your art tools on the cabinet as well and head down the hallway.

“Yo.” you say, turning first towards Rosy, but she doesn’t respond. She was laying on her back, snoring. She had her leg hoisted up comically, twitching occasionally. Her fur looks very mottled in numerous areas from her ‘bath’ earlier, but true to her boast, almost all of your seed was gone. You can see two faint trails of white from the corner of her lips that you doubt you can attribute to drool. Her inscription reads.

‘Zzzzzz’

‘Zzzzzz’

“Yeesh, I really did a number on you…” You sigh, only to hear a tap behind you. Oh right, the other Lady. She’s looking at you, irritation clear on her face. She points her hoof to the inscription beneath her.

‘... All she did was talk’

‘About what you did with her.’

The inscription shifts.

‘Nothing but regaling the tale of your lewd escapades.’

‘For a whole hour. While… drinking.’

It’d be a bit less unsettling were she to be yelling, but that sort of seething stare said more than enough. No wonder Rozy looked so satisfied.

“Well couldn’t you just… ignore her? I mean, the inscriptions and all.” She huffs.

‘In the painting I don’t have the luxury’

‘Of hearing the silence on your end.’ The text resets.

‘Every single sound that crude, scandalous...’

‘Mare makes, I hear! And it echoes!’

You get the assumption she was biting her tongue with ‘mare’ there. That’s a helpful bit of Portrait Pony science though: They can hear each other without inscriptions. That means that this Lady here was the only pony to probably even know what Rosy’s voice actually sounds like. And vice-versa, of course. You groan, you had to take some degree of (ir)responsibility in this case. You guess. She did seem genuinely irate at you and while she was snooty, you hadn’t been the best roomie so far.

“Alright, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to start a fight. If it’ll help, would you rather be set somewhere else from now on?” You keep your tone genuine, and you notice a little bit of the tension leave the mare’s eyes.

‘That… won’t be necessary.’

‘She’s unrefined but I can’t just leave her.’

She pauses, you open your mouth to talk but she quickly responds over her own inscription.

‘However I would’

‘Love to get away from her for just a while.’

“... Okay, I can arrange that, would my bedroom do?”

‘Excuse me!?’

‘The same room that you and, a-and her just-’

“Woah, okay, okay. Bad suggestion, would the kitchen do better?”

She stammers a bit, looking more embarrassed over the outburst than anything else and nodded curtly.

‘Yes… Um, Sir.’

‘The kitchen will do.’

“Please don’t call me sir.” you say as you unhinge the painting from the wall, taking care not to shake her up too badly this time. It dawns on you that setting her back up again later will require another ordeal of millimeter-perfection. Too late to worry now, keeping her upright you began your short walk down the hall to the kitchen/dining area and your front door. You head to where your counter met the corner of the wall and leaned the portrait against it so it wouldn’t fall. You don’t know exactly what would happen were the portrait to fall and shatter, but you probably didn’t want to find out.

“Well here we are, it’s not much but…” you already can feel her criticism of your kitchen coming.

‘Quaint but it has a rustic charm.’

‘You desperately need to dust more often though.’

She wore a small smile as she addressed you, glancing from the table to the shelves, and then out the window to the final bits of sunlight making their way in. It would be night soon enough. The mare took a seat in her painting, gracefully crossing her forehooves as she did so. With her general high-strung disposition displayed earlier, you didn’t really notice that she was very charming. Her darker eyes had that same captivating ability that Rosy had, in addition to the fine, soft colors of her coat and the amount of work put into her hair; she was actually very pretty. You doubt she’d want to hear that from you though. You consider small talk to make only for her to interrupt you as her eye continued purusing all that was laid on the counter.

‘Are those paints I spy?’

‘So you took her advice.’

She rolls her eyes.

‘That’s fine though,’

‘Are you an artist, um…’

“Just.. call me Anon, and not really. I’m interested in learning though.”

Her eyes widen a bit.

‘Oh.. a novice. Well,’

‘Just make sure to practice anything on Rosy first please.’

Wait what?

“I’m sorry, what are you talking about? I already have paper…”

‘Hm? Didn’t she tell you? You can simply’

‘Draw in our canvases.’

Something about that sounded very… wrong. You mull that over in your head as she continues speaking.

‘The Princess often drew for us,’

‘She designed an elaborate and lovely room for me.’ The inscription rewrites itself.

‘A fine queen-sized bed, a shelf of literature...’

‘And wine every night.’

She had a blissful smile to her face, looking up the ceiling, you notice her posture hunch ever so slightly, recalling the good days. If Celestia had gone to such lengths to take such good care of these two, why did she want you to take over? Wait a second.

“So I’m assuming she also drew for Rosy as well?”

‘Rosy? Is that the name she’s using now?’

‘Well yes, Celestia’s only fault is her willingness to endure Rosy’s … suggestions.’

She shudders. Her eyes droop a bit.

‘Honestly, a Princess shouldn’t even allow such thoughts to enter her mind,’

‘Much less indulge some vulgar filly in her lewd fantasies every night.’

There is a lot you apparently don’t know about the Princess. You are extremely curious as to just what the Princess drew for the mare, but that line of questioning would probably bring you back to square one with…

“Well, I’m sure she just wanted to be accommodating, Miss- uh?” She brings a hoof to her mouth.

‘Oh my! Here I was chastising’

‘And I’ve yet to even introduce myself.’ She adjusts her hair, as though trying to create a perfect late first impression.

‘I am Azalea.’

‘I do appreciate you taking me in, Sir Anon.’

You chuckle, talking as you walk to the counter and take a bottle of your cider. The sun was just about down which you felt justified in a drink. You pop the cap off against the counter.

“It’s no problem, but you really have to stop calling me ‘sir’, it’s really unusual.”

‘Asking a lady to forego her manners.’

‘Shameful, and what is that you are drinking?’

You set your bottle down. Admittedly Apple Family cider was best from a mug but it still had that delectable dry taste you’ve gotten so used to.

“It’s cider. Farm nearby sells it around this season.”

‘Oh… Well at least it isn’t a common beer.’

‘I miss-Oh, what’s that over there?’

Her eyes widen a bit as her eyes settle past the five bottles of cider to the tall green bottle behind them, marked only by an engraving in the glass of a bushel of grapes. You didn’t even really pay attention much when you purchased it. Contrary to your home world and most of Equestria, in Ponyville wine didn’t fetch the prices it would in the more aristocratic Canterlot or even Cloudsdale. This meant not many merchants sold it (little profit to be made and a very small audience) so you snatched it up on a whim for a special night. Judging by the life it gave to the mare’s eyes, that night may be sooner than you anticipated.

“Oh, just some wine, the local shop had a bit in and I had some spare bits.”

Her eyes reluctantly turn away, and she smiles weakly.

‘Oh, well that’s good.’

‘Um… What year is it? Just out of curiosity.’

“Um”, you hum picking up the bottle looking for any sort of engraving of the year. No dice, the standards of alcohol in Equestria had always been a great irritation for you. Ponies generally had a very low alcohol tolerance by nature so they never marked anything on their drinks unless it was of the utmost expensive variety. You figure Azalea only knows to ask the year from her time spent with Celestia.

“Sorry Azalea, it’s completely unmarked.”

You set your cider aside, it’s not much but maybe a glass of wine between the two of you would be a good way to settle relations a bit. She seemed to be in higher spirits out of the hallway. You dig through your shelves and find what you are looking for, your old corkscrew. Azalea was watching you intently as you whittle into the cork and pop it off. You take a quick whiff of it, it emanates a fruity scent that almost overwhelmed the scent of the alcohol. Azalea nervously taps on her portrait to take your attention.

‘Um… Would it be acceptable’

‘For me to have a whiff, Sir Anon?’

“Don’t call me sir… And how would that even work?”

‘Oh, I keep forgetting you’re new to this,’

‘Just bring the bottle towards my eye level and blow gently.’ The inscription rewrites itself.

‘The scent will enter my portrait’

‘And I’d be able to smell it.’

… Huh, so liquids are able to enter the paintings as well as scents? Was it the air that held the scent that could pass through the glass or something chemical in nature? You feel for Twilight not being the recipient of these two, she’d have a field day of researching them. You however, can save that sort of curiosity for later. Following her explanation you step to her painting and tip the bottle towards her. She trots closer to the painting, the bottom of the frame situated where her chest began. Her eyes are at the bottle leaning against the canvas. You lean forward, your mouth near where the bottle opened. You glance up quickly, Azalea did too, the two of you had the glass and an inch of bottle separating your faces. Her cheeks glow pink but she doesn’t say anything. You tense your lips and blow gently.

You can tell it works, as the mare smiles contently and closes her eyes, savoring the scent. She wasn’t lying on how much she missed the stuff. You were planning on teasing her a bit before offering but considering the state of the situation you decide to give into your nicer side.

“... If you’d like I could pour you some through the painting.” Her eyes shoot open and she waves her hooves frantically as you tip the bottle slightly.

‘Nononono! Bad idea!’

‘Volume differences!’ The script rapidly shifts as she continues.

‘I do enjoy wine but,’

‘I’d rather not… drown in it.’

Your head goes back to Rosy… While it was a rougher orgasm than you were used to, it was still nowhere near the amount of a cup of wine… If your cum was enough to fill a bathtub in the portrait world, you could only imagine the destruction a full cup of liquid would do to the mares.

“Right, um, well damn, I feel guilty for teasing you now… I was hoping to share a glass with you.”

Her eyes soften at this, and she smiled appreciatively. You notice her hoof raise to adjust her necklace quickly.

‘Oh, well that’s very sweet of you,’

‘But you can still do that.’

“I don’t follow.”

She sighs, indicating towards the paint set nearby.

‘Grab the most fine brush you have,’

‘And just a bit of black paint’

You feel nervous, it was clear she was going to propose you draw something on her. Knowing now that this supposedly would actually impact her world sends a million images of how a single stroke gone wrong could potentially do… bad things. Sure Celestia may have felt at ease with this, but…

‘Oh go on, don’t be hesitant,’

‘You’ll need to practice at some point anyways.’

“I know, I know.” you sigh, taking the most thin brush you had and the small container of black paint. You know the bare basics of acrylics so you also take a small wooden container and add just a bit of water. You set all these materials in front of Azalea’s portrait and bring up a stool to sit in front of her. Next to the paint you had the bottle of wine.

‘Okay, first I need you to painting something simple’

‘A marker, if you could. Think of a marker as you draw it.’

“A marker? I thought you wanted wine?”

‘Just trust me, please, I know what will be of most benefit’

‘In my own dimension, thank you kindly.’

“Okay Miss Sassy.” you grumble, dipping the brush just slightly into the black paint, which collects in a small goop at the bristles. You hesitantly bring the tip near the portrait. The hell, it’ll just smear of the glass, was it all some prank? Still, you keep the vague image of a marker in your head and carefully draw the small tube with a tiny spot at the end where the ink would dispense.

At first what you drew stuck to the glass as you figured, but before you could call her out the ink began to shimmer, and as Azalea raiser her hoof, a small black cylinder appeared in her grasp. It held the same form and structure of a marker! At least, it did until it began to dribble down the mare’s hand, losing its solidity and flopping at both ends. You can only watch in shock, the mare drops it before giggling. She stops, throwing a hoof over her mouth and coughing.

‘Ahem, that was because you were distracted.’

‘You need to focus entirely on the marker. Every detail.’

Alright. You clear your head and focus on the simple form of a black marker. Rounded at the end with a slip where the ink would release. You bring the brush to the glass and focus. As your thoughts intensify you begin to feel as though your hand ceased being under your control, creating the image in your head of its own accord. Every fine detail was creating itself on the glass, far better than you knew how to draw! Then your hand returns to you, and the image fades and Azalea was holding a pristine plastic marker. She smiled at you and sidles close to the portrait again. She sets her horn a glow, just enough to levitate the marker and began to write on the glass.

‘Well done, Sir Anon. This will be significantly easier to work with than inscriptions. This was the same method I used to commune with The Princess. Luckily for you I paid attention to the lessons and experiments Celestia took with my portrait while Rosy tended to … her own volitions. As long as you keep your focus intense and the image of what you want to create in mind, you will be able to draw it on this portrait.’

The top half of the painting was coated by her handwriting, her penmanship very exquisite. Doubly so since she was having to write backwards, you can only assume she spent a long time ‘conversing’ with Celestia indeed. Azalea takes her hoof, and gingerly licks the tip before wiping the glass clean. You worry of it dirtying her coat but the ink disappears quickly after staining her. She continues writing.

‘Now, I want you to take a sip of your wine, and remember the exact taste as well as the look and feeling of the bottle. Then use the same method to draw it.’

“Already? That’s a lot to try and take in at once, but I can give it a shot.” You find a small cup and pour a small amount of the wine into it. It had a fine red color to it as it came to a stillness in the glass. You take a deep breath, bringing the cup to your lips. You breathe its scent in through your nose, trying your best to remember every detail; from the fruity sweetness of grape to that slightly medicinal scent of alcohol. Then you tip the glass, tasting the wine. You were never a wine connoisseur and you severely doubt you are doing this properly but… The taste was sweet, sweeter than what you usually drink but still had an adequate kick to it. The aftertaste was a bit more bitter as you swallow. You hold onto this information, setting the cup down and immediately grabbing your paintbrush. You can feel the potential of it in your head, every detail of the drink. Your hand goes to work, perfectly recreating the outlines of the bottle. As it does so you take your other hand to reach behind you, grabbing the red and green paints. You don’t even notice as your hand shifts on its own to dampen the brush, wash the black away, and immediately jump to the red and greens to ‘fill’ the wine bottle with color. In less than a minute the image is complete and the bottle of wine falls from the ‘sky’ above Azalea. She snatched it from the air with her telepathy, beaming at you from her portrait. She takes the bottle in her hoof to grab her marker.

‘Ha, I underestimated you, you seem to be a natural. But there is still the taste test of course.’

She brings the bottle to her lips, you consider drawing her a proper glass but she seemed too impatient to wait on it. She takes a deep whiff of it, her whole body seeming to ease significantly from it. She tips the bottle slightly, slightly, then sets it down. Her lips smack slightly as she mulled the taste in her mouth before swallowing. She nodded to herself before writing.

‘It doesn’t hold to Canterlot’s spirits, but for locally bought it’s lovely. Thank you Sir Anon.’

She brings it to her lips again, drinking more this time. You notice she wasn’t taking the time to mull it over this time. Was it bitter or poorly done and she was just trying to save your feelings? No, that doesn’t seem to be the case, you think to yourself as she tips the bottle up. Her throat begins to pulse as she drinks the whole bottle with a speed that a mare shouldn’t be capable of. She brings it down and takes a long, drawn breath. Her inscription took over for her.

‘Oh heavens...’

‘I missed that.’

You laugh, it looked like everyone did have their vices. You pour another splash for yourself and drain it. You were never much a wine person but her company made it seem pleasant enough. She watches as you do so, her ear twitching slightly. You lower the cup from your lips.

“What’s up?”

‘Could I… have another bottle? Please?’

While her dignity wouldn’t let her beg too violently, there was no doubt some puppydog to her eyes. You keep laughing as you grab the brush and go back to the zone. It’s easier than the first time, in record time another bottle appeared. This time you drew it lower, sparing her the need to catch it. She smirks at you, giving a nod of appreciation before downing this one as well.

What the hell, if the Lady of the Manor is allowed to do it… You pour your cup with significantly more wine than earlier and down it. As the second bottle is finished off by Azalea you notice her cheeks begin to tint rosy. You don’t even bother waiting for her to ask before drawing another and pouring a cup for yourself.

“At this rate we should probably toast to something.”

‘Hmm… How about’

‘To a lovely new life together?’

She stops immediately, and as if trying to erase that statement quickly follows it up.

‘With Rosy! The three of us.’

‘To a … good future.’

Goddamn she’s finicky. Not that you wouldn’t have immediately started your round of assumptions if she wasn’t that way. You laugh at her and raise your cup.

“To a happy mostly platonic future.” You drain the cup and she does the same, mostly to hide her face at this point. She doesn’t chug it like the prior two bottles, having had her fix she was more intent to savor it slowly. Well, before you both get too wasted you figure you may as well ask her some questions.

“So how long did you stay with Celestia anyways? I’ve never really heard of the Princess taking long visits.”

Azalea’s horn sputters a bit as she lifted up the marker. You aren’t quite sure how alcohol content transfers between the real world and the portrait but on her third bottle she was showing some subtle differences. Her posture was slouched slightly and she wore a grin on her face as she writes. Most ponies have an alcohol tolerance so low that a few beers would be enough to topple most of them, being so tiny. Apparently portrait ponies are an exception but definitely not completely immune to its effects. Her hoofwriting is still legible and to be honest, better than a lot of ponies still, but still notably less fine.

‘The Princess, bless her, she kept hold of us for a few years. At least five. Maybe six. Most of the time was spent at the Royal Hall right outside her room. She would visit each of us in the morning and at night. She… understood our tastes. It was she who discovered the ability to create art within our portraits. She must be a natural genius, as it took her no time at all to figure out how my world works.’

“Well, you don’t get to be the Magical Pony God Princess without a good head on your shoulders. I guess she knew one of you’d tell me about the specifics anyways.” Azalea cocked her head sideways, confused, “Oh! She sent me a letter, nothing too specific, just said to grab a paint set. Rosy had the same idea so…”

‘Ah, just like the Princess, though I’m surprised she put so much trust in you.’

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

‘Oh don’t get so huffy, just that you don’t seem the sort to … resist temptation. You have a lot of power with those paints.’ she pauses, her cheeks reddening a bit more than the alcohol alone was spawning, ‘I think it for the best that I was the one to teach you. I try to keep it from my mind but were it Rosy to tutor you… I can still recall the indulgences she had Celestia create for her by evening… And what she’d talk the Royal Guards into doing when they patrolled our wing of the hallway.’

“Ooh, that sounds like a story.” She wipes the marker off her portrait, taking another long drink, her eyes starting to droop as she finishes the third bottle.

‘Why would you want to know? Do you intend to try and-’

“You brought it up.” you cut her off, drawing in a fourth bottle. She drops her marker and barely makes the telepathic catch. The bottle shakes, some of the crimson liquid squirting from the tip, soaking into the coat of her chest. She doesn’t seem to notice, she takes another drink, sitting on her haunches now, as she takes the pen. As she writes you’ve been drinking yourself, the wine was nearly empty and not wanting to waste what little was left, you’d gone back to your cider.

‘Well… I guess stories are harmless. But there were two different guards assigned to patrol our hall, one by day and by night. Silver Sword and Gleaming Gauntlet if I recall correctly. … I shouldn’t have shared their names. Ignore that,’ she smudges out where she had written the names of the two, ‘Anyways, they were both perfect gentlecolts to me, Gleaming was an avid reader so we got along very well. Silver was less social but diligent. Prim and perfect examples of what a Royal Guard should be until… she had her influence on them.’

She hesitates a bit, tugging at her necklace a bit before taking another large gulp and wiping away her writing.

‘It started with the two of them spending more time around her portrait. I was positioned on the other side of the door but I could never quite see what she was saying or doing. But soon the signs began, they’d nudge her painting as they passed it, started blowing kisses. Then one day, the same time Celestia was overseeing some royal events in the Crystal Kingdom, Silver started his morning patrol and went straight to Rosy’s portrait and kissed it, right on the glass. I was...’

She shifts uncomfortably in her portrait, taking another drink. You drink in turn, starting to feel your own head get a bit lighter. She’s writing slowly, clearly putting all her vanity forward in an effort to keep her words legible and grammar accurate in her state.

‘I was appalled. But then he pulled her portrait off the wall, and laid it on the floor. I couldn’t see Rosy but from the corner of my portrait I could certainly see Silver… He… began acting inappropriately.’ She pauses.

“Whad-what do you mean?” you ask, Azalea doesn’t meet your eyes as she continues writing. You lean forward, invested.

‘He… began to touch himself. Right in the middle of the hall! And he didn’t stop, he went all the way to… completion.’

She sighs, taking another drink, you notice her start to tense up. You worry for a bit that she’d cut off the conversation at this point but after a moment of internal struggle she started writing, quicker this time than before.

‘To act so vulgar after so many years of dedicated service. I don’t know what she said or did to make him act in such a way. But I… I couldn’t look away. I don’t know what came over me, I’d never so much as looked at a stallion in such a manner, I honestly didn’t. But he kept going for her, and then… all over the painting and inside of it… Then he’d wait and do it again, and again…’ Her face was beet red as she regaled the tale, she kept a hoof to her cheek, trying to hide her expression. Her breathing was heavier, you can see the pale white of her chest puffing out with each inhale.

‘And then, after such a long time, he had his fill and lifted her painting up to place her back on the wall and I saw her… So filthy, so absolutely...’ Her teeth press against her lip as she pauses again, rubbing her hoof through her mane.

‘I never told Celestia, it’s not proper to be a snitch, but it only progressed further. That evening Gleaming arrived for his evening shift, only… He didn’t come alone. There were two more stallions with him, all Royal Guard as well. I’d never seen these men, but they also took to her portrait and set it in the middle of the hall only… in front of the door of Celestia’s chamber, right where my painting was. They didn’t seem to notice me but the first thing she did was look at me and wink. She was still a ragged mess from the daytime, but then she started to present herself for the group...’

She shifts uncomfortably in her portrait, crossing her forelegs tighter in, saddling herself against her thighs. She catches your eye and she immediately backs up again. She starts writing quickly, using the marker on the portrait to try and mask her expression as she continues.

‘Then all of the stallions began to ready themselves, and they all leaned over her portrait. Rosy had her rump against the glass, and she was using her hooves to’ by this point the marker had covered most of her body, you can just vaguely make out Azalea’s body past the writing, a flash of green as the wine bottle is chugged, and a notable twitch in her hindleg. She was moving, and her writing grew shakier and more difficult to discern than ever before.

‘her hooves to… open herself to them. Then all of them started to play with themselves, moving fast and rough… I could smell the musk from the hallway, and there was no way to get away from it. But I didn’t even try… I kept watching as they grunted and groaned, pulling and tugging and-’

By now her whole body was completely covered, as was most of the portrait, in shaky writing. You were drunk but not to the extent she was, you at least had the mind to look away from the writing on her glass to her inscription below.

‘Ngh… Mm...’

‘Ah… Aah…. Mm...’

“Hey Azalea. Your inscription is showing.” You laugh dryly, admittedly her own reaction was prompting an uncomfortable heat to rise in you as well. You try and wash it down. She jumps in shock.

‘OH HEAVENS! Um...’

‘I-I… I don’t.’

You put your hand to your lips, trying to hide your laughter.

“So after all that chiding earlier, you’re a voyeur?”

‘N-no… It’s not like that’!’

‘It’s… not like that...’

There was a gap, and her inscription fades on its own. You continue laughing but the feeling grows uncomfortable when nothing else shows on her inscription. Her marked regaling of Rosy’s sexcapades from before rendering her form impossible to read.

“Um… Azalea?” ...No response, “I was just teasing, it’s ok, I don’t think any-”

‘No! It’s not okay!’

‘It’s all because I’m not perfect!’

The black markings is replaced by a massive splash of red liquid against the glass, small shattered bits of green are visible where she threw the bottle at the pane. The ink washes away and she has her back to you. Her hooves were over her face.

‘I don’t feel right if I don’t drink!’

‘And when I drink I can’t hide anything!’

A hoof smashes against the transparent ground and she tucks herself into a ball of self-spite. Her ears droop.

‘... I’m no different...’

‘...Than Rosy...’

Her head falls, she’s either too drunk or too tired from her outburst to even bother moving her tail to cover herself as she lays on her stomach, her muzzle pressed against the ‘floor’ in misery.

“I’m sorry, I had no idea you-”

‘No, I’m the one at fault...’

‘I… need to rest.’ The inscription changes.

‘Please leave me here.’

‘I don’t want to face her tonight.’

Her glass was still tainted red from the wine, and while you feel she must be overreacting, you can’t think of the right words to say. You set your drink down.

“... Alright.”

You stand up from the stool, and she doesn’t move. The wine drips down the glass and leaves only a few spots left as she lay there sulking. She might have passed out. You don’t want to press her about it… But…

The paintbrush dipped into the black ink as you brought the image to find, your hand was able to follow its directions automatically. It helped the object was simple, and you had a clear target for location. A bit of brown paint and the cotton blanket appeared from above the downtrodden mare, before collapsing over her. She pauses before pulling the cloth tightly around her. Her inscription reads, ever so tiny.

‘...’

‘Thank you.’

Author's Note

Alrighty, first off thank everyone who has taken to this story. Between 70 favorite and a significantly better like to dislike ratio than I expected with this sort of story I just wanted to thank all you crazy cats for giving it a shot. Now about this chapter, I am well aware that the melodrama is a bit too sudden and thick here, and that as characters Rosy and Azalea are frankly, stereotypes. This is entirely intentional and as the story progresses I think I have a pretty good route lay ahead. Hope you guys enjoy and I'll try and get a chapter out every week if I'm able.