What you usually do with bananas, she can do with a pineapple, but much better.
Sometimes, there are those rare cases when a patient is normal. Seriously, there are only a few relatively normal ponies I know and Maud Pie is most definitely one of them. She’s calm, she doesn’t bleed on the floor, and she always follows the recommendations when taking meds. That’s why when I see her in the ER I’m kinda glad that, for once, I won’t have to do something that’ll give me mental images I most definitely don’t want.
“I have a stick stuck in my ass,” Maud says in her dull monotone.
I immediately write “NFP” in my notebook. It stands for “Normal For Ponyville”. Really, if I had a bit for every object I ever pulled out of someone’s rectum, I wouldn’t have to come here every day. Though on the other hoof, I’m pretty sure some of those bits would still have shit on them.
“Why do you have a stick in your ass?” I ask. I mean, there are plenty of ponies with sticks in there, though most of them are metaphorical.
“I told Mudbriar to shove his rod in there,” Maud replies without a slightest flinch or blush. “Turns out, he’s bad with metaphors.”
I raise my eyebrows a little bit. A lot of ponies are bad with metaphors. For example, Sweetheart recently told Atom Heart something about dead patients ‘no longer playing records’ and on the next day Atom Heart brought a gramophone to the morgue.
“I see…”, I mutter. “Any discomfort?”
“Splinters.” Maud shrugs.
“Yeah, that’s most definitely an issue,” I reply. “Anything else?”
“My sister has a crippling alcohol addiction.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Pinkie?”
Maud thinks for a moment. “Two of my sisters have a crippling alcohol addiction.”
“We have specialists who can take care of that,” I reply, seeing that this conversation is getting out of hoof. For now, the most important thing is her ass.
On a second thought, this sounded much better in my head. Luckily, it’ll stay there.
“As for you, Dr. Semicolon is waiting for you in the room number three,” I say. “Don’t worry, he’s a specialist.”
Yes, we actually hired a doctor who is a specialist in getting stuff out of various orifices. With about one case every three days (including kids shoving crayons up their noses; on a somewhat related note, I still think Apple Bloom’s family tree doesn’t quite add up), it was only a matter of time. And you really don’t want to know what his cutie mark is.
Okay, it’s a donut. Although, as Sweetheart noted, a pretty suggestive one, with chocolate and sprinkles. And before someone asks, soon after Dr. Semicolon was hired, we had to reset our “days since Sweetheart last cucked her husband” counter. Fifth time this year.
Maud stands up and leaves my office. She walks quite normally, so I guess the stick isn’t that big, after all. To each their own, I guess. I fill the paperwork and call another patient. It’s actually one of those rare days when I have time to actually write something rather than memorise it and write it down later. Or have an intern write it for me.
The next patient is one of those kids from the Friendship School. Since it was built, all our statistics skyrocketed like Rainbow Dash after eating a cauldron of baked beans. Accidents, fights, hair loss, births, deaths, all kind of stuff. We’re even more understaffed than before; if it continues, even Sweetheart may lose weight soon.
At least this guy is a pony. Not that I mind, but when I first tried to take a blood sample from a changeling, it melted a syringe. Not to mention that, as Nursery found out, any attempts to vaccinate a yak end with wrestling moves and countless needles lost in the thick fur.
“Good morning, Ms. Redheart,” he says.
“Nurse Redheart,” I mutter before I can stop myself. I may be staring into ponies’ butts for money, but let’s have some standards, shall we? “What’s your name?” I ask, grabbing a pen and a new form.
“Sandbar,” he replies, sweating heavily. Not sure why, unless he has a nurse fetish. “Actually, I’m h–here to ask about a friend…”
I wonder if it’s some homework or other shit. Don’t get me wrong, but back in my day, we didn’t need school to learn about friendship. On the other hoof, maybe that’s why all my friends are dysfunctional halfwits with sadistic tendencies.
“Is he a pony?” I need to know that because if his friend is a griffon, it means different meds, different doses, a lot of different things in general. Medical school prepares you to a lot of things, but not to patients who try to challenge you to a duel. Unless you’re in the nuthouse, then it’s pretty much inevitable.
“Umm… Yes, kinda.” Sandbar lowers his head, staring at the floor. “Recently, he got those red spots on his, umm…”
Oh, it’s that kinda friend. Here we go, Redheart. Time to be subtle. “Is he a close friend?” I ask.
Sandbar looks at me. “What do you mean?”
“Friend with benefits?” I ask. “A coltfriend, maybe?”
If it was Sweetheart, the conversation would probably go faster. She’d just call him a faggot and get suspended again. But at least she’d be done with the guy once and for all.
“N–no, I’m not gay,” Sandbar replies.
Okay, that leaves only one possibility. “Could you show me your, as you put it, ‘friend’, then?” I ask.
“What do you mean?” Sandbar’s eyes widen.
“You keep shifting your legs like you had an itch.” I sigh. “Also, no one in their right mind goes to the ER to talk about their friend’s dick, unless it plays a very important role in their lives. You caught something, didn’t you?”
Sandbar nods, his face red.
“No reason to be ashamed,” I say. “You can talk freely about it to me. You’re not–”
“I got it from a girl,” Sandbar mutters, spreading his legs slightly and revealing the textbook symptoms of what we call Prench disease. I’m pretty sure they call it Equestrian disease in Prance, so in order to avoid an international conflict, doctors called it ‘syphilis’, which is fancy for “I should’ve thought twice before coming in here”.
“You’d better tell her to get tested, then,” I say. “Speaking of, I’ll need a blood sample from you. Also, you’re in for a consultation with a venereologist and getting antibiotics. And no friendship with benefits lessons for you.”
Sandbar looks at me unsurely. “We don’t–”
“Ah, so it was extracurricular classes,” I reply. “Anyway, the venereologist’s office is last door to the left, labelled ‘Specific Stomach Specialist’. You’d never believe how many ponies are ashamed to–” I look at him. “I guess you would believe.”
Sandbar nods and grabs the papers I prepared for him. I swear, one day we’ll drown in all this paperwork. I take a blood sample from him and label the test tube. The head of our lab, Test Tube is pretty strict about his test tubes. Especially when, due to a mix-up with samples, it turned out that Big Macintosh was pregnant, but at least Sugar Belle’s prostate was fine.
After he leaves, I take a look outside, but it seems he was the last patient for now. Instead, I see Nursery dragging a gurney with a body covered by a bedsheet. Not a common sight, I’d say.
“Who’s this?” I ask, pointing at the body.
“Mr. Dust,” Nursery replied. “This old coffin dodger finally bites it. And now I owe Tenderheart five bits.”
Mr. Dust was a kind of a legend of the intensive care ward. The guy was only sixty, but over his life he managed to get some STDs, lung cancer, hepatitis and pancreatitis. And, after the cancer treatment left him bald and thin, he made up for it and in two years ended up morbidly obese and with diabetes so bad that he lost a part of his wing.
Recently, he was recovering from a hospital-acquired head injury. More exactly, he smacked Sweetheart’s butt. He never knew what smacked him back.
“Great,” I mutter. “I see you’re betting now too. Did he have any family?”
“A daughter, I think.” Nursery shrugs. “Coldheart already called her.”
I sigh. “Try not to mention betting in her presence. And now take daddy to the rose cottage and wait for the daughter to show up.”
“Sure!” Nursery salutes and darts forwards, nearly losing Mr. Dust in process. She has a lot of enthusiasm, that’s for sure.
The next two hours are mostly uneventful. I catch up with my paperwork and then eat my lunch. I’m about to go find Sweetheart, Coldheart, and Tenderheart to grab some coffee and exchange gossip, but then I see another two patients. Judging by the ruckus they’re making, it’s gonna be difficult.
“Oh, shut up!” an orange dragon of non-assumable gender yells at another dragon who I recognise as the Dragon Lord Ember herself. You know, I read newspapers and shit. I wonder if it’s customary for dragons to tell their lord to shut up.
“You’re not my real mom!” the dragon shouts.
Okay, so it’s a family issue.
“That’s because your real mom kicked you out and now she’s too busy sitting on a pile of gold to take care of her eggs or whatever crawled out of them,” Ember replies. “Also, it’s not a matter of me being your mom but your health.”
Guess it’s time to intervene. I walk to the two dragons, putting on my most professional smile. “How can I help you?”
“Smolder caught the pony disease,” Ember replies.
The pony disease? I guess I should be offended.
“What do you mean by that?” I ask. The days when we’d send sick dragons to the vet are long gone, but it’s still hard to compare their disease names to ours.
Ember puts her claws on Smolder’s ears. “The one you get from too much fucking,” she whispers.
“I’m not a kid!” Smolder yells, pushing Ember’s claws away. “And I fucked before, okay? You don’t have to tell it to everyone!”
“Not bad!” someone shouts. “Can you fuck me too, dude?”
I turn to see who’s that. Cloud Kicker, of course. Guess she’s hanging around and trying to steal meds, as usual.
Smolder pouts. “I’m not a dude!”
Cloud Kicker smirks. “That’s not a problem.”
“We’ll better take this conversation to my office, okay?” I mutter. “Also, Cloud Kicker, if you don’t fancy a trip to the rehab, get the fuck out.”
A few minutes later, I get to hear the whole story, often interrupted by both dragons yelling at each other. Apparently Smolder thinks itch and chancres aren’t that bad and would never come here if it wasn’t for Ember. Great thinking. I was always wondering how’d the symptoms of tertiary syphilis look on dragons.
“Don’t worry,” I say once there’s a moment of silence. “Our resident dracologist will calculate the dose of antibiotics for you. Also, you should inform your partners that–”
“Well, I’d like to know who was that,” Ember says.
“Over my dead body,” Smolder replies, crossing her arms.
They’re about to start arguing again, but at the same moment Test Tube bursts into my office. The guy never knocks, especially not when science is at the stake. “Hi, Redheart,” he says. “We got the first results of that guy of yours.”
“Test Tube…” I whisper, discreetly pointing at Ember and Smolder. Fat chance. This guy wouldn’t notice an elephant in the room, not to mention two dragons.
“We’re ordering more tests,” Test Tube says. “Polymerase Chain says it may be that rare kind of spirochetes that mostly occur in hippogriffs.”
Smolder gets up from her seat, her face red. “That two-timing bastard!” she exclaims. “He said Silverstream was just a friend! I’m gonna kill him!” She bursts out of the office, slamming the door.
Ember shakes her head. “Kids these days. One day they hatch from an egg and the next day they enslave a village, eat sheep, or start piling up gold.”
“How old is she?” I ask. “A teenager?”
“For dragons, yes,” Ember replies. “She’s about forty, actually.”
“Yeah, that’s the worst age,” I mutter. “You’d better find her before she finds the guy. I don’t want any fire breathing in this hospital, okay?”
Ember turns to me. “Did you just assume we breathe fire indoors?” After a moment of uncomfortable silence she shrugs. “Well, I guess she may try to fry him.”
“Make sure she doesn’t fry the whole place.” I shudder. Ember takes off and flies down the corridor, searching for Smolder. I’d follow her, but I notice Lily Valley sitting in the waiting room next to an enormous cat carrier.
Now, don’t get me wrong. We try not to discriminate patients due to their addictions and Lily is not an exception. When she has another debilitating panic attack due to her habit of swallowing various pills, we help her, no matter what is our opinion on her. I even don’t give a shit about her roommate Daisy thinking that she’s a goat, no. However, I have a hard time believing those two after they brought a seemingly dead Roseluck to the hospital and tried to sell her for organs.
Well, not that I’m the one to talk. It was actually Sweetheart who was talking with them because I was in the nuthouse, drawing sick shit and rethinking my life choices.
I hear a loud meowing coming from the carrier. If I didn’t know that lions don’t meow, I’d guess that this imbecile mistook one for a kitty.
“This is not a vet,” I say. “Also, you missed your visit in the rehab. Fifth time this year.”
“Oh, the horror,” Lily mutters in a flat voice, rolling her eyes. “I have bigger problems right now.”
“You got yourself a cat?” I ask in a tone I usually reserve for foals, runaway mental patients, and Atom Heart.
“Fuck no,” Lily shudders. “It’s Roseluck. She went mental again.”
“How come?” I ask. “And where did you get a cat carrier that big?”
“Garage sale.” Lily shrugs. “You wouldn’t believe what ponies keep in their houses. Anyway, she put on that ridiculous collar with a bell and started to pretend that she’s a cat. As if Daisy being a damn goat wasn’t enough.”
My expression probably says “you’re shitting me” right now because Lily sighs and opens the cat carrier. There’s some ruckus inside, but after a while, Lily manages to grab Roseluck’s tail with her teeth and drag her outside, kicking and meowing. Roseluck tries to scratch her which is even more dangerous because of her hooves.
“Good kitty!” I exclaim. “Get her to the room!”
“I’m trying,” Lily replies, struggling while Roseluck tries to run away. “She probably thinks you’re a vet.”
“Tell her that she’s gonna be spayed if she doesn’t shut up.” I open the door, helping Lily to get the hissing Roseluck inside. “Does anyone have a ball of yarn?”
Before I find one, Roseluck manages to drop my coffee mug from the table and tries to jump on the top of the closet, but fails badly. At least she lands on all four. This and a copious amount of a tranquiliser I give her when she tries to get her bearings calms her down a bit. She eventually curls into a ball, trying to lick her crotch, but not quite reaching there. Well, not everyone is Blossomforth.
“So, what exactly happened?” I ask, petting Roseluck’s mane.
“She had those attacks from time to time,” Lily replies. “Nothing bad, as long as she doesn’t try to climb up the curtains or bring dead birds home. But today she really freaked out.”
Hmm, I wonder what she means by that. I mean, if you find the fact that your roommate occasionally behaves like a cat normal, what do you mean by ‘really freaked out’? She shat on the floor or what? “What exactly triggered that, umm… breakdown?” I ask.
Lily shrugs. “Dunno, maybe that dead guy in the backroom.”
Time to call Faint Heart and ask about a room for two. Or actually, make that three. As I found out some time ago, my mental health is rather fragile. “What dead guy?”
“No idea, he just kinda appeared, okay?” Lily groans. “Who cares about dead guys in my backroom?”
“Quite a few ponies,” I reply, thinking of a stun gun I keep in the drawer of my desk in case the patient turns out to be barking mad. Or meowing mad, in this case. “Police, for starters.”
“Oh, they wouldn’t find their way out of the paper bag,” Lily replies. “What do you think they did when we found the first body?” She rubs Roseluck’s belly absentmindedly. “On a second thought, maybe we shouldn’t have adorned it with flowers.”
“There were more bodies?” I ask, shuffling my legs and opening the drawer slightly.
Lily scratches her chin. “Five, so far. We thought the funeral house was dropping them at our house so we could prepare some wreaths. You know, to see if they work with the deceased’s coat and so on.”
“Sounds kinda morbid,” I say.
“Yeah, the headless guy was a bit much.” Lily shrugs, petting Roseluck, who’s purring quietly. “I mean, who’d even want an open coffin after that? Well, unless they wanted to show the guy’s dick to the whole world for the last time because he had a huge boner and–”
The door to my office opens. Judging by the heavy hoofsteps and breathing suggesting beginnings of asthma, it’s Sweetheart. She’s like a boner genie. Mention an erect, throbbing cock and she’ll appear.
“Did someone say ‘boner’?” she asks, furrowing her eyebrows when she sees Lily and Roseluck. “If you want to sell her for organs again, make sure she’s dead first.”
“Speaking of, this was dead guy’s boner,” I mutter.
“Eww…” Sweetheart winces. “I’ll leave this one to Coldheart, then. And while we’re at dead guys, have you seen Mr. Dust? His daughter is here.” She pointed at the yellow-maned pegasus standing in the corridor with an expression more bored than solemn.
“I’ve seen Nursery taking him to the mortuary,” I reply.
“He’s not there,” Sweeheart says. “So unless the guy woke up and went for a walk, which wouldn’t be the first time…” She looks at Roseluck who meows. “What the fuck?”
“I was just going to refer her to the psychiatrist,” I mutter, grabbing the papers from my desk.
“Start with Tenderheart,” Sweetheart replies. “She mentioned something about two dragons walking around the hospital and arguing. Maybe she and Cloud Kicker swapped some pills, dunno.”
“Ah, you didn’t get the memo that dragons are cool now, okay,” I mutter. “Seeing them doesn’t necessarily mean the patient is crazy.”
“Tell that to Berry Punch,” Sweetheart replies. “I remember her swallowing like, the whole periodic table in some shady liquor. Dragons were just the first part of the steaming river of shit she’d seen before she sobered up.”
“I had a dragon with an STD today,” I say, turning to Mr. Dust’s daughter. “You haven’t heard that. We can’t really talk about our patients.”
Mr. Dust’s daughter shrugs. “Well, today I learned that my father whom I haven’t seen for twenty years died, then I heard his body got lost and now I’m stuck with you two, a mare who behaves like a cat, and her retarded friend. Believe me, I ran out of the fucks to give long before you told me about a dragon with an STD.”
“Who are you calling retarded?” Lily asks.
“The cat lady’s friend.” The pegasus rolls her eyes, seeing that Lily turns back to see if there’s no one behind her. Unfortunately, the only thing behind her is the door of the psych ward.
I knock on it. “Faint Heart? You there? We have a patient for you.”
I hear the clicking of multiple locks and the door eventually opens. Faint Heart trots out, fixing her thick glasses. “Redheart!” she exclaims. “I’ve been wondering when you’d come back. We’re having a chess tournament.”
“Interesting,” I mutter. “I thought the last one was cancelled after one of the contestants ate all the pieces. Besides, you need to take care of this mare here. She’s behaving like a cat.”
It takes a while before my words reach whatever planet Faint Heart is currently on. “So, we can’t put her in one room with Screw Loose. But hey, I got socks for all of you!”
“What.” Sweetheart mutters.
“Yeah, for you too. I have a lot of time to make them,” Faint Heart says, turning to Mr. Dust’s daughter. “And for you too, stranger. What’s your name?”
“Umm… Lightning Dust,” the pegasus replies, turning to me. “What’s wrong with this retard?” she whispers.
“Long story,” I reply, grabbing the socks from Faint Heart. She doesn’t always remember that all four socks should look the same, but at least they’re comfortable. Lightning reluctantly accepts hers, while Faint Heart puts socks on Roseluck, who immediately lies on her back, exposing her belly and meowing.
Lily blushes. “I need to, umm… go to the toilet.”
Sweetheart smirks. “Third door on the left. I go there to rub one off too.”
“We didn’t need to know that, thank you,” I mutter. Sweetheart can be way too open about things going on around her ass. Which is a lot of things since her ass has its own gravity field.
Anyway, we drop Roseluck at the psych ward and Lily decides to spend some time masturbating. That leaves me and Sweetheart with the important task of finding Lightning Dust’s father. Or what’s left of him. Of course the obvious solution would be–
“I think we’re missing the obvious solution,” Sweetheart says. “We need to ask Nursery where the body is.”
“Are you learning telepathy from Heartless?” I shrug. “Also, first we’d have to know where Nursery is.”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Sweetheart replies. “Where the hell are you, you fucking runt?!” she yells.
Nursery immediately pops out from behind the corner. Her hat is slightly skewed and she’s panting as if she’d been running. “Not your business, fatass,” she replies.
Lightning Dust tilts her head, looking at Nursery. “You hire kids as nurses now?”
“Nah, she just looks like this,” I reply. “Also, a drunken patient once tried to put a tankard of beer on her head, but it’s generally not a good idea. She bites knees off when she’s angry.”
Nursery rolls her eyes. “This only happened once.”
“Coldheart touched a dead patient’s dick only once too, but this doesn’t stop you from laughing at her,” Sweetheart replies.
“Anyway,” I say, “where did you put Mr. Dust’s body? He’s not in the morgue.”
Nursery freezes. “I did what you told me.”
“And what did I tell you?” I ask. Seriously, I don’t remember; I was busy taking care of kids with syphilis and other shit.
“To put it in Rose’s cottage,” Nursery replies.
Oh, fuck me with a colonoscopy tube. “I said ‘rose cottage’.” I frown, staring at Nursery. “As in, the mortuary. Not Rose’s cottage.”
Nursery stands silently for a while, processing what I just said. “Shit,” she mutters eventually and runs off.
Lightning Dust stands still for a while raising her eyebrows and staring at the place where Nursery was. Her jaw drops; it seems that she still can’t get her bearings.
“What’s bothering you?” I ask.
Lightning Dust shrugs. “Can I sue the hospital for that?”
“Sure, go ahead,” I reply. “You’d better piss off Sweetheart too. It’ll looks better in court if you show up with a black eye.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Lightning Dust says. We walk downstairs, finding quite a crowd of patients waiting for us. Most of them are bundled in one corner of the waiting room. The only exceptions are Sandbar, who looks like he’d been thrown down a flight of stairs and then mauled by a yak. Conveniently, there’s a yak nearby. A small one, at least for a yak. She’s accompanied by Smolder, Ember, and Nursery Rhyme with a corpse on a gurney, covered with a bedsheet. Well, that’d explain why all the normal patients decided to back off.
“Yona wants to see dead pony,” the yak says.
Nursery frowns. “It’s a body, not a roadshow. Also, you just yak-smashed this guy, so no bodies for you.”
“Yak seen dead bodies before,” Yona protests. “Yak have a lot of them back home.”
“Time to bring modern medicine to Yakyakistan.” Nursery rolls her eyes. “Your medical record was written on a stone plate and our best yakologists are still trying to translate some of the ideograms.”
Time to intervene before Nursery gets sent off to a sensitivity training or, more likely, yak-smashed again. “What’s going on here?” I ask, looking at Sandbar and helping him up. “Why did you beat him?”
“Smolder started,” Yona replies. “And he gave Yona fire in her–” She waves her hoof around her butt.
“Vagina,” Sweetheart says, turning to Sandbar and nodding slowly. “Not bad at all.”
“Hmm…” I mutter, making a quick count. “It seems that we have a really big friendship problem.”
Lightning Dust raises her hoof. “Excuse me, can I take a look at my dad before I take him to the funeral house?”
“Of course,” Nursery replies, uncovering Mr. Dust’s face. Lightning walks to the gurney with tears in her eyes. For a while, she looks at the body, lowering her head.
Then, she raises her hoof and punches the deceased, almost pushing him off the gurney. “That’s for mom, you motherfucker!” she yells before turning to us and smiling sheepishly. “Sorry, had to get that out.”
I look at Sweetheart. “We’d better take care of Sandbar,” I mutter.
“Yeah, let’s do this.”
Finally, a few days later, everypony and every creature gathers in my office. Sandbar, covered in bandages, Smolder, Yona, Silverstream, who’s apparently the patient zero, Gallus, who also got syphilis from Silverstream, and Ocellus – she’s actually fine, though not for the lack of trying. Apparently most bacteria don’t do well in the changeling system.
I also invited Twilight Sparkle who’s accompanied by Applejack, Rainbow Dash, and Spike. I keep some anti-anxiety pills on my desk, just in case. The princess seems rather stressed. The stun gun is also near my hoof, if things go that bad. Also, I always wanted to tase Rainbow Dash.
It takes me a while to explain the whole situation before asking the most important question. “Do you have sex-ed in your curriculum?”
Twilight’s eye twitches. “N-no…” she replies. “I didn’t think it’d be necessary.”
“Don’t worry, Twilight, I got it covered.” Rainbow Dash smiles. The stun gun is really tempting right now. “I have a lot of educational videos–”
“Y’all can shove those videos where the sun doesn’t shine, sugarcube,” Applejack replies. “Ah have a brother.”
I freeze for a moment, but quickly regain my composure. “No, I think I already have a professional. You know those ponies who teach sex-ed with a crate of bananas and condoms? Sweetheart can teach you sex-ed with a pineapple.”
Twilight raises her eyebrows, apparently haunted by this mental image. At the same moment, the door of my office opens and Sweetheart walks in. She’s wearing sunglasses and carrying a pineapple. Bloody show-off.
“Sorry, I got late,” she says. “My butt mark started to vibrate and I couldn’t waste such an occasion.”
Twilight looks at her. “I have a question…”
“Don’t worry, your friendshipness.” Sweetheart smiles. “I have over twenty years of experience, a daughter, and healthy relationship.”
“Relationships,” I whisper.
“The more the merrier.” Sweetheart chuckles. “So–” She pauses when the door of my office opens again and Test Tube walks in. Seriously, this guy needs to start knocking. And stop revealing private informations about patients when everyone can hear.
“I was wrong about that syphilis,” Test Tube says before I can grab the stun gun. “Additional tests revealed that it’s a common dragon syphilis. Even Vinyl Scratch got that once, but don’t ask me how.”
Sandbar frowns, looking at Smolder. “Dragon syphilis?”
“Umm…” Smolder looks around until her gaze lands on Spike who smiles sheepishly. “Dude, not cool…”
“I don’t know where I got it, I swear!” Spike exclaims. “Unless it was–” He collapses, getting hit by roughly fifty thousand volts of electricity.
“That’s not important right now,” Twilight says, levitating my stun gun back on my desk. “Can I get some pills?”
