Even though it is not my best, I still think that it is a fun little story that is worth sharing here.
"Oh, Rainbow Splash," said Twilight Sporkle as the two snuggled afterwards, "you have made me the happiest llama alive. I just wish you had told me from the start that you are transgendered."
Plonq pondered for a long while over the denouement; did the words give proper closure? Did they support the idea of a blooming relationship without the need to write a sequel? He let his thoughts dance backward through the story, carefully unweaving the web of his tale as he went. Had he included enough bedroom time, with adequate spooge without being completely over the top? Brammas loved spooge in their stories.
The snow leopard had three simple rules when it came to writing a fan story: pander, pander and pander. His philosophy was that one could mask a surprising amount of unoriginality or questionable talent with enough blatant service to the fans. This was not to say that the feline considered himself an untalented hack; not entirely. He had done a lot of research for this story, and if nothing else, the phrase, "llamas don't bend that way" was now firmly burned into his memory.
He scrolled through the story again, so engrossed in proof reading and tweaking that he did not hear the key in the door. His first inkling that he had visitors was when his roommate entered the room in mid conversation.
"...with luck he has pants on," the otter was saying to the person entering the room behind him.
"Ack!" panicked the feline. He glanced at his piles of notes and plastic reference llamas strewn around the coffee table, but he only had time to shove some note paper over a well-thumbed and bookmarked copy of Lesbians for Dummies before the two interlopers stepped into the room.
"Oh, you are home," said Giblet cheerily. He reached back and hooked his companion by the elbow, pulling him fully into the room. "This is Bruno," he said with a hint of shyness creeping into his tone. "He's an, um, friend who I met at the gym. We were gonna chill together this evening if that's OK with you."
Plonq caught the um, and he wondered if that was a clue that he might want to head out to dinner and a movie. He was not the most astute when it came to social cues, but if the otter had been blushing any deeper it would have glowed through his fur.
"Anyway, Bruno, this is my room-mate Plonq," said the little otter, gesturing toward the snow leopard on the couch.
"Charmed," said the tiger who, on closer inspection, more closely resembled a refrigerator on legs. He was a full head taller than the otter, and probably twice his mass. The giant feline was dressed in leather pants, a Harley Davidson sleeveless shirt, and had large skull earrings in both ears. When he moved, the flexing of his basketball-sized biceps called attention to the flaming heart brand on his upper arm.
"Plonq's a writer," said Giblet with a hint of possessive pride in his voice. "He's got quite a following in... some circles," he added.
"Oh ya?" said the tiger, scratching his massive, muscled cheek with an enormous set of claws. "I'm not big on reading."
Oh really? thought Plonq, fervently praying that he had only thought that and not said it aloud.
"What kind of stuff you write?" asked the tiger in a tone that suggested he was being more polite than interested.
"Oh, you know, um..." hedged Plonq as he tried to think of a description that would not sabotage his roommate's chances with his latest date. "Mostly I string together words and stuff to, uh, create a conflict-based plot wrapped in an overlying theme."
Giblet snorted. "Stop acting so humble, you're a pretty decent writer." He scrunched up his muzzle and took in the scattering of notes, and the open computer in front of the little feline. "It looks like you're working on something right now," he said. Before the snow leopard could spot the danger and react, the otter closed the two steps to the coffee table and snatched up the laptop.
"No, wait!" yelled Plonq in alarm. He launched himself from the sofa and leapt toward the otter in what would have been a marvellous display of a predator at work if he had not collided with the table, overturning it and landing face down on its underside while his notes flew in all directions. To his credit, he managed to wrap one hand around the otter's ankle as he jumped out of the way. "That one's not quite ready for public consumption yet," said the snow leopard weakly into the carpet.
The otter shook himself free of the snow leopard's grip with the casualness of one who regarded this as normal interaction. "Don't be silly," said the otter. "Your writing is pretty polished from the first draft." He held the laptop at arm's length. "Let's see…"
Muttershy flexed her wings, and it looked like she might bolt. "Why Applejock," she said timidly, "I don't even know what to say."
"Uh, you should maybe scroll up a page or two," said Plonq desperately, making another failed grab toward the otter's ankle.
Giblet danced easily out of the way and continued reading.
"You could say 'yes mistress'," said Applejock with a salacious leer as she closed on the skittish, winged llama. Moments later their tongues...
The otter's voice tapered off as his pupils simultaneously dilated in horror. "What the heck am I reading here?" he demanded. He became acutely aware that Bruno had moved up to stand behind him and was reading over his shoulder. The giant tiger was peering intently at the screen, and other than the flick of his eyes moving back and forth, his face was motionless. Giblet quickly snapped the cover shut on the laptop. "You're right, this probably isn't quite ready for public consumption," he said hurriedly. He turned quickly to his date and tried to salvage the situation. "What kind of a host am I?" he said quickly. "Let me show you around the place." He gave the other a gentle tug on the elbow, but the tiger remained rooted in place, staring at the snow leopard who was laboriously extricating himself from the overturned coffee table.
"Muttershy and Applejock," he said in a low rumble. "As in, two of the characters from that cartoon show for little girls?"
"Yes," said Plonq shortly as he hastily worked to gather up his scattered papers.
"And you've written them into a sensual, adult-themed story," continued the tiger, whiskers twitching. Giblet made another abortive attempt to move the tiger, but by now he had moved past trying to salvage his date and was looking to avoid bloodshed.
"I don't know if I would quite word it that way," said Plonq cagily, looking thoughtful over the bundle of loose papers he was holding to his chest, "but I guess essentially that kind of sums it up."
"That's awesome!" yowled the tiger, holding his beefy hands to the sides of his cheeks in glee. "I've always been in the Mutterjock camp; I think those two make an amazing pair."
All of the jaws in the floor that were not currently attached to a tiger nearly hit the floor simultaneously.
"You watch that show?" demanded Giblet and Plonq in unison, but with entirely different motivations.
"I love that show," gushed the tiger. He burst into deep baritone, "My Little Llama, My Little Llama,"
"Aaaaaaaaaah," joined in Plonq.
The tiger clapped his hands and flexed his knees in delight, then he held out a fist toward the snow leopard. The latter returned the gesture with a gentle bump of his own fist.
"Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh," said the tiger excitedly. "I've heard that there were Brammas out in the wild, but I'd never met one until now. Rainbow Splash is my favourite llama. Who's yours?"
"Twilight Sporkle," replied the snow leopard. "But it's so hard to pick a favourite. I love them all so much."
"Oh, I know!" agreed Bruno. "I keep rearranging my new vinyl set on top of my TV because I can't decide on just one."
Plonq gasped. "You've got the new vinyl set?" he demanded with an envious mewl. "I've been looking everywhere for those."
"Dude," said the tiger, grabbing the hapless snow leopard by the arm and tugging him toward the door so violently that all of Plonq's papers flew free again. "They still had a couple of sets left when I bought mine. If we go there right now, we can probably still get you some."
"Uh," said Giblet, making a furtive reach for the door as the other two brushed out of it in a flurry of fur. The otter stood silently in the living room, clutching the closed laptop in his left hand while his right remained extended toward the door. Note papers slowly fluttered to the floor all around him.
Two hours and four beers later, Giblet sat hunched over the (now righted) coffee table with the snow leopard's plastic llamas arranged on it. He did not care that he had raided the feline's room to get the toys, nor did he care that he was technically drinking the cat's beer.
"So Butterguy, or whatever your name is, how did your date go tonight?" he said in a broken alto, bouncing the blue llama to indicate who was talking.
"Oh, you know," said the yellow llama bitterly, bouncing in reply, "I brought him home and my room-mate stole him away from me."
"That sucks," said the first llama in commiseration. "Doesn't that just put a damper on your whole evening? Well, what now?"
"Now," said the otter, leaning in very close and looking back and forth between the plastic llamas in his hands with a wicked gleam in his eye, "you kiss."