My Little Pinkie Pie - MLP Fanfic

Chapter 6 - Scrubbing Brush Skates

I fall out of bed the next morning. I rub my eyes and yawn for a good ten seconds. My mouth tastes disgusting, my eyes are all blurry, and my lips feel dry.
Yup, I slept in. I feel just yuck, and my OCD has managed to drag me to the bathroom without paying attention to the things around me. After a long shower (I'm not sure how long), and a good 20 minutes of brushing my hair, I reflect on last night.

Pinkie Pie - THE Pinkie Pie, was sleeping in my house. And I fed her. I gave her a bath. And she slept in my bed. I sit on the edge of the bathtub. This is all a bit overwhelming. Maybe even more.

What am I supposed to do now? Should I tell her about the cartoon Pinkie on TV? I've already showed her that. But what if she gets upset about that? Maybe I should consult wikipedia? Should I tell anyone? Who am I supposed to tell?

All these questions and more are swimming around in my head. I wish I could answer them all so badly, but I know I can't. A loud clatter rips me from my thoughts.

I poke my head out of the bathroom and finally notice the disgusting mess around me. It almost makes me faint. There's mess in the hallway, and downstairs, too. There's torn up books scattered all over the place, ink smudges on the walls, and... Is that a poo?
I pick my way through the mess and look into my room. It's sorta the same thing. "Oh, no," I gasp. Some of the paper looks awfully familiar. Like the posters in my closet...

I run towards it, and fling open the doors. The sight nearly makes me scream.

Oh God.

On one side of my closet, my clothes have been pulled down from their coat hangers and scattered all over the room. Most of my shoes have been chewed on. Some of the carpet has been ripped up. But on the other side, the posters have been ripped down and torn up, and the pony figures have had all kinds of awful things done to them. They've been chewed in half, had their heads ripped off, parts of their mane or tails pulled out, and teeth marks on their bodies. The pictures from BronyCon are destroyed, along with the comics and my one good picture of Mark....

But worst of all was the Pinkie Pie plushie. All its stuffing had been ripped out, and parts of its cover had been chewed off as well. All it is is a bunch of Polyester Fibre.

I just want to cry, and I think I just might as I cradle the glossy, now slobbery, image of Mark.

"PINKIE PIE!" I screech at the top of my lungs.

There's another loud clatter. It comes from downstairs, in the kitchen. I rush down there, still in only a towel.

The straight haired pink pony looks up at me from inside a soup pot. She has a smaller pot on her head. I look around the room. The fridge door was open, and almost all its contents had been taken out and scattered all over the room. The sink had overflown. I rush to turn it off, and nearly slip on some yogurt on the floor. All the bowls, cups, mugs, plates, pots, pans, and kitchen utensils had been pulled out of their cupboards, and some have been broken or smashed.

I'm breathing heavily. Suddenly, my OCD takes over.

I slowly turn towards Pinkie. She's looking up at me, as if it ask if I was okay.

"No, Pinkie Pie! BAD!" I say harshly, waving my index finger.

My hands close around her body, and I carry her around the house, showing her the mess she had done and saying "NO!" In a loud tone.

When I'm done, I seat her on the floor of my bedroom. "Now," I say, sternly, "You are going to help me clean up. You will not make another mess like this again. Are we clear?" I tower over her.

She squeaks a reply. I wonder if she understands, but I'm pretty sure she does.

"Alright," I snap, "We'll start in the kitchen."

I grab a roll of duck tape and four scrubbing brushes from a small closet in the hallway, one thing Pinkie didn't completely destroy.
I pick up a bucket and fill it with soapy water, and haul it down into the kitchen, with Pinkie Pie under my left arm. I decide to at least make this cleaning thing fun for her, because I know not many people are as fond of it as I am.

I dump the bucket, along with the scrubbing brushes and tape, on the ground, and place Pinkie in front of me.

"Stick out your hoof," I say, putting my hand out for her to place her hoof in it.

She does as I say, using her right hoof. The outer hoof feels like the rest of the fur on her body. But the bottom of her hooves are hard, and they feel a bit like wood. I tape one scrubbing brushes onto her right hoof, and slip a brush into my own hand. Pinkie looks at it questioningly. On all fours, I dip my brush into the bucket full of soapy warm water and start scrubbing at the floor, before sliding to one of the low cupboards and scrubbing at that for a short time, too.

The Pink filly gives a whinny, and copies me. Soon, I have taped all four scrubbing brushes onto Pinkie's hooves and she is sliding, if not skating, around the kitchen floor, cheering in delight.

I climb to my feet and start picking and sweeping up all the food on the ground and dumping it in the bin, after closing the fridge door to stop it from overheating. I sweep up all the broken plates, glasses and mugs and throw them in the bin, too. I'm really relieved Pinkie hasn't cut or hurt herself because of the damage she's done.

I place all the unharmed dishes and kitchen utensils on the large kitchen bench, and stuff as many as I can into the dishwasher, and put the ones that won't fit in the sink. Pinkie slides around me, scrubbing at the low cupboard doors and doing backflips and other amazing tricks.

After a painful two and a half hours of washing dishes, I finally arrange them all neatly in their correct cupboards. I mop the floor, in case Pinkie might have missed a spot. After about an hour or so of wiping down the walls, cleaning the kitchen windows, vacuuming the curtains and cleaning the inside of the fridge, I finally make the kitchen look almost too shiny.
I remove the scrubbing brushes from Pinkie Pie's hooves and soak them in some hot water, before moving on to the lounge room, which isn't as bad as the rest of the house, but I still clean and vacuum everything, even the TV. Pinkie helps, a little, by pushing a few pieces of rubbish into a corner, but soon falls asleep on the couch.

I carry on to the rest of the house, and by the time I'm finished, it starts to get dark, and I realise there is no food in the fridge. I know I have to go shopping, but I'm worried that if I leave Pinkie all by herself, she'll make another mess again.

I can only do what I have to now.

I rummage around in my closet and find my huge duffel bag. It's pink colour has faded, and I haven't used it in ages, but it will have to do.
I pace down the stairs and into the living room to see Pinkie chewing the rubber duck from last night. How on earth did she find that?
"Pinkie," I say softly.
She turns her head when she hears me, and bounds happily up to me as I kneel down. I unzip the large bag and point inside it.

"This is a game. But you can't be seen, Pinkie, okay?"

I use my entire body as I speak, showing a lot of body language.

"You go inside this bag," I point to her, and then the bag, "And I zip it up, so I can take you anywhere. But you have to be super quiet," I press a fore finger to my lips, "Because you mustn't be seen. I really hope you can understand me."

She places a front hoof cautiously into the bag and looks up at me.

I smile and nod, "That's right!"

Pinkie smiles and lets the other three hooves follow. I zip up the bag, leaving a small gap for air, and so Pinkie can see what's going on if she wants to. This better work.
I put my scarf on top of her and place my keys, a purse and some change on top, just in case a shop assistant asks to look in my bag.

I open the front door and step out. The cool winter air hits me and sends a shiver down my spine. I hope Pinkie doesn't get too cold. I lock the front door, and start making my way down to the grocery store.

I walk by the alley way where I found Pinkie yesterday. How did she get here? Why now?
I shake the thought off, as my stomach rumbles. All I need to think about right now is food.

I reach the grocery store. Pinkie has been absolutely quiet, and I'm not sure if that's good or bad.

I suck in a breath. "Here goes."