Molly throws one heck of a bash
The last time she'd looked around the room, things were pink. Pink floor, pink walls, pink drinks. Pink everything. A hazy glaze of pink in the air. Normally, Mixtape didn't like pink, but tonight it was okay. Even her mind felt pink, if that were possible, and that didn't even make sense. She giggled.
Somepony was talking to her. She knew that much. Blearily, Mixtape peered over at the colt who sat down next to her, droning on and on about his favorite music. How long had he been there? He seemed to be the excitable sort, and this was a low key party.
Wasn't it? She could remember seeing the music playing at some point, during the night. It looked like calm, floating colorful shimmers that hummed through the air. It was soothing music. It had been nice. She liked it. It wasn't the rage-screaming of hard metal or the pulse-pounding beat of dubstep, but she liked it. It was soothing her headache.
Her headache. She always got a headache after drinking too much, and she always drank too much at parties. This was a party, wasn't it? She cracked open an eye. She had parked herself down next to the refrigerator some few hours ago. There had been a party then. She was sure of that.
A party. Right. There had been a party. That's when things had been pink. She could remember it now. In broken bits and pieces. She'd been invited to some music festival and there had been a party that night. Morning? Was it in the afternoon? The concept of time hurt. She groaned.
She'd performed, too. She'd sang an unrecognizable song of slurred lyrics and spitting rage, improvised on the spot. The crowd seemed to like it. They laughed and cheered, even if the lyrics didn't make sense through her frenzied hollering. It was a hot crowd. All screaming. All moshing and bashing and thrashing around. What had they been so mad about? What had she been so mad about? It didn't matter. They had a good time. It didn't need to end, though, so they had gone to someponies house. Yes. Yes they had and they went completely crazy. She could remember some pony hanging from the chandelier. There was a table of drinks. Too many drinks. Dubious substances passed around. Dancing. More music. A fight broke out somewhere. Somepony puked in the pool. Somepony tore apart the couch. Open copulation in the living room. A pizza was ordered. A pizza was destroyed. All in all, a typical Tuesday. The room was gently rocking from side to side as if she were on a ship. It was pink. She liked it.
The colt was still talking to her. Still droning on and on. Dorky. Dark mane. Spiky mane. Pretty eyes. Blue coat. Sun glasses to hide the fact he was a sleep deprived unicorn. She liked that. She liked him. He had a pretty voice. Like blue. His voice was blue and soothing. She could see little swirls of magic in his voice when he spoke. His voice was the ocean. She liked the ocean. It was calming. He was calming. He looked familiar. She thought back. Had she met him earlier in the evening? That span of time was a silky blur of sensations and colors.
Colors. There were still colors in the air, faded and fluttering in front of her.🎵 Music notes.🎵 They resembled music notes. She reached an experimental hoof up and dabbed at one of them. Her hoof dipped through it, scattering the note into a firework of different colors that danced through the air. She giggled. The colt looked at her curiously. He said something about being back. She giggled at that too. He left. Had she said something to make him angry? She didn't want him to be angry at her. Nopony should be angry when music was playing. Would he come back? She felt like she'd been sitting in the corner for a long time.
Another colt came to sit with her. Earth pony. He had a long black mane in braids. He wore sunglasses. Sharp ones. Green coat. His words were green too. Alluring words. He was saying something to her. A fan? Was he a fan? Of her? She laughed. His voice looked funny. It was ℂ𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕜𝕪. ℂ𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕜𝕪 letters that spilled into the air from his lips. They were green and silly. She liked them. She liked him.
He was saying something, again. Something about taking her someplace. Home? Did he say home? Did she want to go home? Was she already home? She peered around the room with squinted eyes through clouds of strange smelling smoke. She knew that smell. She liked that smell. It was a pretty smell. It was green like he was.
She was moving. At least, it felt like she was moving. Was he carrying her? No. No. She didn't want to go away from the colors. She liked them. She wanted them to stay. She wanted to stay. They were soothing. She didn't feel angry while she was here. There? She gave a meek struggle in his hooves, but he held her tightly. She liked not being angry. She was enjoying peace. She liked the pink. The pink was nice.
The music was gone. The pink was gone. It was dark here. Had she fallen asleep? She was somewhere else. She was somewhere soft. A bed? Her bed? His bed? Did it matter? Soft was good. Soft was better than the floor. She'd woken up on the floor entirely too many times in her life. How many times was it? She couldn't count. Numbers were stupid anyway.
He was saying something again. Something about drinking. Yes, yes, she drank too much. She already knew that. Nothing new there. Or, maybe he was asking if she wanted another drink. She could stand to be a little drunker, couldn't she? She could always get drunker. It was never enough until it was too much. He handed something over to her. It didn't smell good. It smelled like alcohol, but different? The smells looked wrong. they were sort of 𝕵𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉 and spiky. Did it matter? Did she care? She choked it down. It tasted terrible. It made the room purple. Everything was purple. Her head was swimming. Everything was swimming. She wanted to lay back down. She did. On the bed. The bed was soft. She liked soft.
She felt W̷̜̰̙̊e̷̼̝̰̐̆͋͜i̷̝̩͙̠͘ͅr̸̺͝͠d̵̠̏. Weirder than normal. At least she was somewhere soft. She liked soft. He was saying something. She didn't understand. The words were different now. They weren't silly green letters anymore. They were red and 𝕵𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉. Like the drink he gave her. She didn't like them. Was he angry at her? Is that why the words changed colors? She was sorry for whatever she'd done. She wanted to go back to the music. Would he take her back there? She asked him to take her back.
He was saying something. Did he say yes? It felt like he were lifting her up. Maybe he'd carry her back. No? She thought they were going someplace, but it didn't feel right. Did he trip? He must have. He was on top of her. She couldn't really tell. It felt weird. She felt W̷̜̰̙̊e̷̼̝̰̐̆͋͜i̷̝̩͙̠͘ͅr̸̺͝͠d̵̠̏. . She couldn't move. Why couldn't she move? It was weird not to move. Was he saying something? She didn't like it. Why wasn't he taking her back to the music like she wanted? She wanted to tell him to take her back, but her words weren't working right. They came out weird. They weren't clear. Usually her words were clear, but now they were murky and oozing. They looked weird. She felt W̷̜̰̙̊e̷̼̝̰̐̆͋͜i̷̝̩͙̠͘ͅr̸̺͝͠d̵̠̏.
She wanted to kick. She didn't know why, but she felt that she should. She felt angry. She tried. She missed. The room tilted to the right. It was turning red. Everything was red. She was angry at him. She didn't know why. She felt like she should be. She didn't like the way his words looked anymore. She wanted him to change the colors back to green. They weren't funny anymore. It wasn't funny. They were pointy. They hurt. She didn't like them. They were making her angry.
Things were LOUD. It was suddenly LOUD. It hurt her ears. Yelling. There was yelling. There was an argument. Was she having the argument? No. There was somepony else in the room with them. She knew him, didn't she? Maybe. A blue pony. A blue unicorn. With spiky mane and pretty words of swirling magic. Sun glasses. Had she met him before? She felt like she should know him. She liked him. She didn't know why she liked him, but she was happy to see him. He was yelling at the other pony. The green pony with the red 𝕵𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉 words. She didn't like him anymore. He didn't take her back to the music. She wanted more music.
They were fighting. Were they fighting? She couldn't really tell. It was weird. She felt W̷̜̰̙̊e̷̼̝̰̐̆͋͜i̷̝̩͙̠͘ͅr̸̺͝͠d̵̠̏. . They were shoving each other. The room was still red. Or was it purple? She couldn't tell. The Colors were melting together. They weren't supposed to do that. She wanted another drink. She didn't want to feel weird anymore. The blue pony with the pretty swirling words. He was taking her somewhere. He was holding her. He was carrying her. She threw up. She wasn't having a good night anymore. She wanted to go home. Things hadn't gone right at all. Everything felt wrong. She wanted to cry.
Velvet would be disappointed. Velvet? Why was she thinking about Velvet? Velvet was her manager. She was supposed to start a fight or something tonight. At least, she thought she was. Velvet wanted more publicity, and angry bad-girl drunk at a music festival would have been the perfect place to promote her image. But she'd had too good of a time. She wasn't angry when music was playing. She liked it when music was playing, and music had been playing all night. How was she supposed to be angry when the sound was so good? Maybe she'd have a drink, maybe she'd have two. How many did she have? Enough to turn the room a pleasant pink.
It didn't matter. She'd had two too many. She never knew when to stop. Why stop when you were having a good time? Why let the good time end? She needed good times in her life. She lifted her head and peered at the pony carrying her. Did she know him? He was babbling on and on about throwing up. Had she thrown up? Had she thrown up on him? She felt angry again. She wanted to bark at him. It was his own fault if she threw up on him. He shouldn't have been carrying her in the first place. Was he carrying her? How did she get here? Here was different than there. She knew that much. It didn't matter. Here was soft. Here was gentle. But it was quiet. It was too quiet. Where was the music? How was she supposed to drown out the voices in her head without music? She didn't like those voices. They said poisonous things to her. They reminded her of poisonous times. They made her cry. They always made her cry. She didn't like to cry. Was she crying? Damn it. She didn't want him to see her cry.
She sat up. The room gave a neat little twirl. She laid back down. She couldn't move. He was saying something to her again. Something about taking care of her. And water. She didn't like water. She hissed. She didn't want to be taken care of. She didn't want to feel weak. He was making her feel weak. What the hell was his problem?! She didn't ask for this! Why was he doing this to her? She swung a hoof at him and missed. He got off the bed and sat down in the corner. Was he watching her? He was. Good. He should stay there. She didn't like him. She didn't really like anypony. It was why she didn't have any friends. Friends were ponies waiting to betray you. They always did. Just like family. A family were just close friends, after all. Different kinds of friends, but friends all the same. She didn't have a family. That made her happy. Right? It was supposed to. Why did she feel sad? She was crying again. Why wasn't he playing any music? She needed music. The room was still soft.That was good. It was better than before.
She sat up. She needed to find a stereo or something. The room gave a neat little twirl. She didn't care. She was falling. She fell forever.
Down.
Down.
Down.
All the way. To the floor. Out of the bed. He stood up from the corner. She hissed at him. He took a step back. Good. She didn't want him to put her back into bed. Not without music, anyway. She sputtered something about music. He nodded his head but didn't move. Why wasn't he moving? She'd told him to put some music on, didn't she? Frustrating. She'd do it herself. Couldn't trust any pony after all. Especially not family. She hated families. Why was she crying?
She didn't like this place. It was a quiet place filled with monsters and memories. Memories she didn't want. Memories that wouldn't leave her alone. So many memories chasing after her. There weren't supposed to be memories. That's what the alcohol was for. She needed more alcohol. There had to be some nearby. Somewhere. Maybe she could crawl to it. Maybe she could crawl to it before the memories caught up with her. Maybe she could find some music too. The room stopped spinning, but it was getting darker. Was she passing out again? She had to find something before the room turned to black. She didn't know why, but she knew she wanted to avoid that at all costs. She started to crawl.
The pony in the corner was following her. She knew that much. He kept saying something about a bed. She didn't want to go back to bed. She wanted music. She wanted booze. She wanted a hug. A hug from who? Who could she trust? Not her friends. She didn't have any. Was she crying again? Damn it. This was all his fault. The colt behind her. She didn't know why. She didn't care. Now she was angry. She was angry again. She was hissing and spitting, crawling across the floor. Was there music near by? She couldn't hear any. Was the music gone? Was the party over? Had she missed the last of it? She was angrier. This was all his fault. He'd taken her away from her happy place. The room was getting dark. She curled up. She cried. Nothing was right.
She was being carried again. She didn't have the energy to fight. She didn't want to. She was so tired of fighting tonight. Had she been fighting tonight? It felt like she had. She didn't have to fight when music was playing. She liked not having to fight. She felt like she'd been fighting for a long time. She wanted to rest. The room was dark. Maybe she could. Maybe she she'd had enough to drink so that she wouldn't dream. She didn't like to dream. Where was she?
She was in a soft place again. It felt familiar. It smelled familiar. She liked it. He was familiar too. The unicorn with the blue swirling magic in his voice. He was saying something. She frowned. The magic swirls in his voice had gone away. But she liked his voice, anyway. She liked him. He was sitting on the bed next to her. She tried to point. She wanted to point in the direction of music. Where was the music? She tried to say something. Her voice was weird. It was yellow. Only little bits of yellow. Like little sparks of yellow. Sickly yellow. Was she sick? She didn't like yellow. Everything was yellow. She threw up. He nodded his head and stood up. He went somewhere else. She missed him.
Music began to play from somewhere. It was quiet, but she could hear it. It sounded weird. Was that her voice? It sounded angry. It was her voice. She was listening to one of her albums. Was he playing it for her? It made her feel better. She still felt W̷̜̰̙̊e̷̼̝̰̐̆͋͜i̷̝̩͙̠͘ͅr̸̺͝͠d̵̠̏. , but she felt safe. She liked safe. He came and sat back down with her. She liked him. He was saying something again. The room tilted. She was moving. Rolling? Onto her side? That was better. She felt better. He was saying something. Something about time. Was he asking what time was it? She had no idea. It must have been sometime in the morning since she was at a party last night. Was it last night? Was there a party? She could remember something about a party. Time was weird. She felt W̷̜̰̙̊e̷̼̝̰̐̆͋͜i̷̝̩͙̠͘ͅr̸̺͝͠d̵̠̏. . She wanted to sleep. He was still there. She liked him there. She wanted him to be there when she woke up. She knew he wouldn't be. It made her sad. Sad was worse than angry. She liked him. He played music for her. She liked music. She needed music. Music made everything better. Music calmed her down. She needed to tell him she liked the music. She felt like she should thank him. She didn't know what for, but she felt that she should.
He smiled at her. She liked his smile. He floated something over to her. A glass. It smelled clear. She drank it. It was water. She hated water. She choked it down anyway. It made her feel better. She thanked him. Her words weren't yellow anymore. They didn't spark. She drank some more. Nothing was yellow now. She thanked him. He was quiet. Was it so she could listen to the music? She knew this music. It felt safe. She liked it. She made it. She closed her eyes and hummed along.
She opened her eyes. The room was all sorts of colors. Her room. Normal colors. It was daytime. Had she fallen asleep? He was gone. Had he been gone for long? Would he come back? Maybe she could find him. She wanted to find him. But she had no idea who he was. She liked the colt with the pretty swirls in his voice, but he was gone now. She didn't know where he'd gone. But maybe she could find him if she went to more parties. She would go to more parties. She would find him. She would tell him she liked him, and she didn't like anypony. He would smile at her, and ask her if she wanted to dance. She would say yes. She would have a good time. He would have a good time. She needed more good times in her life. She felt like maybe she could have them with him. The colt with the pretty swirls in his voice.
Author's Note
Three am nonsense that I thought I could turn into a story.
Tried something different here with more abstract story telling, with no dialog. Where I represent situations and intent with colors and all from the point of view of a drug-addled pony whose had way, way, way to much to drink. Didn't expect to much here. it's just another writing experiment. nobody uses colors in stories. Or Emojis, I can see why, but I wanted to try and write a story where that made sense. Not quite as happy with the way this turned out, but I'll keep the results and use it for reference later. I am happy with the experiment on a whole, though.
Neon Lights makes a cameo as Mixtape's mystery savior and unsung hero, if you couldn't tell what was happening to her and who came to her aid.
