The trials and tribulations of managing your own personal pony village.
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Thread 28521014 Post 28531175

2016-09-29 07:55:43 No. 28529160
>There's also some genuine loyalty building up there
Nah. Corona is playing the long con. She's only using anon. Once she gains his trust enough to be in a position where she has a decent chance for freedom and escape, she's going to seize it.

!F9CBa509ak 2016-09-29 02:36:20 No. 28531175
> Your own voice is shaking now, the rush of adrenaline finally wearing off and fire in your belly cooling from the raging inferno it had been moments earlier.
> "Yes, Cadance?"
"Go - go get Anonymous. Now. Yourself, not anypony else. Now!
> "I..."
> He falters.
> Not because he is afraid of Anonymous, you realize from the way he looks at you.
> He is afraid of what you might do.
"I'll be okay, Thunderlane. We'll be okay."
> Perhaps not so literally, considering how you'd thrown the guard around.
> But close enough.
"Hurry now. Somepony will have heard that and will be coming to investigate. Anonymous needs to see this before it gets out of control."
> That phrase - out of control - finally seems to get through to Thunderlane.
> Without another single word he is out the door; raising your voice, you call after him:
"And send a doctor up, if you see one!"
> Then it is only three of you in the room.
> Silently you turn, climbing up onto the bed beside the filly - Cotton Cloudy, Thunderlane had said her name was.
> She is still standing on the bed, frozen by shock, barely able to move.
> Not until you stretch a wing out across her back, gently but firmly pressing her into the mattress.
> All at once she seems to collapse, legs folding beneath her.
> You join her, keeping the wing stretched out over her like a sheltering blanket.
> After a moment, Cotton Cloudy tucks her head into your ribs and you feel the first heavy sob rack her body.
> Laying your neck comfortingly over her, you twist your head just enough to lay a sharp, piercing glare in the direction of the man curled trembling in the corner.
> He somehow curls even more tightly into himself, clutching at the wrist you'd twisted.
> Not merely shocked.
> Not even enraged.
> Terrified.
> He is terrified of you.
> Understandably, too.
> That Anonymous did not suppress his slaves' magic was a mercy.
> As he'd put it, he could no more take that than tie a man's hands and expect him to work.
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