>Here it is.
>Cabin 7-G.
>You’ve had to carry your suitcase from one end of the train to the other, but at last you can sink down into the comfort of your assigned booth.
>Only... instead of comfort, your butt finds the seats are uncovered hard wood.
>Guess you get what you pay for with budget class.
>The train disembarks from Ponyville station, builds up speed and leaves the town behind.
>You’d open the window for a little fresh air, but of course your one doesn’t open.
>You’re left hoping you’re the only one assigned to this cabin, watching the door anxiously every few seconds.
>You wouldn’t mind company, but you can never be sure who you’ll be stuck with.
>A loudmouth gushing about her accomplishments right in your ear? An austere old dame who’ll reproach you for breathing too loudly?
>The door is thrown open, and you turn your head to the bright pink pony with a skip in her step.
>She’s hauling a huge cart of party supplies and confectionary; so many cakes, pies, strudels and ice creams that at first you wonder if she’s the food cart operator.
>”Heya!” She chirrups, pulling her gear inside with one final heave.
>”Don’t mind the clutter. I’m on my way to a party emergency in Appeloosa!”
“Party emergency?”
>”Oh, yeah! I heard a pack of perturbed ponies were parched for a party, so I gathered all the essentials and hopped right on the train!”
>She throws some of her ‘essentials’ onto the seat, leaving you with little space and then dropping herself down beside you with an impact so heavy the window quakes.
>She rolls from cheek to cheek, trying to find comfort, and pressing her warmth into you as she does so.
>”Geez louise! These seats are rough on the henie!”
>You silently hope she’ll stop fidgeting as you turn your attention out the window.
>The trees grow sparse and the hills begin to flatten in the smear of scenery rushing by.
>Your little nature watch is interrupted by a sudden thundering noise that rattles against the hard wood surface.
>Did she just...?
>Your head snaps back to Pinkie, who seems to be just as surprised as you are.
>”I didn’t know I brought my whoopee cushion with me!”
>She lifts the cheek closest to you away from the seating and inspects underneath it, finding nothing there but her own rounded buns.
>”Nope! Guess it must have been the real thing!”
>Her plot slams back down with an unceremonious thud.
>She shoots off another quick toot and it sets her off into a giggle fit.
>”Wow, sorry!”
>Another one spreads across the seat and ripples past the fat of her cheeks.
>”Whoopsie!”
>She’s laughing so hard she can barely hold a sentence together.
“Really, it’s oka-“
>A long stream pours out from under her and fluctuates to the rhythm of her laughter.
>”Hehee! Boy, I don’t know what I ate, but they just keep comin’!”
>As if the abrasive sounds aren’t enough, the air under your nose begins to sour.
>You take a sniff, and you’re assaulted by the smell of dampened milk underlined with something sweetly and a little cloying.
>It’s like a dirty mop in a candy factory.
>”M-Man, these aren’t just noisy toots, they’re stinkers too!”
>She hoists her hind legs up to her chest and sends out three very forced trumpet trills.
>Still trying to settle into a comfortable position, she leans away from you over the weight of her pudgy pony cheeks.
>”Haha! Looks like I didn’t need to pack my party canon after all!”
>More clusters of curdled gas. She’s forcing them through her system with so much force they’re whining like a pinched balloon.
>The train judders on the tracks and she’s thrown right into you.
>The shock forces out another barrage of rude bottom noises.
>The thickening heat spreads against your body, disperses through your clothes with all the humidity of a swamp.
>You try to push her away from you, but from your blind position your fingers only sink into her rump flesh and spread her cheeks wider.
>The train shakes again and now her flanks are smooshed against your shoulder.
>She is beyond encroaching on your personal space—she’s practically using your body as a seat now.
>Before you can ready your nose or mouth you’re hit with a fresh fusillade of fermented dairy products and caramelized stench.
>”Oh dear! Looks like my tummy’s not the only thing with a little turbulence!”
>Her cheeks open around you, wrapping the thick of your arm between them, she farts and the vibrations shake your entire upper body.
>You’re drowning in Pinkie’s stink and even if you had the words to yell out at her, the cacophony of bubbly giggles, snorts, and ripe rumbling farts are too loud to penetrate.
>The air in the confined cabin is so thick with flatus that the window is fogged.
>”Sorry! Sorry! Oh, gosh! Where are my manners?”
>Ripper after ripper and hiss after hiss are unloaded through your body and fumigate the very paltry space that separates your head from her ass.
>If you weren’t hacking up your lungs on the rotten milky fumes you’d probably be marveling at the sheer capacity of this mare’s digestive tract.
>The digestive tract that she gives you a whiff of by hissing a moist fog directly into your face.
>She’s a giggling, farting mess; shooting off crackles of gas more frequently than she’s taking breaths.
>”Holy Guacamole! Talk about tooting your own horn!”
>The train suddenly jars to an absolute halt, and it mercifully sends her flying across to the other side of the cabin and away from you.
>The speakers squeal and a voice breaks through the static.
>”Apologies, Fillies and Gentlecolts. We’re havin’ some maintenance issues. Once we’ve got them sorted we’ll be up and running. Should only take an hour or so.”
>You freeze.
>Your heart beats at twice the pace.
>A pink tail sticks out from a pile of party paraphernalia, and the lisping trombone note that dribbles out seals your fate.