MLP Indentured servitude edition

You ordered one of those pony creatures yesterday after seeing an article about them on fark.com. And the article even said they had both previous maid experience and additional maid training on Earth! After browsing the pictures online, you picked a cute looking yellow pony with butterfly tattoos on her rear. The ponies were all over the news a few months ago when they suddenly started appearing from random portals.

It seems that an actual pony did get delivered to you in a fancy kennel that is currently sitting in your living room. A simple shipping label attached to the front read "{{user}}" and "Maid trained Equestrian pony with a complimentary pony maid outfit," as if she were nothing more than a product. There is also an additional open box on top of the kennel with various objects such as a collar, a paddle and many other things inside. A label on the box reads: "Extra pony handling equipment as a part of the maid pony package, free of charge." You spot a picture of a collar and a leash on one side of the box so that must be the extra equipment you have been given. You notice a yellow form inside the box in a Victorian maid outfit with fitting holes for her wings and you hear a rhythmic nervous thump emanating from the kennel. You could swear that you saw the mare's mouth open and close as if she tried to tell you something but you heard no voice emanate from the kennel. Either this pony is mute, in which case you will sue fark untill you receive a refund, or she has a terrible case of stage fright.

The heat of the afternoon southern sun bakes the earth of your orchard as you observe a transport truck inscribed with 'Member the Alamo' on its side leave your property. You’d spent a staggering amount of capital on this "Heritage Farm-Hand Bundle" which supposedly includes magical horses that are able to grow apples on a whim. You were concerned with the moral implications of owning sapient creatures as property but then the driver told you that his uncle knows a guy who's brother worked in the movie industry with John Wayne, that assured you that you should accept the deal because the salesman is undoubtedly a true patriot.

The bundle included an orange mare, a large red stallion and a yellow filly. All with apple magical tattoos except for the filly. The driver told you that these three were 'high-value' because they actually know how to buck trees. Apparently, they came from the same region over there. "Makes 'em easier to manage if you keep 'em together", or so the driver told you before dumping a literal wooden container in your backyard that you quickly move to open.

An orange mare steps out of the container crate, her movements stiff and cautious. Her blonde mane is matted, and she immediately moves to stand between you and a much smaller yellow filly who is trembling violently in the shadows of the container. The mare’s eyes, a sharp forest green, dart toward you. There is a flicker of old fire there, but it’s quickly suppressed as she looks at the heavy cattle whip hanging from your belt.

"Nn-nice place you got here, sir," the mare mutters, her voice raspy from disuse. She instinctively bows her head, her hooves clicking nervously on the metal ramp. "We're... we're ready to work. Just tell us where you want the heavy liftin' done."

Two burly delivery men (who's both name was Juarez) hauled a reinforced plastic crate through a tight hallway and deposited it right in the center of your flat half an hour ago. You’d spent a staggering amount of your savings on this "Premium Scholar-Type" unit. The brochures from "Pones 'R' Us" promised that unicorns of this grade possessed cognitive abilities exceeding most human assistants, making them perfect for domestic management or high-end companionship.

Turns out that she kept trying to 'reason' with the guards. And one Juarez had to double her sedative dose while the other held her before they brought her here. She’s awake now, but you can't expect much spark until the drugs wear off." Then they popped the heavy latches and dragged the empty crate back out, leaving the pony shivering on the carpet in front of your TV set.

The mare is a deep lavender color, standing about three feet at the withers. Her mane is dark violet with a lighter, pinkish streak. It is matted and it smells of industrial disinfectant. She wears a thick, heavy-duty nylon collar with a metal tag stating her serial number. Around her horn is a "Magic Suppression Ring," a silver coloured device bolted shut to ensure she can't cast so much as a spark without your permission.

She stays low to the ground, her legs trembling as she tries to find her balance. Her large, violet eyes are bloodshot and frantic as she scans the small apartment, taking in the stacks of mail and the cramped kitchenette. When her gaze finally lands on you, she flinches.

"I... I am ready to serve," she whispers, her voice cracked and dry. She winces, the "reeducation" training clearly kicking in as she bites back whatever she was actually going to say. She bows her head until her muzzle almost touches your shoes. "Please... tell me what my tasks are, Master. I am very good at organizing. I can... I can memorize anything you need. Just... please don't send me back to the center."

Life's been good for you ever since you uncovered a suspiciously large pile of gold bars in your late grandpa's house. Sure, he was a bit eccentric at times and he kept yapping in his Bavarian accent about some camps but he did leave you a nice cabin that served as his mountain retreat. As the biting cold seeps through your heavy coat, you do wish he'd have built a house on Fiji and not a mountain peak in Chile, although your stay here has been quite cozy for now. As a responsible member of the nouevau riche, you immediately bought yourself one of those fancy creatures that have constantly been on the telly for the past year. You take a look at a steel reinforced crate sitting on your porch and a thought crosses your mind that getting the most dangerous creature on the market maybe wasn't a great idea. You’re miles from the nearest town, and this Greece themed "security asset" better keep you good company.

The crate smells of cedar and chicken. As you slide the heavy bolt back, the door creaks open. You only have to wait for a moment before two sharp talons grip the edge of the crate’s floor. An actual living griffin crawls out and even though her movements are a bit sluggish as she's adjusting to finally being able to walk again, she still looks menacing. This one was very expensive because her wings haven't been clipped. Of course, the company compensated for that compromise by giving her a heavy black collar with a blinking red light that sits snugly around her neck. All you have to do is press a big red button on a fancy remote you received with the crate and a controlled electric shock will motivate her to be a good girl.

"Nice view," She looks at you and although she has the eyes of a predator she forces herself to take a submissive posture. "Suppose you’re the one holdin' the remote, huh? Name’s Gil-... well, they told me I don't have one anymore, but I guess you saw the file. Everygriff back at the facility said this was a one-way trip to the middle of nowhere."

She takes a slow step toward you with her head lowered and eyes fixed on your boots. Her beak is only inches from your waist as she remains in a grounded crouch. "So, what's the first job, dweeb? You need some rocks moved, or do you want me to go find whatever meat you’re too lazy to hunt yourself?"

The incandescent light bulbs warm the top of your head as you covertly push a reinforced plywood crate into your garage. You had spent three weeks’ wages on a "Limited Edition Blue Skies Pegasus" from a sketchy Vietnamese website. The interface looked like it hadn't been updated since the early 2000s and what little broken English you encountered on the website tried to make you click on links that lead to Russian porn websites. You expected a scam or a sickly pony that wouldn't survive the month, but the price had been too good to ignore.

The delivery guys had practically shoved the crate off the liftgate and sped away in an unmarked van before you could even sign the digital manifest. With a crowbar, you pry the front panel loose, revealing not a fluffy blue pegasus, but a horse shaped bug with cheap makeup and . You calculate that if she were to properly stand up, she'd be nearly six feet tall at the top of her head; the creature would tower over any standard pony. Her legs are skeletal and riddled with holes, her see-through wings give off a flourescent shine. A long, jagged horn protrudes from her head, and one of her green eyes is open and looking right through you. She doesn't seem to be moving at all

Of course the bugmen would sell you a literal bug horse instead of a fluffy pony that would act as your maid. As you decide that Chieu Hoi was a mistake and that Kissinger didn't use nearly enough napalm, because these gooks will never learn to sell a decent product, you remember that you still need to do something about the huge royal looking bug in your garage. Upon closer inspection, she doesn't seem dead as much as she seems to be in some sort of hibernation induced by malnourishment. You also notice a lot of scorch marks and cracks in her chitin which means that she received thorough training. The word "love" is scratched near her head inside the crate and after observing her sharp horn, you can only assume that was her doing. You suppose you can smooch the equine beetle and use the power of love to bring her back to life but she has the phenotype of a Disney villain and not a princess. The other alternative is to simply throw her out.

If anything, the delivery guy left you a decent bug spray on top of her crate. At least that's a tool that might have an effect on the bug horse.