"Why do I even bother?" muttered a disheveled Winnie the Pooh as he pushed his way through a particularly thick patch of brambles. His yellow hide was scratched up from the thorny bushes and his signature red shirt was flayed and torn. Despite the cosmetic damage, he pressed on, looking all around with his beady eyes in the vain hope that he'd spot something familiar. Of course, even he knew how foolish such an action was. He wasn't in the Hundred-Acre Woods anymore...
The trees above him hung low with thick, twisted branches, bearing enough leafs to feed an army of caterpillars and blocking out most of the sunlight. This left the poor pooh bear stumbling over roots and ferns in the near-darkness. It certainly didn't help that the forest was overgrown, a far cry from the clean and beautiful woods he'd always called home. As he continued along, he couldn't help but think back to his many peaceful years living in his old tree home, hoarding pots of honey and spending time with his friends; Piglet, Kanga and Roo, Tigger, Owl, even Rabbit, the old bitch. Oh, and that Donkey, though Pooh couldn't even remember the pathetic things' name. That didn't matter now, though. His time with them had come to an end.
His pleasant memories of years gone by were abruptly halted as his foot snagged on a root. "Oh bother!" he swore before tumbling forward onto the forest floor. The thin layer of moss and dried leafs did little to help as he landed face-first in the topsoil, his already-messy coat being sullied further with dirt and twigs.
Today just wasn't his day at all. He laid still on the ground for a few moments, catching his breath and taking a moment to rest after yet another tumble. At this rate, this forest would be the death of him. As he sat still, contemplating suicide, his ears began to twitch, noticing for the first time how quiet the forest had gotten. The birds had ceased their constant ruckus, and the ever encompassing sound of random humans beating up manticores and timber wolves for no reason was gone. The only sound was Winnie's deep breathing as he continued to lay still.
He knew exactly what this meant from experience: he was being hunted. This wasn't the first time the stuffed bear had encountered danger in recent years, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, if he had anything to say about it. His hand tightened on his old, wooden baseball bat and he was careful not to make any sudden movements as he got back on his feet, pushing his back up against an old tree and hefting his bat up, ready to strike. His bat was so worn from use it looked more like a crude club than anything, with splinters jutting out and splits in the wood, but it would do just fine for this situation.
And there he waited, his tiny, black eyes scanning the underbrush constantly, looking to spot whatever was out there before it made its move. He was patient, and he wouldn't let this creature get the best of him. It wasn't until hours later when his vigilance payed off. The sun was already beginning to set, further darkening the already-shady forest floor, before Winnie heard a defined rustling coming from a nearby bush. Without delay, out stepped his latest nemesis, the beast that looked to make a meal out of him: a chupicabra.
It stalked out of hiding, exposing its grotesque body. The creature looked like an elongated and sickly coyote, its fur hanging off in tufts exposing the pink skin underneath. Its soulless, red eyes stared hungrily into those of Winnie, and its jaw hung open, showing its long, pointed teeth and giving it an almost disgusted look.
If Pooh had any blood in his fluff-stuffed body, it would have been metaphorically running cold. He'd dealt with Heffalumps and Woozles plenty of times, and while those were beasts of nightmares, this thing was on a whole other level. He instinctively pulled his bat close to his body, holding onto it tightly with both hands and feeling a small sense of protection from the familiar item. This was all but shattered as the chupicabra took another step closer, letting out a spine-tingling hiss that sounded more like an enraged possum than any coyote Winnie had ever seen.
And then it lunged forward. The attack was so quick, any lesser stuffed bear would have been felled right then and there, but Winnie's survival instincts kicked in at the last second. He brought his makeshift club up, catching the attack as the chupicabra's sharp teeth clamped down on wood instead of his fragile neck. It growled and thrashed, its long forelegs swiping madly at Winnie's chest, the tiny, hooked claws tearing at his cloth flesh and exposing the stuffing within.
By now, Winnie's many hours of combat experience were pushing their way to the forefront of his mind. Adrenalin pumped its way through his fluff, numbing the pain in his chest for the time being. He grit his teeth, angry that this repugnant beast dared to tear up his favorite, red shirt. With all his strength, he pushed the stick to his left, knocking the chupicabra off balance and causing it to let go as it tried to right itself.
With amazing dexterity, the monster landed perfectly on its elongated legs and within a second it was ready to strike yet again. It turned with a snarl, preparing to rend flesh and suck blood with its vampire-like teeth, only to receive the butt of Winnie's bat right in the snout. It recoiled in pain, taking a step back in a meager attempt to avoid the follow up attack. Winnie was far too experienced not to capitalize on this opening, though.
He moved forward, lining himself up perfectly with the stunned chupicabra as he wielded the bat in a two-handed grip, bringing it up over his shoulder. His mind went back to the good old days at the Thousand-Acre Woods. Back when things were simpler. Back before baseball...
It had started out innocent enough: a friendly competition between a group of stuffed animals. His neighbors each took turns pitching while Winnie played the part of the batter. He got pretty good at it, managing to hit their pitches no matter how complex they got. Winnie felt quite proud of his apparent skills at baseball, and was even thinking of going professional. Then Christopher Robin himself showed up to pitch.
The young, spindly boy with his short shorts and yellow shirt hardly seemed threatening, and Winnie was happy to not only call him friend, but also creator. You see, Christopher was the one who gave Winnie, and all his companions, life. He gave them a home in the Hundred-Acre Woods and they never had a care in the world. That is, until Christopher stepped up to pitch.
His throws were beyond any mortal's comprehension. He bested Winnie countless times. Pooh tried over and over again. Seasons came and went, but still he couldn't defeat that little boy. And Christopher would just smile and continue to pitch as though nothing had happened. And through it all he would always say the same thing: "swing away, you silly old bear."
Swing away...
Winnie's bat swung forward, carried onward by rage and experience. The chupicabra never even had time to blink as its head was impacted. Its skull did little to halt the oncoming attack and it split open like a watermelon, chunks of brain matter, flesh, and bone being flung across the underbrush as the bat made a clean sweep through its target. The top of the chupicabra's head was all but cleaved off and a gout of blood erupted from its exposed trachea. The beast collapsed in an ever growing pool of its own life-fluid, its slim legs twitching momentarily before going limp.
Winnie stood over the corpse, weapon still held firmly in his hands. His bat and face were now stained red, matching his torn shirt. He stared down at the remains, rage still present in his mind. His thought's went back to Christopher Robin; the smug look on that little bastard's face as he bested Winnie countless times with little effort, his annoying, high-pitched voice, and his dumb, yellow shirt. Winnie couldn't take it. With a roar that would put any grizzly to shame, Winnie struck the limp body before him, pulverizing bones and flesh. His fury paired with the strength of his bear arms proved more than enough for the chupicabra's lanky form as he continued to beat it into little more than a pile of meat paste.
By the time he had tired himself out, it was already late into the night. He, and everything in the area, had been painted red. He panted heavily, dropping the bat to the ground as he sunk down to inspect his work. He took a deep whiff of the low-quality meat paste, savoring its stench. He had to feed.
"Fresh Meat," he hissed, thrusting his face into the desecrated remains to feast on flesh once again.
--
"And from yonder forest shall emerge the yellow bear of destiny, wielding his divine club with which he shalt smite evil in its truest form," Twilight Sparkle read aloud. She stared at the book for a few moments before pulling the page clean out and using it as toilet paper. "Hah! Likes that's ever gonna happen. What a load of crap." With a flush, she kicked the door to the outhouse open, stepping out into her swamp (Ponyville).
"Consarnit Twalight," Applejack expunged the words from her lungs, "ya'll were in ther for forty Ponylickin' minutes and ah have a MIGHTY NEED to use that ther bathroom."
Twilight's eyes revolved in her eye sockets like a pair of bowling balls coming back up after being rolled down the lane. "You know the rules, Applejack," explained Twilight for her dimwitted friend. "You need cash."
Applejack bit her lip, dancing like the dancing queen on her tippy toes as she reached into her flesh pocket and pulled out a five dollar bill, but Twilight wasn't a cheap whore. She shook her head, unimpressed by the meager offering. "You're holding out on me."
"Cmon Twi," pleaded Applejack as a drop of urine trickled down her inner thigh. "Can't ya give a discount to yer good friend? I gotta go when the volcano blows."
Twilight leaned in, her big, Jew nose mere inches from Applejack's ear, before whispering to her friend. "I know from my sources that you made exactly ten US dollars today selling apples."
Applejack's eyes widened and a bead of urine rolled down her face. "B-but, I need that ther money ta feed mah family," she argued, hoping in vain that she could appeal to Twilight's sympathy. Unfortunately, it was an ultimately futile effort.
By now, I know what you're all thinking. 'I'd let Applejack go potty in my mouth :)'. That's because you're all faggots. But I digress.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," tsked Twilight, looking out at the rest of the crowd that was waiting to use her outhouse. It was the only working bathroom in town after one of Twilight's spells sabotaged all the plumbing for miles. "If I give you special privileges, the rest of the town will want the same. Now, either pay me, or you'll have to use the bush."
Applejack's eyes prolapsed in shock, and she nearly voided her bowels right then and there. "No, no, NO, NOOO! Not the bush, anything but the bush, Twilight!"
Twilight Sparkle couldn't help but smile, and rub her hands together in satisfaction as Applejack gave up all ten of her dollars. Moving to the side, she let the orange horse access the stall without further adieu. As the door slammed shut, the air was instantly filled with the sound of enraged farting, and the crowd of onlooking ponies all laughed.
"Alright, who's next?" asked Twilight, anxious to scam more money from the dumb townsponies. After all, she didn't even own this outhouse, it was just built near the library.
"Twilight! Twilight, come quick!" whispered Fluttershy as she was waiting patiently next in line.
Twilight let out a sigh and stuck out her hand. "It costs ten US dollars, Fluttershy. I'm sure you heard me explain it to Applejack already."
"I gotta poop, Twilight, I really do, but right now something important came up." Despite being timid in comparison to other ponies, Fluttershy wasn't afraid of using the bush. In fact, she'd always used the bush, as she couldn't get plumbing to her awful, little house (and she's a hippy).
Twilight's face scrunched up like a cum rag after I'm done using it (it just gets funnier every time I use that joke). "Do you see how many dollars I'm making here? What could be more important than this?"
Fluttershy shrunk into herself, becoming 30% smaller in a subconscious, nervous habit. "Well, I found a strange creature wandering around the forest, and it's at my house, and I don't know what it is, and I thought maybe you could help me identify it."
"A strange new creature you say?" questioned Twilight as she began rubbing fingers through her neatly-trimmed beard in deep thought. According to every HiE fanfiction she'd ever read, Fluttershy knew every animal in existence, so this must be a new creature that previously didn't exist. Twilight knew this was a golden opportunity, her chance to make it big. If she discovered a brand new creature, she'd be the headline of every news network. Heck, she'd probably even be able to name it after herself, and she could probably make a lot of money selling it to some environmental organization.
"Sure, I'll come," she decided after a few moments of daydreaming of loadsa money. Before heading off, she turned and called into the library. "Hey Spike, get your lazy ass out here."
With all due haste, her little dragon slave scurried his way out the front door before curtsying before his mistress. "Take care of the outhouse while I'm gone. I've raised the fee to ten dollars per pony, no exceptions."
Spike nodded, the metal staples over his lips keeping him from speaking and serving as a reminder to never disobey his master's will. As Twilight and Fluttershy headed off, Applejack exited the outhouse, toilet paper stuck to all four feet. Seeing the opening, the crowd quickly converged on Spike, not respecting the little lizard's authority. He was trampled to death in a mad dash to get to the restroom, and Twilight later put him in a plastic bag and flushed his body down the toilet.
A short trip across town later, and the pair found themselves outside Fluttershy's poor excuse for a home. It was clearly infested, and smelled of animal shit. Only the dollar signs in her eyes kept Twilight from turning around and going home. "It better be a cool creature," she commented, "if it's just some dumb bird, or a new species of cucaracha I'm gonna take the loss of profits out on you."
Fluttershy trembled slightly, not wanting to get on Twilight's bad side, as she pushed the door open and allowed her friend inside. The place was shabbier than an old shed, the furniture being utterly ruined by the myriad of animals that made this place their home. As she stepped through the portal, Twilight couldn't help but cringe as her hoof came down on a dead bird.
"You really need to clean this place up," she commented, putting a bashful blush on Fluttershy's cheeks.
She continued into the house, just to find several dozen more dead small animals, from mice to large insects, scattered across the floor. "I'm pretty sure they were alive when I left the house," commented Fluttershy, who tiptoed her way around the corpses while Twilight just stomped right over them. It wasn't until they got to the living room that they found the first signs of life, their eyes instantly locking on the creature sitting upright on the couch.
It was unlike anything Twilight had seen before, and her confusion only increased as it began to speak in duel voices. "Would you like to play a game?"
