The number one reason
We need to put this crazy way we live
This so-called civilization
We We force everyone to think
Be
Talk
Act the same ...
It's killing us

Children are infected with it
Even in how they try to be
Different is all the same

I think he's a lost cause.

she tries to say something, but the bit in her mouth ensures that the sounds that she makes are incoherent as the door to her....her what? her stall? The door to her stall opens, you step inside

You

The same person that had spoken to her yesterday
That had told her that she would spend the rest of her days here as a human pony

she shakes her head, tries to wriggle way from You, but the chain around her ankle will only let her get so far. her knees are tight together. she wants to shield her breasts from view but her hands are cuffed behind her back.

This was no dream. It was a nightmare

Stand up on your milking stool and put it in her.

He enjoyed a quiet moment of amusement as he watched Angus Balfour look first to Mlle DuPont to seek her permission when he had dismissed the man; it was more than that the lad was her assistant, he knew. Hells, he was certain most everyone knew of the soft spot that Balfour had for the woman – Mademoiselle DuPont herself, included.

Still, she had not made the lad suffer overmuch, not by her own standards, in any case, and so he allowed it all to pass without comment. He did though, share a look of amusement with Mlle DuPont as she rolled her eyes at him, just as Balfour quickly moved to go and make himself presentable.

Before he could reply, Livingston, still chuckling at Rosalie’s suggestion that the man might model for her, quietly took his leave, murmuring that he would send some of the maids down to see to the… mess.

“Perhaps we can arrange a quid pro quo, Mademoiselle. Though do not think that you will command me to remove my clothing as readily as you might young Balfour, you miniature minx.”

He grinned with that comment, understanding quite well that their relationship was far more akin to sibling banter than the tension she wielded over Angus Balfour.

Quiet amusement coloured his expression as he beckoned her closer, presenting the folder. “Now, come and have a look, I think you will find this far more interesting.”

stepping up to the stable where I left the new filly yesterday
leaning over the half door
smiling
seeing it startled, only becoming awake
smiling more

Hello beauty, good morning!
I guess you did sleep well?

opning the door and stepping in

Slipping in after a long night of working and stuff... blankie around me, reading this, my eyes brighten, and I smile... whispering softly

It's good to have some good news Kit.
I can't wait for voda to get back.

Love ya both.

Padding out quietly

(please use her Sir... i don't have it in me!!)

((oh I don't want to push him into a position he's not comfortable in))

Bright blue eyes open wide
Realising that she is still naked, the bit is back in her mouth, there is straw under her bare body

It wasn't a dream!

Put your thoughts into actions. Hurry up before you lose her.

((well it doesn't seem there are any farmer's arround I'll have to try this again another time, have a good night))

Stirring in its sleep, its mind filled with hazy memories
Had that Woman really told her that she was a pony now, would never leave this place?
Or had she been dreaming?

https://64.media.tumblr.com/f5c5142e727976fc21766cdcf5e92523/tumblr_inline_oujeqfVnDz1v2b4h9_400.gifv

(wondering what happens to you between sessions... naked or dressed? i'd loke you kept in some sort of outfit like a pony girl style, latex, boots etc but now sure if hucows do that...)

Have a great day Seven

She turned her head just enough to cast a glance over her shoulder as you appear, always like a hair on the soup, although your voice was familiar enough to her now that she didn’t need to look to know it was you. Her eyes flicked to the leather folder in your possession with a curiosity she makes no attempt to hide, before meeting your gaze.

“My three-legged ducks…?” She blinked at you, twice, then rolled her eyes in a fashion that was singularly gallic and perfectly contemptuous in that way the Parisiennes owned. It was less your using a French idiom as abusing it, the incorrectness of its application having thrown her for a second, but she doesn’t doubt for a second that you did so deliberately.

She waves a hand at Angus Balfour as he starts to waffle, the gesture dismissive but not unkindly so, but holds tight to the camera, not quite ready to relinquish it yet.

“Pfff, take him. I am sure Livingston would be happy to model for me.” She slanted a glance at the butler, a roguish grin tugging at her mouth as she knew full well that chickens would have to grow teeth before the man would agree to that, no matter how kindly he felt towards her.

“Or…” she drawls, schooling her expression into one of uncharacteristic sweetness “…maybe you, Monsieur Kincaid? It is for the, how you say it…? Greater good of the Society, non?”

Now THAT would break three legs on a duck, she thought to herself, pedantically employing the idiom correctly even if it was just in her own thoughts.

https://64.media.tumblr.com/03debbca16c7dcb76ee1a903f20ccf35/tumblr_inline_oujeq0Nrta1v2b4h9_500.gifv

((oh no I was just speaking about your suggestions))