~*~

It is the time of year you dread the most. No, it's not the winter time, when it gets so cold your testicles actually try to crawl back up inside you. And no, it's not that winter wrap up song time bullshit, where they move the snow only to reveal the horse-turd-land-mine covered ground beneath. No, it's the time of year when Twilight starts to shed.

It wouldn't be so bad if you didn't have allergies. But it kicks up so badly this time of year that you can barely move before hacking and sneezing much like your grandpa used to before they diagnosed him with emphysema. ...dear god, is that your future? Are you turning into your grandpa? If that's the case you'd better stay away from elementary schools. But all that is mostly besides the point.

The real point is that you have two choices. You suck it up, wear a breathing mask, and avoid Twilight until she finally drops all of her musty dead fur all over the castle and then compulsively cleans it like a psycho. Or...

You don't like the or. But this year, considering Fluttershy had temporarily banned you from hanging out at her cottage after the green peppercorn sauce incident, you don't have anywhere to go. You know what must be done.

You've enlisted Spike to help you out, but you don't know how useful he's actually going to be. Maybe if you yeet him at her as a distraction, it might work. But other than that, his best feature is probably his ability to breathe fire. Enough might kill her if things get out of hand. It's a real option, and you won't hesitate in taking it if needed.

You're armed, you're ready, you have everything you need. Upstairs is prepared. You just need to aim just right and work fast. It's your only hope. Slowly, you and Spike approach Twilight from behind like some creepy back-alley frat boys.

"Oh Twiiii-light!" you call, trying and failing to sound casual, "We'd like to talk to you about something."

"Oh what is it Anon," she says, turning around, "If it's about the shattered test tube and blood in the garbage disposal, I can expla-"

Her words die in the air as she looks at you, at Spike, then back at you with quickly widening eyes. Your whole body springs towards her just as a high-pitched horse scream leaves her mouth. Spike too springs forward, forgetting he has wings, and falls to the ground like the useless lump of flesh he is. Twilight's reaction is fast, but you're faster. Your enchanted butterfly net covers her, pinning her quickly to the ground. Even then, it's only a matter of time before she charges enough energy to get free.

"Anon!" she screams, "What's the meaning of this!"

You begin to haul the struggling net towards the stairs, grunting as you go.

"It's shed season, Twilight!" you announce, "It had to be done! Last year you clogged the air conditioning so badly that it actually started to blow hot air in all directions just out of spite!"

"But-"

"Hot air, Twilight!" you shout as the bag thuds off of each step, "It's objectively the worst kind of air!"

"But-"

"This is happening!" You cry as you drag her swiftly to the bathroom, where a hopefully hot tub of water awaits.

Unceremoniously, you lift the net, grab the pony inside, and deposit her into the bath with a slash and a squawk. You don't even care that you're getting wet, this will all be worth it soon. As Twilight shrieks and thrashes in the water like a toddler who has decided pants are the devil during morning dressing time, you reach to your pocket where a curry comb is stashed. Your other hand flies to your belt to fish out a sweat scraper, and you raise both towards her, ready to do business.

"I know you hate shed baths," you tell her, trying not to sound as manic as you feel, "But it'll only take a moment and then you'll be free from... from..."

You look down before you only to find no matted clumps of purple fur on her body. You see no rasta-like dreads and wads in her mane. There is no blanket of loose hair across the surface of the water, no puffs of whispy fur floating down around her struggling form. In face, Twilight is completely clean of any shed.

You blink, suddenly feeling very useless and very confused. The alicorn glowers at you from the bath tub, and if her eyes could shoot you'd be dead. You swallow hard as you sense impending doom.

"W-why you no hairy messy pony?" you stutter out like a moron.

"I know how much you hate shed," she says in a seething voice. "I went to the parlor this morning and had them groom it all off of me. You know. To be nice. And also so I wouldn't have to listen to your disgusting sneezing all day. Your mucous gets everywhere, you know."

"You mean... none of this was necessary."

"Yep."

"And I dunked you for no actual reason. Into probably cold by now water. After capturing you in your own kitchen."

"That would be correct."

"And you're probably going to do unspeakable things to me in revenge."

"Also correct."

There is a moment of perfect stillness and quiet as the tension grows. You're dead. You're just fucking dead. There's no way you're getting out of...

"Hey, Anon," you left me in the kitchen!" Spike says as he enters the bathroom.

Without thought or hesitation, you reach down and snatch Spike up into your hands. He barely struggled, possibly realizing that he is about to be part of a plan much greater than himself.

"YEET!" you cry as you lob the whimpering dragon hard at the soggy pony. You have just enough time to see Spike collide directly with her face, knocking her out cold. She tumbles back into the water, and you say a quiet prayer that she won't drown like a celebrity on too many oxy, before sprinting away to the safety of your closet.

What do you know! Your yeet the baby plan worked! One might even call this...

A clean getaway.

-End-

Author's Note

Yes, horses shed. And it's fucking awful.

Also, hi.