Anon, The Cuddle Slut: Origins

Avon opened his eyes. This was actually easier said than done, as his eyelids were dead set on remaining closed. Avon groaned, which he immediately regretted as he was washed in an unfamiliar feeling. His head pounded like a second heart was implanted in his skull and he felt that he was in constant motion, despite knowing he was as still as a board.

He lamely patted the area around his bed for the phone he knew he left on the bed with him. Fortunately, that he had some success with. He pressed the home button, shielding his eyes from the even brighter light. Saturday. 1:43 PM. A late start to the day, but it wasn’t like he missed anything.

That solved the mystery of today, but not of yesterday. Why did he feel so hungover? Why is he hungover? Avon had never drank anything remotely alcoholic, let alone drank enough to put himself into what he presumed was a blackout state. Ever the detective, Avon silently sworn to solve this mysterious, for no other reason because it was the only thing to do.

Over the course of 30 minutes, Avon rose from his bed and stood in the middle of his dorm room. Surely now would have been the time a snarky roommate would have something witty to say about Avon’s current situation, if he had a roommate that was. Instead, a feline sitting where said roommate would sleep lazily stared at Avon with disinterest.

“You got something to say?” Avon asked the cat accusingly. The cat said nothing, as expected. Avon rolled his eyes and looked about the room, his head held in his hand to cradle a pounding sensation.

Avon’s eyes settled on a mug that laid across the floor. It was a wooden mug too, one with a little of its former contents lightly spilled. Avon slowly knelt down and picked up the mug. With a whiff, he was capable of deducing the smell: Apples. It was likely a cider from he-knows-where. Now that he knew the what, he moved on to the why. Why was he drunk off his ass? Avon feared what he had gotten into, as he had no recollection of the night before. He was lucky there wasn’t anyone sleeping in the bed with him.

Avon absentmindedly scratched his stomach, feeling the dried spots of where cider stained his clothes. When he lifted his hand, however, he found light pink strands of hair on his fingers. Looking down, he further confirmed that he was covered in pink fur, not unlike he would find himself after holding his cat. Avon let out a deep sigh.

“Welp, no point in dancing around it.” Avon said back to the cat, picking up a book on his desk. “Someone in PV has gotta know what went down last night. Let’s hope I didn’t get into any trouble.”

Avon flipped through the pages of the book. He had never fully understood exactly how to activate the portal, no matter how many times he actually did it. Twilight did tell him exactly how it worked, but it was long-winded and his mind was on classwork, not portals. He stopped on a familiar page. That answer to his book problem came naturally to him.

“Once upon a time, in the magical land of Equestria.” Avon read, before quickly setting the book down. As soon as he did, the book took a life of it’s own, flipping through its pages at an incredible speed. Slowly, a gateway began to form. The portal opened to his home away from home in Ponyville, a recent change that was made with the help of Starlight. It’d be inconvenient to keep appearing in the Castle of Friendship after all. The cat jumped off of the bed, joining her owner in staring through the portal. Avon looked down at her.

“Bree, hold the fort for me, m’kay?” He asked the cat. The cat said nothing of course. “Anyone comes in, tell them I went to a world filled with magical talking horses.”

With that being said, Avon stepped through the portal.
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“The least you’re could’ve done was talk me out of it, Spike.” Avon replied, before splashing more cold water in his face.

“That’s not how you drink a glass of water.” Spike reminded Avon, taking the glass back from his bipedal friend. “And if I remember correctly, I explicitly had to talk you into it. You already wouldn’t go.”

“Blame Pinkie.” Avon wiped his face with a rag. “I didn’t want a “Welcome Back” party, yet she forced me to go to one anyway. And I’ll blame you for advocating on her behalf.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “You have a bad habit of not taking responsibility for your actions.”

“And old habits die hard.” Avon tossed the rag at Spike, which draped over him like a sheet ghost. “Regardless, I still want a play-by-play. I went to this party, overestimated my tolerance, then what?”

Spike pulled the rag from off of him and folded it up. It was his room they were sitting and talking in, so any mess he made would fall upon him to clean.

“Are you sure you want to know?” Spike asks hesitantly. “You were pretty weird the whole night. You might not want to hear all the things you did.”

Avon squinted. “Are you making this sound worse than it actually is?”

“I might be.” Spike said with a smug grin. Avon stared at Spike before suddenly spring towards him with his long, spindly human arms. Spike, caught by surprise, was unable to escape quickly enough to evade Avon’s grasp. Avon then noogied Spike inbetween his head spikes. “Come on, quit it!”

“I’ll quit it when you stop bein’ a lil shit.” Avon said. Of course, he wasn’t hurting the little dragon. In fact, it would’ve been quite difficult, considering that while his scales were notable more pliable than one would expect, they were still hardy. No, the act was much more annoying then harmful, causing Spike to squirm from his grasp. Finally, Avon let go. “Now, tell me what went down. Spare nothing, no matter how embarrassing, ‘kay?”

Spike rubbed his head, glad to be freed. “‘Kay. If that’s what you want.”