Zecora's Got Some Pretty Sick Medicine
Author's Note
Well, I'm sick, so obviously its time to write. You know that thing I haven't written about in a while? Well, it's in this story. Finally, right? Hahahaha oh god I'm sorry. I did warn you though. Well, at least the rhyming is fun, right? Sorta? Maybe.
Fuck it, enjoy it or don't.
I'm going to go drink some Mylanta.
Ugh.
-Pencil
Zecora's Got Some Pretty Sick Medicine
Sometimes you just really wish you’d gone to see a doctor when your mother had said to. If you’d done that back on earth, maybe they would have given to some medications. Maybe they would have spotted problems in your current lifestyle and told you to change. Maybe they even would have put one of those cool snake cameras down your throat and seen the problem directly.
But nah, you said. You were fine, you said. No problem, no doctor needed, only pussies go see doctors about a little stomach ache, you said. And now, here you are, in a land with no human doctors at all, lying on your side, with a serious case of giant hole in your stomach. You’ve never seen a ulcer. But for fuck’s sake, you know it when you feel it.
Fan. Fucking. Tastic.
You lay on your side in Applejack’s barn, waiting for the sweet release of death, or at least the chance to burp and relieve some of this pressure. Really, this is entirely your fault. You overstress about fitting in with these tiny candy-colored ponies, and your eating habits are atrocious. But come on, who can say no to a triple spicy rainbow burrito, courtesy of Rainbow Dash? It fries off your tastebuds in 7 different colors!
The constant drinking doesn’t help either, but when again, you are staying with a family that makes some bomb-ass cider, so maybe it’s worth it. A sudden roll of nausea winged with acrid pain makes you curl even tighter into a fetal position.
Nope. Nope. Not worth it.
You let out a quiet groan, unable to quiet yourself in time to keep Applejack from hearing. She stands in the doorway of the barn, looking deeply concerned.
“You doing alright, sugarcube?” she says gently.
You go to say yes, but a sudden lurch of pain makes it come out as a moan of pain. Besides, you're pretty sure it'd obvious that you're not alright, what kind of question is that?
“Yeah, that’s kinda what I thought,” she says with a sigh. “Granny Smith made this weird milk stuff for ya if you wanna try. She says it’s good for indigestion and whatnot.”
You take the glass from her and sit up just enough to have a sip of it. It tastes sharp, and a little fruity, but mostly it’s gritty and bland. You eye the glass, then Applejack.
“It…tastes weird. And I’m not sure it’s helping,” you say. “What is it?”
Applejack smiles proudly at you.
“Why it’s a heapin’ glass of flour, chalk dust, mixed with goat’s milk and lemon juice.”
You stare at her.
“…That’s disgusting.”
Her smile never wavers.
“Well, is it helpin’ yet?”
And as if on cue, that lemon hits the exposed hole in your gut. You make a noise like a cow giving birth to the statue of liberty, and roll promptly back on your side. Applejack frowns down at you, and through tear-filled eyes you gave pleadingly back.
“For the love of god,” you groan. “Please tell me Twilight is around and has some sort of spell.”
Applejack shakes her head.
“Nope, she’s off in Canterlot doin’ something princess or what have you. She…doesn’t seem to be much of a princess of anything, but what do I know, I’m just a simple farm pony and-“
“What about your hospitals?” you try again before she can begin another long-winded rambling.
Unfortunately, she again shakes her head.
“Last time you went that doc wanted to cut you open, because he has no idea what makes you tick inside. That’s when we found out that magic anesthesia doesn’t work too good on humans. Remember?”
How could you forget? You can still recall coming to on the table, looking down at the open mouth of your chest cavity, and having just enough time to hear the doctor mutter “Now if we just break the ribs here and here…” before you began to scream. Yeah, no more hospitals. Even if that pink-haired nurse was kind of a cutie.
“Is there…anything. ANYTHING else you can do?” you whimper.
She thinks for a moment.
“Well I could sing you a song about friendship and see if-“
“Is there anyone else you know who could help me,” you try to say more clearly.
No more singing. Please. You’ve already learned about friendship you stupid apple horse. It’s magic. Ok. You get it. It’s time to stop. Applejack considers for a moment longer, then kind of winces, like she’s had an uncomfortable thought. You fixate not he reaction instantly. What does this mean? Has she thought of someone to help you? Why isn’t she saying anything?
“Applejack,” you wheeze. “If there’s anyone at all and you don’t tell me I’ll…I’ll…never eat apples again.”
She gasps and looks at you as if you are eating the intestines of her first born in front of her.
“Fine, fine,” she says, glaring at you a little. “Just don’t go sayin’ things like that no more, ya hear?”
You nod your consent. She glances around nervously as if someone might be listening in before she continues.
“See, there’s this lady in the woods, a zebra, and she does some sorta weird voodoo nonsense with spells and potions. Like what Twilight does, but without making any sense. And she rhymes whenever she talks and such, and Applebloom’s over there a terrible lot. I think she might be tryin’ to convert her away from the great and holy church of the sun goddess, and it makes me plumb nervous to think about that striped, non-pony thing going on about whatever pagan nonsense god she looks up to.”
Applejack’s apparent racism aside, this sounds promising. You perk up considerably at her words.
“Take me to her,” you demand.
She still looks hesitant.
“Look sugarcube, I don’t think-“
“Take. Me. To. Her.”
“But she might put some sorta hex on ya or lead you astray from the path of righteousness.”
“TAKE. ME. TO. HER.”
Applejack at last sighs and droops her head a little.
“Well alright, if you can’t be talked out of it. It’s in the forest aways, do you think you can manage?”
You try to get up, fail miserably, and collapse back down onto your cot.
“I do not,” you say weakly.
She sighs again.
“I’ll make some sorta sled,” she mutters. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”
——
You bump along down the overgrown forest path, Applejack pulling you as you go. Normally you’d feel like such a boss right now, just lying back while a pony drags you everywhere, but the pulsing pain in your midsection prevents you from doing that. You glance up over her more that ample flanks (hm, something to put in the mental banks for later use) and spot a strange looking tree looming ahead. It has strange shaped windows, a tribal looking decor from the outside, and the quiet sound of what could be maracas and african drums plays distantly and impossibly as you approach.
Applejack slows, then stops in from of the door. She unshoulders the sled and gives a nod of her head towards the tree.
“Well, there ya are. Want me come inside with ya?”
You start to say no, but then remember that you don’t know this new zebra, and if she’s anything like the rest of the ponies, she probably operates on kind words and encouragement. You have neither of those to offer, and even if Applejack seems to dislike her, she probably would be a better bet for communicating.
“Please,” you mutter as you strain yourself to get up.
You teeter for a moment, then find some balance, and limp like a zombie with acid reflux over to the door. You knock and wait as you hear the sound of gentle footfalls approaching the door. The large wooden door creaks softly open, and before you stands one of the oddest looking pony-folk you’ve ever seen.
She’s striped from head to hoof, obviously a zebra, but she’s decked out like one of those african chicks that stretches their neck for some warped standard of beauty. She’s got a mohawk, giant hoop earrings, gold rings around her neck, and her cutie mark looks like the kind of tribal tattoo that brodudes get on their nipples. You’d laugh at how ridiculous she looks, if you weren’t sure it would cause you unbridled pain. She looks over you in confusion, the spots Applejack and breaks into a warm smile.
“Ah Applejack, good to see you. And what do I owe this pleasure to?”
Oh god, she does rhyme. You can’t suppress a snicker, but it instantly crumples your side. Fuck being happy hurts, but what else it new.
“Er, hi Zecora,” Applejack says uneasily.
The Zebra looks at you as you fidget in discomfort.
“It seems you’ve brought a friend in toe. Tell me, why does he writhe about like so?”
“Oh, uh,” Applejack mumbles. Man does this Zebra make her uneasy. “This is Anon. He’s got a little health problem, somethin’ with his stomach, but the doctors here dunno what to do. They’ve got no clue how to even treat his species.”
Zecora nods appreciatively.
“Hm, the effects of this I can plainly see,” she steps aside for you to enter. “Perhaps you should come inside my tree.”
You enter, and Applejack follows behind you.
“Hey, by the by, thanks for bein’ such good friend to my little sister,” Applejack says. “She talks about ya all the time.”
“Oh, little Applebloom is just so kind, and in possession of a truly open mind.”
“Yeah, you just stay away from that open mind,” Applejack mutters as she follow in behind you.
The room is full of African looking masks, strange bottles of powders and plants, and other interesting pieces of art. It’s actually kind of cool, and you’d appreciate it more if you weren’t trying to find a corner to curl up in and die. You decide any old floor will have to do, and instantly collapse onto the hardwood with a muffled groan. Zecora and Applejack both look down at you, the orange pony shaking her head.
“Yeah, he’s been like that for a while. Says he’s got a hole in part of his stomach. Weird huh?”
Right. Because everything is so happy and healthy here, no one gets ulcers. Hooray for all of them. Zecora rubs her chin with one hoof and makes a low humming noise. Then, she leans down to your level and tires to give you a comforting smile.
“Not to worry friend of Applejack, we’ll soon have your tummy back on track. So please go lie on that bed of straw, and then could you open your mouth and say “Ahh?’”
You do as the obvious witchdoctor commands. you can’t help feeling deeply awkward as she gazes into your mouth, her nose almost inside it. After what feels like an eternity, she withdraws and you shut your mouth.
“So…uh…how do things…look?” you say.
She thinks a moment, then gives a satisfied nod.
“It’s just as you say, your illness is plain. A hole in your stomach is indeed causing this pain. The smell of your breath says your body is sick,” she says. “But I think I know what will do just the trick.”
Zecora goes to a shelf and pulls down some bottles. Then she takes them to the center of the room, where a large black cauldron waits patiently. With a deft and practiced hoof, she dumps all of them, one at a time, in turn into he cauldron. Puffs of orange, green, blue, and even one shaped like a butterfly rise out of the huge pot with each motion. A faint scent of lavender beings to fill the room. Somehow all of this is soothing. Well, for you. Applejack is just watching her with what might be disgust. So much for love and tolerance, you guess.
“I can help you, and fix everything neatly,” she says. “But you must promise that you will trust me completely.”
You readily agree. If she can help you, you’ll be ready to trust anything she says. Some small part of your brain warns you that absolute trust is probably a bad plan, but the ache in your midsection overpowers it.
At last, she dips a long handled wooden ladle into the mixture, then pours a grayish-purple looking substance into a goblet on the floor. The liquid shimmers and sparkles a little, like it might be made with edible glitter. She approaches you with it and holds out the bottle with a friendly smile.
“Fixing your stomach will take some prep, and drinking this potion is your first step,” she says. “Just drink it all down and worry not, just be careful, that first sip might be hot.”
You hold the bottle to your lips, hesitate, then hold it back away. Memory of lemon, chalk, goat’s milk, and flower flood your memory.
“What’s in it?” you say suspiciously.
Applejack gives you an approving, smug smile. Zecora just shrugs.
“Several ingredients from near and far, even if I told you, you wouldn't know what they are.”
While that does make you uneasy, this voodoo stuff probably takes some pretty weird powders. You likely wouldn’t even know what they were, like she says, and you did say you were going to trust her.
“Ok, then what exactly will it do?” you ask, adjusting your question just a little.
She smiles ever warmly at you as she speaks.
“If we wish to get your stomach to its normal state, then we need to work with a completely clean slate. In order to do this there is no doubt, we must get all that’s in your stomach out.”
You blink at her, not quite understanding what she means. Then it occurs to you.
“Wait, it’s going to make me throw up??”
She nods. Ok, total trust gone.
“It will take every drop of liquid inside you, and expel it until you’re empty, through and through.”
Well that sounds like the worst thing of all time.
“Er…I don’t want to throw up.”
To be honest, it’s one of your least favorite things to do. You haven’t done it since you were a very young kid, and this sounds terrible. Besides, you know the strain that vomiting puts on your stomach. You’re not sure your ulcer could take that kind of strain. Besides, having no moisture in your body? Pretty sure that would actually kill you.
“Look,” you say, before she can respond with yet another rhyme, “Maybe it’s different for horses, but humans really don’t like throwing up. It’s kind of rough on our bodies.”
“We do not really do that naturally,” Zecora says with a shrug. “But I know it’s the first step to making you ulcer-free.”
“I…think I’d like to find another way.”
“Look sugarcube,” Applejack says with a sigh. “It might seem like mumbo jumbo, but it’ll probably help you feel better. You should probably just stallion-up and do it.”
“No thanks.”
You try to offer the bottle back to Zecora, but she just stares at you. Rather coldly, you think.
“You promised you would trust in me,” she says flatly. “So why all this reluctancy?”
“Because,” you say, a little more firmly this time. “I do not want to vomit. I’ll find another way, here just-“
“That potion was very difficult to make,” she says, her voice sounding a little dark suddenly. “Perhaps you should drink it, for your own sake.”
Wait, is that a threat? You get the sense things are not going your way an that maybe you've made a horrible mistake. Applejack joins her at her side, frowning at you.
“Look, you said you wanted our help, so just drink the potion,” she says.
What the shit is this? Why are they teaming up against you like this? it makes no sense? You try to stand up to back away, but you’re still in so much pain that you collapse back onto the star bed with a grunt.
“I’m saying no. I’ll figure something out, but-“
“Applejack,” Zecora says ominously. “If you would not mind, could you hold his arms behind?”
“Got it.”
Before you can do anything to protest or stop her, Applejack springs behind you and grips both of your arms in a quasi-death lock with her hooves. No idea how she has such a good grip on you without fingers, but she certainly does. You look up, suddenly panicking, to see that Zecora has the bottle and is walking towards you with it in her teeth.
“Anon, if you don’t struggle it will be quicker. We will keep you from getting sicker.”
“NO! GET AWAY!” you scream at her, feeling your stomach lurch in anticipation.
“Anon, by our glorious sun goddess, just do it. It's for your own good”
“NO! I said NO! No means no you weird psycho ponies! Don't you understand informed consent??”
“Anon,”
“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”
“Oh just drink it you cunt!” Zecora growls.
“THAT DIDN’T EVEN RHYME!”
As she grows closer, you quickly shut your mouth tight to avoid drinking the potion. Without any hesitation, Zecora swiftly hits you in your midsection with one hoof. Your mouth opens in an involuntary gasp of surprise and pain. She punched you! The two-tone bitch actually punched you!
Before you can think you shit your mouth again, the zebra shoves the neck of the bottle all the way into your mouth and hold it up. You feel an unwilling sensation of thick liquid making its way down your throat, then sitting heavily as it reaches your belly. Both of the other two ponies leap away from you, and you fall to your knees, shaking and coughing.
“Y-you…” you choke out. “What have you done…to me. What have…”
Then it begins.
A strange rumbling rises in your belly, like a surging wave. You feel like the bottoms of your feet are getting tingly, and in your very veins you can feel an odd sucking sensation. You curl over, holding your now seemingly painful body with both arms. You let out a screeching moan of agony.
You can’t stop it. It’s going to happen. Your mouth opens and you wretch once. Twice.
Then, in a surging rush, everything comes out. Like a great flood or tsunami, a gurgling mass of semi-liquid springs past your lips to coat Zecora’s floor through your watering eyes you can see a rainbow of colors, the white drink from Granny Smith, even some level of sparkling from Zecora. Great. Perfect. You’re vomiting sparkles now. Welcome to pony world. It goes on and on. You didn’t know a person could even vomit like that and live! Can they? Are…are you going to die?
Oh god, you’re going to die from vomiting.
You feel yourself drying up all over like a raisin as all liquid in your body begins to expel. You feel like you’re even throwing up your own blood cells. That feces are rising up out of your intestines to pour out of your mouth. You tremble all over, willing it to stop, but it just won’t. It never ends. It will never end. You start to feel dizzy. This forced flash-dehydration is getting to you harder than you could have imagined. You realize, way too late, that you’re going to faint. You’re actually going to faint while vomiting.
Your vision clouds, but not enough to obscure the mass of churning vomit on the floor that is quickly rising to meet you as you fall forward. As you lose consciousness, you feel a squish of moisture against your cheek and feel a spatter of the stuff up into your hair. Then your eyes close, and you’re out.
——
When you at last come to, you’re lying in a clean dry bed, looking up at Decor’s ceiling. And you are thankfully no longer vomiting.
In fact, there’s no smell or sign of vomit anywhere. And you feel…much better. You sit up slowly and find that your head is clear, and all the pain in your stomach is completely gone! You touch your bells and take a few deep breaths, but sure enough, you are pain-free and well hydrated. It’s as if nothing ever happened.
“Ah, you’re awake, Darlin!” you hear Applejack say from by your shoulder.
You turn to find both her and Zecora standing there, beaming at you. The area around t hem looks clean too somehow, and you wonder how long you’ve been out. There was…a lot of vomit.
“Er…hey…” you say haltingly. “am I…?”
“If you’re going to ask are you ok, then don’t worry, your ulcer has gone away,” Zecora says proudly.
“Wow,” you say, unable to hide your amazement. “That’s…actually really impressive.”
You honestly really still want to be mad about them making you vomit, but right now you’re just so happy to not be in pain that you can’t help being gratful. Zecora shrugs humbly, as if this was all in a day’s work
“So how did you…?”
Applejack suddenly looks to Zecora with an expression of nervousness and dread. You'd swear you see her go a little pale.
“Uh, I don’t think you want to know.”
“Wait,” you say, sensing that you’ve stumbled onto something major. “What happened while I was out? What…”
Zecora is looking at you uneasily. Oh god, something weird happened when you were unconscious. This cure they gave you...what was the second step of your treatment?
“What did you do to me to heal me exactly,” you say to her pointedly.
She smiles weakly before she speaks.
“Well I tried several remedies to no avail. Every potion I made would simply fail. So after much testing and progress impeded, I finally discovered what it was you needed. You see, Zebras have healing magic within their bodies, and substances containing helpful antibodies. The easiest way to give you all this, was…well…to open your mouth and then take a…”
Oh god, you know what that last word is. You suddenly feel like you’re going to throw up again.
“YOU PEED IN MY MOUTH?”
Both ponies wince a little.
“Now look sugarcube it was the best way to heal you," Applejack says. "Zecora did it real quick like, and honestly she seemed to even enjoy it a little so-"
Zecora quickly shushes her before she can finish that thought. You look between the ponies, from one to the other, in complete and utter horror.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!?”
“Anon, I’m sorry, there was no other way. Urine was the stuff that was going to save the day.”
“WHAT THE FUCK!”
Zecora sighs exasperatedly and rolls her eyes. Applejack pats you with one hoof, trying to soothe you a little, but the Zebra just fixes you with an odd, almost amused look. You stare directly into her face as she says the next words.
“Anon, you were the one who resisted, this is all overblown. If you find my cure hard to stomach, the fault is all your own.”
You look at her in bewilderment for a moment, then drop your head into your hands and promptly begin to weep. You’ll never eat Rainbow Dash’s spicy burritos ever again.
-End-
