Bugs, Fluff and Other Stuff

by Silent Whisper

Rating: teen
Tags: Ocellus, Slice of Life, Anthology, Main 6, Pharynx, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Roseluck, Other
Length: 9699

A collection of mini-fics. Probably tastes vaguely of cinnamon. Void where prohibited by law. Batteries not included. Made in a facility that processes peanuts. A 15% gratuity will be automatically applied to parties with 6 people or more.

A collection of mini-fics. Probably tastes vaguely of cinnamon. Void where prohibited by law. Batteries not included. Made in a facility that processes peanuts. A 15% gratuity will be automatically applied to parties with 6 people or more.

(aka, things that are too short to publish on their own.)

Most chapters were written with the Quills and Sofa Speedwriting Group, for assorted panics and other contests. Wanna know why so many of our stories keep being awesome? Come find out on our Discord, we're sane, I promise. Mostly.

Individual chapter content warnings (if needed) and brief summaries as follows:

A Hobby For Roseluck: Contains Roseluck trying to learn a brand-new hobby amidst a crisis. Feels like watching the sun rise in a quiet home.

A Different Sky: Contains Pharynx and a young Ocellus learning observation skills. Well, one of them is learning, at least. Also contains Completely True Shrimp Facts™.

A Normal Poem about a Normal Pony: Contains a very bad ending, from a certain point of view.

Things That Remain: Contains the aftermath of a terrible fire, Raritwi, and the little things worth saving.

Her Latest Model: Contains Twilight's adventure as she searches for Rarity in the Carousel Boutique's basement, but finds something far worse. Also contains mentions of death, definitely animal and possibly pony.

A Drink for Fluttershy: Contains a dire warning for giving a pegasus too much to drink. Also contains the implication that Twilight may or may not be having an affair with half the library.

Unusual Wingspans: Contains Celestia comparing pegasi's wing shapes to birds.

Everyday Chaos: Contains Rarity+Twilight+Octavia+Vinyl polyamorous fluff, and a distinct desire for leftover waffles.

Somepony stole my car radio and now I just sit in silence: Contains a not-so-quiet moment with Vinyl, traffic, and late-night thoughts.

An Honest Pony: Contains mentions of torture, horrible misinterpretation of the Elements of Harmony, and, potentially, a look at a future project.

Bon-Bon's Delivery: Contains a meeting, three hours late, and take-out.

... the sheer amount of pre-readers and editors will be long and ridiculous. Probably includes The Legendary Bill Cipher, Zontan, Lofty, Red Parade, Moonshot, Stynger Skies, themoontonite, Regidar, Wishcometrue, Drider, Schattendrache, The Hat Man, Seer, Flashgen, ZeroMonkey, Skye Jr, Nailah, Krazy, and Dreamer Deceiver. Just putting the whole list out there... and even that's probably missing someone. If I missed you, I apologize! (Thank you, speedwrite server, for all that you do)

Published 2020-07-10 07:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2021-01-19 23:05:00 UTC

A Hobby for Roseluck

The morning was quiet, more peaceful than I’d expected it to be. It’s not often that I arise this early, and when I do, it’s usually because something horribly wrong has happened. Like, “the kitchen is on fire because Lily left the stove on all night and the curtains caught alight” sort of disaster. Lily usually woke up earlier than me, but that wasn’t saying much. When I had the choice, I’d sleep ‘til noon.

But today was different. I’d set an alarm and actually woke up when it went off. It was time, Daisy said, that I got a hobby. Something to fill the days until we were allowed to leave the house. The Parasprites hadn’t yet figured out how to open doorknobs, so we were safe as long as we kept indoors. Nopony was buying flowers at the moment, and I trembled to think of what had happened to our garden. These days, none of us bothered checking. It was easier to ignore it, for the time being, and we’d made a silent agreement to deal with it when we were allowed out again.

For my sisters, it meant more time to spend doing the other little hobbies they’d neglected. Lily spent her afternoons knitting, and every day her stitches grew more even and perfect. We’d be well-prepared for the winter at the rate she was creating clothing. Daisy had hardly left her room in a few days, and sometimes the only way I knew she was awake was the faint noise of New Age music coming from her room, bringing with it the lingering scent of charcoal and fresh parchment.

I had yet to find a decent hobby, so I’d made up my mind to try a few different ones when everything was over. I couldn’t paint or learn an instrument, since we didn’t have the materials required, so I decided I’d learn to bake.

So far, so good. I’d gotten up early to make the dough. I just hoped the recipe I found in the back of the cookbook would be good. They all seemed to recommend the same thing: buns, buns, buns! We’d all be sick of buns if I got good at making bread, but there were worse things to be sick of. At the very least, our complaints would shift from the outside world to the yeast content of my baked goods, and we could do with a bit of variety.

I piled the flour high into the mixing bowl, and poured the liquid ingredients on top before grabbing a spoon to mix. I could grow to like the quiet of mornings, before the sun was up. I could get used to a little peace in my life, instead of boredom and anxiety. It’d be a treat when my sisters awoke and I’d be able to greet them with rolls that I’d made, still buttery and warm from the oven. That would be a good while longer, though. Now was the time to prepare.

I took the dough - now a sticky lump - and turned it out onto a floured cutting board, and began to knead it. Maybe, I thought, maybe we were all kind of like this dough. Sticky, uneven, lumpy and rough on the edges, but with time and patience, we could be made smooth if we put in the work.

I groaned and put my weight into my hooves as I flipped and pressed the dough. Kneading was tough, tougher than I’d expected. It was easy to get into the rhythm, but my hooves would be a little sore later. I’d always been called a delicate flower, and accepted that, but maybe I could do more than that. Maybe instead of a delicate flower, I could be tough… and covered in flour? I looked down at my chest and laughed.

Setting aside a bowl, I gently oiled the dough and glanced up at the time. An hour or two to rise, the instructions had said. Covered, and in a warm place. I settled the round lump into the bowl, covered it with a plate, and set it near the hearth. Things took time to rise, just like my sisters and I in the morning. Perhaps this was what I’d been missing, though. I clapped the worst of the flour off my hooves and trotted over to the kettle. Maybe, I mused as I filled the kettle with water, the mornings could be my time.

I curled up near the fireplace, the embers low but still warm, and waited for the kettle to warm on the stove. Wrapped around me was an earlier attempt at a blanket, from Lily’s brief crocheting phase before she discovered knitting. Above the mantle was a sketch of the three of us, done by Daisy. She insisted she could do far better now, but none of us had the heart to remove it. It was imperfect, sure, but it still captured us.

Lily, the crafter. Daisy, the artist. And me. I wasn’t sure if I’d stick with baking, but regardless, when we all came out of this, I’d find myself more well-rounded, less rough. But at the moment, I’d have some tea, watch the embers of the fireplace cool, and think. I had all the time in the world, after all.

When my sisters awoke, later that morning, they found me half-awake but content: wrapped in a blanket, a mug of cooled tea in my hoof, and in the kitchen a tray of lopsided-but-still-delicious baked rolls sat waiting, still warm from the oven.

A Different Sky

The pony laughed along with it’s weird pony-friends, making far too much noise for a member of a prey species. It waved a hoof to them before gathering some vegetables into a bag, tossing a few round pieces of metal to another pony, this one wearing a hat, and walking away. It wasn’t checking its surroundings. Still looking at the metal bits it tossed away, it blindly took a step forward into the darkness, and-

“Do you think the sky is purple to creatures that see different colors?”

Pharynx groaned, slumping against the alleyway’s brickwork. “This isn’t the right time for questions,” he hissed at the little ‘ling, still barely hatched.

The changeling nymph bit their lip, staring up at him with wide eyes. “But some animals see things in different colors, don’t they? Does their sky look different?”

It took all of Pharynx’s strength to keep him from facehoofing. “I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. Pay attention, this is important.” He crouched low to the ground, peering into the light and color of the marketplace.

A pair of ponies gossiped by the fountain. One of them shook its mane as it laughed, the burbling of flowing water drowning out any noise it made. Would it drown out a scream? The pony’s friend got up and reached for something in its saddlebag, looking away from its friend as-

“Whoaaaaaa, Pharynx, you gotta try this!” squeaked the nymph, eyes wide and faceted. “Mantis shrimp do see things differently! The sky isn’t blue, it’s… it’s something I’ve never seen before!”

Pharynx clenched his jaw to keep from shouting at the little one. “That isn’t what we’re doing today. You need to pay attention. Thorax said it was time for you to learn how to defend your hive, and-”

“Did you know that mantis shrimp can punch so fast it makes shock waves?” The nymph chirped, tiny underdeveloped wings vibrating with glee.

Pharynx scowled. There was only one answer to give, and he knew where it would lead. “No, I didn’t, but I think-”

“Did you know that they can fly? Because they can’t. I made that one up. But I can fly! And I can see like them when I shapeshift my eyeballs. I wonder if I can punch as fast as-”

“Ocellus. Please. Stop. Talking,” snarled Pharynx. “It doesn’t matter what mantis shrimp can do, it matters what we can do, and right now, what we’re doing is learning to watch for our prey’s weakness.”

Ocellus opened her little mouth to chime in, but Pharynx beat her to it. “Not like a damn shrimp! Like a changeling.”

She slumped against his crouched form, and he let out a slow breath before turning back to the marketplace. “Now, look again. What do you see?”

The pony was all alone, staring with wide eyes at a candy display. Its mouth was moving, but no sounds were coming out. Probably mentally adding up change, and not liking what its math produced. It looked over its shoulder, discerned it wasn’t being watched, and slid a hoof over a few butterscotch-

Pharynx smirked. Ponies weren’t better than changelings, no matter what Thorax claimed. A changeling wouldn’t be caught dead stealing food… or, at least, wouldn’t be caught. “Ocellus?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you watching?”

“Yeah.”

“The pony over there. The one near the candy-cart. What was he doing?”

“I don’t know.”

He blinked and looked at the little nymph. She was crouching, mirroring his position as best as she could. At least she was in a proper stance, but…

“Didn’t you say you were paying attention?” Pharynx straightened, groaning as his carapace popped.

“I was.” She stood up too, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder. “The shop pony was, too. She was just looking the other way, at nothing at all.”

Pharynx laughed. “Ponies are stupi- er, unobservant.”

Ocellus shook her head. “That looked intentional. Like she wanted him to take some. Ponies are nice, sometimes, even when it doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

Huh. Pharynx looked back at the shopkeeper. Her smile was lazy, sure, but there was something alert in her tired eyes. Something… knowing.

In Pharynx’s opinion, that made her even more stupid, but he wouldn’t tell Ocellus that. Thorax didn’t like it when he used that sort of language around the young ones.

Ocellus hummed absently as she swayed to a song only she could hear. The corners of Pharynx’s mouth lifted. She was a lot like Thorax, when he was a nymph. Most of the changelings were. Too many questions, too little discipline, with a love of the strange and the colorful. Thorax said that he should embrace that, just like the other changelings should embrace him. The adults barely seemed to tolerate him, but…

The nymphs were alright, most of the time. “So, shrimp,” he said, wrapping a wing around Ocellus. “You said they could see in different colors.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, her eyes closing. A flicker of changeling fire danced underneath her lashes before she looked up at him with strange, alien eyes. “Everything looks different to them. More colorful. It’s beautiful.”

He snorted, pressing tighter before releasing her. “I bet that could be useful… somewhere, on the battlefield. Hidden markings, and all that.”

Ocellus shrugged. “I just think it’s pretty. You know, you’re really pretty too, like this.”

Pharynx swallowed and looked away. Damn ponies, making his eyes water in… disgust. “Is that so?”

“Yup,” she chirped, and he looked back to see her staring at the sky again. “You’re beautiful, just not in our normal colors. Shrimp colors.”

He smiled at that, warmly, as she stared at the sky. Yeah. The nymphs were alright, sometimes.

Things That Remain

It was a terrible terrible thing that happened, really. The fireponies said that there was nothing that could have been done, and that she was lucky to escape with the few things she’d managed to grab.

That was all well and fair. It wasn’t as though Carousel Boutique was the only business Rarity had by this point, but the point remained. It was truly a terrible thing that happened. One’s house burning down can hardly be anything but.

So it was with dignity that Rarity slumped on the doorstep of Twilight’s castle, clasping a slightly-singed saddlebag full of personal effects to her chest. It smelled of smoke. Sweet Celestia, she still smelled of smoke! Would it ever wash out of her mane? She supposed Twilight would let her borrow some shampoo to attempt the feat, but Twilight’s taste in shampoo wasn't exactly up to par.

Last time Rarity had to use Twilight’s personal bathroom (it was the closest one to her at the time, and Rarity resented any jokes otherwise. Whether or not they had any truth to them, she’d never say. Rarity was a lady, and ladies had dignity, even when they’d spent hours giggling with a certain princess in front of a mirror) she’d seen a bottle labeled “Hairs and Feets Two-in-One Shampoo and Conditioner”. Two in one! It was a problem that must be corrected, but not at this time. At this time, Rarity would be lucky to have the sort of soap one found in the locker rooms of a gym.

It was there, moping more about shampoo and less about her house in cinders, that Twilight found her. Of course she’d let Rarity stay the night, as long as she needed. Did she need a loan? (Not at the moment, she had insurance, and they’d better do their job or else she’d find where they lived and give them an earful.) Did she need a shower? (Rarity shuddered. She would, it was only a matter of time.) Did she need to write a letter to her sister? (Yes, though it could wait until tomorrow; Sweetie Belle was off doing Crusader stuff, and had been, er, having more than a few extended sleepovers with one Babs Seed out of town.)

Which left Twilight’s bedroom, a room Rarity was decently acquainted with (since she’d helped pick out the curtains! Everypony needed to get their mind out of the gutter! Even if they may have spent the amount of time couples do in that sort of space, while requesting privacy!) It left Twilight, giving Rarity concerned looks but respecting her space until the moment Rarity requested it. It left Rarity, sifting through the few things she’d managed to take with her before her home burned down.

“So…” Twilight began, trailing off as she wasn’t quite sure what to say. Rarity didn’t blame her. What was the right way to start a conversation when one pony nearly burnt alive?

“I couldn’t save everything,” she mumbled, opening the buckle on the bag. “The books you lent to me are most likely ash, darling. I’ll replace them… later.” Later, when everything else that needed doing got done. That wasn’t a priority right now. Later could wait a night, couldn’t it?

“What did you manage to save, if you don’t mind me asking?” Twilight settled next to Rarity on the floor next to her bed, looking as though she was doing her best to not peek into the bag.

“Well, first of all, I saved this. Just promise me you won’t judge me?” Rarity’s horn glowed, shaking the item in question gently in the bag to knock off some of the ash. It wouldn’t do to get Twilight’s room dirtier than she could help it, guest or not. The item in question sloshed slightly.

Twilight gave her an encouraging smile, one that made Rarity’s heart flutter and magic surge for a split second before she regained control. “Of course not, Rarity, I understand the situation was urgent, and… is that… alcohol?”

“Alcohol is for desperate mares, Twilight. This is Marelot! Vintage, older than both of us put together, darling!” She smiled and sniffed the cork. Still sealed. That may change by the end of the night, though, if past sleepovers were any indication.

Twilight was giving her a funny look, and Rarity cleared her throat to bring her back into the moment. “Yes, well, when I smelled smoke, I just grabbed whatever I could think of that was nearby. Wouldn’t you? I also have a few knicknacks mixed in.” She levitated a few paper scraps from her bag, one after the other.

A foal’s drawing of two ponies, surrounded by a heart made of blue gemstones. The paper was worn a little soft on the edges, having been picked up and hugged enough times to make it delicate.

A couple of ticket stubs to see Star Mares; Twilight had insisted that Rarity go, and Rarity admitted that she had a good time, especially upon seeing Darth Shy’s cloak and outfit. The best part was, by far, seeing Twilight’s enthusiasm after exiting the theatre.

A heart-shaped gemstone from Spike. It had always sat at her desk, a reminder of friendship and sacrifice.

A couple of books, none of them the ones Twilight had lent her; one poetry book, lightly toasted, and a few trashy romance novels that Rarity couldn’t let any newsmares find the blackened covers of in her house. Clearly, that was the only reason she’d saved them. Not because she’d planned to show them to Twilight and read them together, curled up by the fire on a cozy autumn evening one day. Nothing of the sort.

Well, she hadn’t planned to show them to Twilight until a few more dates in, of course. One wouldn’t want to appear crass, after all.

“Of course, I saved the best for last, dearest,” she murmured, before pulling out a small box, coated in a fine layer of ash that made it look the same off-white that Rarity’s pelt was. Twilight picked it up in her magic, shook it a little, and sneezed. She peered at it, squinting. It looked just like a jewelry box, but one she seemed fairly hesitant to open, despite her curiosity.

“I’d meant to save this for a later time, Twilight, but I suppose now there’s no better time.” She took a deep breath, coughed a little, and tried again to regain her composure. “It’s for you.” Rarity shuffled, awkwardly. This wasn’t her planned venue, not by a long shot, but a lady makes do with what she has. “Would you, Twilight Sparkle, do me the honors of-”

“Yes.”

Both mares blinked at each other, both seemingly surprised at the whispered answer. Twilight’s muzzle broke into a grin. “Yes. Yes! I’ll marry you, Rarity!” She pounced on Rarity, who toppled over to the floor. Their shared smiles were broken only by a quiet sneeze from Twilight.

“I do believe, darling, that I’d like to take a shower now.” Rarity picked herself off the floor, dusting Twilight off as best as she could. The shampoo would have to do. She had time to change it. They had time, together. “Would you like to join me?”

Her Latest Model

I can’t quite remember all the details about why I went into her shop that night. I think I was looking for her, seeking her with some sort of question I’d pulled from an interesting book. I don’t even remember what book it was, or even what question, but she seemed like the sort that would have an answer.

It wasn’t like I came uninvited or anything. She always said that I could stop by whenever I needed something, and I took that to heart. Whenever I’d visited before, it had never been an issue either! She often came to the castle to talk to me, and when I visited her, I always felt welcome!

I’d been in the shop after hours before, so while it was vaguely creepy as liminal spaces often are, it wasn’t anything unusual. The first time, I was convinced somepony was hiding in the fabrics, waiting to jump out at me. That didn’t happen, of course, and I went upstairs to talk to her as usual.

I don’t know why I hadn’t thought about it before, but it wasn’t like I’d looked up the building plans beforehoof. Why would I? I guess I just didn’t think about it much. Many shops have basements, right? I’d never noticed the trap door behind the counters. Probably kept extra outfits in storage, shop materials, advertisements and promotions, that sort of thing. I saw a light coming from down there, so I went down, my question still on my mind.

You’d call me crazy, just like everypony else, but I thought I heard music coming from down there. Like, a waltz of sorts. The sort of thing I’d expect to hear at the gala, instead of the pony pokey. It was kind of catchy, too, so I swayed along as I descended. Sure, the shop was creepy, but this felt more like her kind of space. I was sure she’d made it her own, too.

When I got down there, it was as I’d expected at first. It was kind of a labyrinth of racks, each stuffed to bursting with hanger upon hanger of froufrou dresses. Some of them were incomplete, some looked to be historical, and a few seemed to be so antiquated they were practically falling apart. I wove my way through the rows of racks, wondering how she found anything in there. It wasn’t neatly organized like her shop, and I’ll admit, that was kind of bothering me. Even Flurry Heart’s bookshelves before she learned the Dewey Decimal system weren’t this horribly messy.

It was around a corner bloated with lace and tulle that I found the first one. It was a mannequin, just like the ones upstairs in her shop, but this one wasn’t quite as pretty as the other ones. Its pose was wrong, and that’s what hit me first. It must have been really tricky to stuff a dress onto that one when it was posed as though it was cringing in a corner. It reminded me of how Fluttershy looked on Nightmare Night, though this one was a unicorn. A dress had been shoved over its head, but hadn’t made it much further down than its neck.

I stood there for a little bit, puzzled. Why would she order an inconveniently shaped one? Her mannequins in the shop were always so nice, too. I’d been pulled along to other shops when she was convinced a new wardrobe would help my anxiety, and all the other mannequins seemed so generic compared to hers. Some of hers were unicorns, some pegasi, some earth ponies, and all had different body shapes. They made dresses look good on any sort of weight, height, and shape a pony could take!

I’d never really thought to wonder why other shops didn’t buy mannequins from the same place she had, but perhaps they were just expensive. Maybe this one was meant to display a costume, or be part of a particular window display.

I pressed on. Around a few corners with rotting fabrics and moldy shirts another one stood. This one was a pegasus, leaned up against the wall. It looked to be mid-leap. Wouldn’t it be hard to suspend that sort of mannequin from the ceiling? I wasn’t sure it’d balance if it was on the floor. Maybe that’s why it was in storage?

There was another one around the next twisting bend, faceless but not without expression. While the first one was afraid and the second one was in flight, this one was in an aggressive stance, the wind-up right before a powerful buck. I’d seen the pose in Applejack multiple times, and I had no clue how one would even begin to fit a dress over this one. Something unnerved me, though, about this one. It didn’t have a face, just a blank muzzle, but I could almost feel its gaze, a stony glare as its head turned to aim a kick that would cave in my rib cage.

I stumbled back, jarring a cart of fashion paraphernalia, which made a clang that echoed throughout the basement. Something was entirely wrong about these mannequins. Not just wrong, as in who would buy these sorts of things, but wrong, as in unerringly lifelike. I poked the side of the bucking one, almost certain I’d be at the wrong end of a skull-crushing kick, but it was soft and cottony, plush like the rest of the mannequins.

The question I’d entered with was the last thing on my mind. I had to know why she had bought such a thing. A sickening feeling was rising in my gut as I practically ran through the maze of couture-gone-wrong.

I don’t know what I’d expected at the end of the route. Maybe I’d hoped to see her standing over a catalogue, crossing out options and circling others. Maybe I wanted her to be bent over her sewing machine, trying to make some mannequin that’d fill with stuffing a bit better. Or maybe I’d hoped there was a villain, Chrysalis or something, puppeting her into making things that had my subconscious tingling.

I hadn’t expected a cauldron, or a few caged animals that remained disturbingly silent. I stepped into the circle of light, hesitantly, inching my way over to the imprisoned critters. I took a deep breath in and gagged a little before lighting my horn. They were unmistakably cockatrice, about one or two per cage, and most definitely dead. They smelled like they hadn’t been dead for very long, since the sickly sweet scent of decay hadn’t spread far past the cages.

The cauldron burbled merrily away next to a record that was winding down with its sweet melodic waltz. I peeked inside of it. It smelled faintly of wax, with something else that I couldn’t quite place, like laundry, left out to dry in the sunshine. I’d have been able to explain it away as laundry if it hadn’t been a deep crimson hue, and as thick as gravy.

A book was lying open next to the record player as the music slowed to a stop. A slip of paper was sticking out between the two pages. I squinted at the pages. It was a modeling manual, the sort they’d give beginners to practice posing with. I vaguely remembered her asking to borrow it, but it’d been a while ago and I hadn’t needed it back. Out of curiosity, I picked up the bookmark and flipped it over in my magic.

It had a recipe printed on it, the name long since rubbed away, calling for cockatrice feathers, a thread from the fabric of spacetime, a siren’s tears… standard for ancient dark magics, but strange for her to possess. I looked up. A calendar was tacked to the wall. Every few days, there was a name listed. A few of them I recognized from the missing pony posters from the town hall, but most of them I hadn’t heard of.

And then the music started up again. I looked up just as the pale blue glint of magic faded from the needle.

Crap.

“You’re a little early, Twilight darling, but if you’d insist, I’m certain I could squeeze you into my schedule. Why, I had no idea you wanted to start your modeling career so soon. You should have told me!” Rarity chuckled, sidling up next to the cages, idly plucking a few feathers from one of the carcasses.

My heart pounded in my chest. The sickly waltz spun in my ears as I felt the first tingles of her magic wash over me. I couldn’t move my hooves, couldn’t cast anything, and when I tried to shout, no sound came from my throat. Spiderweb-thin threads of moisture coiled from within the cauldron, forming a woven lattice that closed in around me.

“There, there, now,” she lilted, a more complicated spell forming at the base of her horn. “Don’t struggle. It’ll only hurt for a moment, and if you fight it too much, you’ll be of no use to me.”

I took a gasping breath as my limbs went numb, her magic guiding them into position a split second before they locked into place. The air left my lungs in a whoosh as her spell pressed my rib cage as though one were deflating a balloon. Spots danced in my eyes, and I could feel them water up for a moment before my vision blurred, as though I was trying to look through a thin blindfold.

I couldn’t see, but I could still feel her hoof as it brushed a stray piece of lint from my side. It seemed to sink in a little further than it should’ve, but it didn’t hurt, and I could still hear her relieved sigh as she tenderly propped me up on the floor.

“Don’t worry, Twilight,” Rarity murmured as she caressed my cheek. “You look perfect, and they’re all going to love you. I’ve never had an alicorn mannequin, and I’m going to help you become a star! After all,” she whispered, her mane tickling against my smooth cloth. “That’s what friends are for, yes?”

Traitor

“You got the goods?” whispered Bon-Bon, sliding the envelope across the counter. We were the only ponies in the store, so I wasn’t quite sure why she was whispering, but perhaps it was the thought that counted.

“Yeah,” I said back, one hoof straying to the cash register, as though checking it was still there. The shop was growing dark; the lamplight from the street outside never fully shone through the windows, and since I was supposed to be closing down in a few minutes, it never really seemed worth the effort to turn the lamps on, only to turn them off again. Most of the ceiling was made of glass, for the plants and herbs we had creeping up the walls, so we didn’t have them on most of the time.

It happened faster than I could blink. One moment, I was ducking underneath the counter to grab the tightly-wrapped package stashed underneath, and the next a pair of hooves crashed into me, sending me flying backwards. I coughed as I skidded towards the wall and blinked tears out of my eyes, trying to see who my assailant was.

Bon-Bon, it seemed, wasn’t as alone as I thought.

The flicker of a horn igniting was my only warning before a bolt of magic struck my hoof, sending a jolt of agony through my limb. I yelped and staggered away, trying to dodge the yellow bursts of mana that cascaded around me. Fuck, fuck, fuck, that was what I got for trying to make deals with the likes of her!

I flared my wings, taking off towards the higher ceiling. Maybe I could perch on the beams, get a vantage point, and fly out of the shop over their heads if the unicorn didn’t take me out first. I gritted my teeth and dove, pulling my wings in against my side, watching as the unicorn’s magical burst shot sparks where I had been a split second ago.

I was about five feet from the door when Bon-Bon appeared at my side. Her hooves connected with my rib cage with a sickening crunch, and then I was going the wrong way, wings at a bad angle to do much more than flutter in shock before I hit the wall.

Four mares closing in on me, blurring together… I blinked. No, just the two, I was seeing double. I took in a shaky breath. It hurt, way more than it should’ve, and I tried to use my hoof to feel what was wrong.

Bon-Bon nodded to the unicorn, who walked leisurely over to the counter. She pulled out the package and gingerly unwrapped it.

“It’s all here, Bonnie,” she said, smirking. “She didn’t skimp on any of it either.”

Bon-Bon stared at me coldly, without so much of a shred of empathy as I struggled to take in another searing breath. “Rosemary… I’m still going to call you Rosemary, though I’m sure you’ve had other names. You’re a traitor to your race, you know, selling this potion.”

“I gave you what you asked for,” I gasped, my wings twitching, trying to inflate my chest cavity a little more somehow. “Why are you attacking me? I’m on your side!”

“But you aren’t,” said the other mare, removing one of the jars of paste and unscrewing the lid. “We aren’t idiots. We know there are probably others tracking our moves, even if they’ve erased themselves from your memory. But don’t worry,” she purred, dabbing a few runes onto my cheeks with her practiced hooves. “You won’t have to worry about that for much longer.”

I yelped as the potion took effect, forcing me to relinquish my form, displaying what would’ve been a mere cracked rib on a pony as a caved-in chitin exoskeleton. “You- you don’t even know how to make that!” I groaned, picking myself up from the crumpled heap where I lay. “If you leave me here, you won’t get any more!”

“We won’t need much more for a long while,” said Bon-Bon, dropping the envelope she’d offered earlier a few feet away from me. “But if you’re really determined to join us, we’ve got a healing scroll in here. It’s not much, but it’d be just enough to keep you alive long enough to find one of us.”

“Or,” said the unicorn, screwing the jar of the paste back on and tucking it into her saddlebags. “You could die, and die a martyr. I’m sure your other bug friends would forgive you after they found your corpse, and isn’t that sort of belonging all you care about?”

She turned and trotted out of the shop, wiping her hoof off on the mat on her way out. Bon-Bon hesitated, watching me as I slowly dragged myself across the floor, wheezing helplessly. “It’s your choice,” she said finally, as I paused to take a choked half breath in. “Either commit to being a traitor and follow us, or die a hero to them.” Her mouth opened as though she were going to add more, but she seemed to think the better of it and followed the other mare out of the shop, without sparing me another glance.

I hissed, doubling over in agony, my outstretched hoof a mere inch away from the envelope, and I made my decision.

A Drink for Fluttershy

“Twilight, come quickly!” shrieked Rarity at the top of her lungs.

Twilight spat out the book she had been licking and leaped to her hooves. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, you simply must-” Rarity blinked as what she’d walked in on fully registered. “Good heavens, what were you doing to that book?”

“Nothing! Let’s go!” Twilight pushed her out the door, but not before Rarity got a good peek behind her. Horrified apprehension dawned on her face as pieces started to click into place in her mind.

“And for goodness sake, Twilight, what are all those novels doing in your bed?”

“So here’s the situation,” said Rainbow Dash from where she lay tangled up in the chandelier at Good Oats Pretzels And Bar. “Fluttershy’s drunk. Like, absolutely smashed. We need your help to- wait, why are you crying, Rarity? You won the coin toss, you got to go fetch help.”

“Oh, nothing,” warbled Rarity, in a most dignified and ladylike fashion. “It’s simply evident that Twilight can appreciate a good plot, and she’s found one that’s better than mine.”

Twilight winced. Rainbow stared at both of them, unimpressed, swinging slightly as she tried for the twelth time to remove her wing from one of the arms of the chandelier. “Well, that’s great. I’m really happy for all three of you-”

“THREE??” Rarity shrieked, her mascara running in a beautifully tragic mess. “I promise you, there were far more than a trilogy cuddled up with her-”

“-but,” Rainbow continued, waving a hoof at the floor feebly. “You really should go check on Flutters.”

“Let’s go, darling,” Rarity hissed, marching underneath the trapped pegasi towards the bar door. “The sooner we get there, the sooner we can have a little discussion about what qualifies as ‘appropriate’ things to do to the spine of a dictionary.”

Twilight bit her lip, and desperately tried to change the subject. Subtly, of course, so Rarity wouldn’t be suspicious. “How did Rainbow Dash get stuck in the ceiling?”

“Something about how good little birdies belong on perches. One minute they were both on the ground, and the next, she wove Rainbow into the chandelier like tinsel.”

“Uhh,” Twilight managed. “Are we gonna help her down, or…”

“In a minute, darling. She’s not going anywhere, unless the chandelier collapses.”

Fluttershy wasn’t sitting at the bar when they got there. She was, instead, sitting on the top of the aesthetically-stacked wine glasses, chirping to herself.

“Oh,” said Twilight. “It’s that kind of drunk.”

“Yup,” replied Rarity. “Go get her, before she remembers she has wings again. I tried to do that earlier when she was swinging from a ceiling light, and, well…” She gestured to a pile of multicolored broken glass. “It didn’t end well.”

The alicorn pursed her lips in thought as she stared at Fluttershy. “Alright. Uh, here… birdy birdy?”

Fluttershy’s pupils dilated as she fixed her gaze on Twilight. Slowly, her wings unfurled from her sides as she bent into a crouch.

Rarity leaned towards Twilight. “Is that a… bird behavior, or…”

Twilight grinned. “Nope! It’s actually one of the things you’d see in a cat!”

Three things happened at once. Fluttershy pounced. The entire pyramid of wine glasses shattered, one by one, tinkling in slow motion. And Twilight Sparkle’s vision went white.

“So, while you’re here, Twilight,” began Rainbow Dash, resting her chin against one of the few limbs Twilight could still move. “Why was Rarity mad at you?”

“She thinks I was cheating on her with a bunch of books,” Twilight deadpanned, her horn flickering as she kept the chandelier steady.

“Oh, I see.” said Rainbow, and she would’ve shrugged if she could. “You think Pinkie Pie will fare any better?”

The chandelier wobbled, and Twilight grinned as she managed to pull the tip of one of her wings free. “Probably. She’s not a bird. How many cocktails do you think she had, anyway?”

Rainbow laughed. “Oh, just the one. Honestly, who would’ve thought that the quiet mare who never gets out much would be such a lightweight?”

Unusual Wingspans

Diary of Celestia, Day 1205.

You can always tell what sort of pegasus a pony is by the shape of their wings.

For example, Rainbow Dash. Sure, to a unicorn, she has feathers, she flies around quickly, and if it looks like a pegasus and quacks like a pegasus, it must be one, QED. But a pegasus can tell that her wings were angled and slender, like a falcon’s. There’s a reason that some pegasi are faster than others, and she is simply built for speed. It’s genetics, and the Wonderbolts naturally favor those whose wingspans destined them for ever-faster flight times.

Or take the other pegasus Element of Harmony: Fluttershy. Now, an earth pony might see her as weak, because she doesn’t fly quickly or seem to want to fly much anywhere at all, but where her wings lack speed, they more than make up for in power. They’re like an albatross: built for gliding and power, but they take too much energy to use whenever she feels like it. On the other hoof, she can lift and toss a bear over twice the size of her with little to no effort, and she makes very good use of it.

Of course, my faithful student still has a lot to learn about the differences in wingspan and feathers. It should come as little surprise that she struggled when learning how to fly; she was watching Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy’s flight patterns, when she should have been asking her dearest pet for some advice. I look forward to the day when she realizes that she can fly as silently as an owl does. I’m certain Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie will make great use of her pranking capabilities.

My sister’s wings are that of a sparrow’s, if you’re curious, and Cadance’s resemble a crane’s. I’ve spent many hours watching them fly, and I’ve had little to do but attempt to spot the similarities and differences. It’s the little things that a pegasi’s eyes would notice, like the way Cadance leans into the wind (she was, after all, originally a pegasus, and is far more comfortable in the air than any of the other princesses), or the way Luna’s feathers twitch when an evening storm is on the horizon.

My own are quite more difficult to identify, but they closely resemble an eagle’s. I’m built to glide without landing for a long time, so long as the currents are there to keep me aloft. Don’t ever tell my sister this, but I’m jealous of the way she’s able to flit around effortlessly. I’d love to be able to hop from balcony to ledge without the additional strain.

Each wing type is different, and each possesses its own unique abilities and downsides, but there’s one thing I’ve yet to explain to Twilight about alicorn wings. See, our shapes may be as varied as any other pegasi’s, but a special magic burns in our blood, one that we can’t quite claim as any of the pony races. It’s the secret to our immortality as well, but thankfully I’ve got plenty of time yet to tell her before she goes through her first, ah, cycle.

There’s no easy way to tell her that our wings are a different sort of magic, and thus our entire bodies. We’re birds of different and unique feathers, so to speak, but we all share the inherent magic of a phoenix’s wings as well. We burn bright while we’re alive, and then… we die, dear diary. And from the (hopefully well-guarded) ashes, we are born anew...

… and usually a lot more filly-sized than most ponies are willing to accept from a reigning monarch. Thankfully, I’d invested in the research to create a series of illusions so most ponies wouldn’t notice. It had become rather necessary when I no longer had my sister to cover for me. There’s often a learning curve of some sort as my younger self is reborn, but we age back to an adult fairly quickly.

On that note, I am quite thankful that it was merely the Element Bearers who saw my sister when she was still a filly upon her return. In retrospect, a lot of her acting on impulse that led to her banishment could’ve been seen as her going through an accelerated puberty for the… sixth time, I believe? It doesn’t get any easier, even when knowing what to expect. My poor sister. I shall bake her more apology pancakes tomorrow.

Note to future Celestia: tell Twilight about the phoenix-rebirth thing before some catastrophe kills her for the first time. We don’t want another Cadance episode, now do we? The Crystal Empire (and Shining Armor) was a strangely alien place to visit for a while afterwards.

I’m thankful, at the very least, that I haven’t encountered very many of the more unusual wing shapes possible. I’ve only met one emu-winged pegasus (the poor filly), and a few rare hummingbirds. It definitely could be worse. I’m bracing myself for the day I meet a penguin!

Everyday Chaos

“Ughhhh…” Rarity slumped into the kitchen, the picture of grace if grace had just woken up from a very strange dream. Her mane was tousled in that not-quite-bedhead, not-quite windblown look that was surely all the rage in her household. She reached out with her magic for an empty mug, checked if it was clean, and fumbled for the coffee pot.

“Good morning, dearest,” purred Octavia from the kitchen table, nibbling on a scone as she pored over the second page of the daily newspaper. Unlike Rarity, she looked the picture of elegance, so naturally put-together that most ponies would assume she woke up like that. Rarity, of course, knew that her dear ‘Tavi had simply woken up an hour earlier, but a part of her was still slightly jealous.

Across from Octavia sat Twilight Sparkle, who looked to be half reading a book, and half listening to whatever Vinyl Scratch was animatedly chattering about. Rarity watched with caffeine-deprived amusement as Twilight tried to split her limited focus between the two pressing concerns.

“So then I said - oh hey, Rare, nice mane style! - so then I said to her, how much for this bauble? And SHE said, ‘bauble? This is a family heirloom! My mother embroidered it by hoof!’ And I said ‘why’s it in the thrift store then?’ and filly, you’d never seen a middle-aged mare so wound up!” Vinyl waved her hoof, almost knocking over Twilight’s glass of juice.

“What are you reading, Twilight?” said Rarity, fishing around the fridge for cream and sugar.

The alicorn in question levitated a forkful of leftover waffles to her mouth. “It’s a novel called Love and Loss at Sea. I’m sure you’d love it, but I’m only halfway through, so it’ll be a bit before you can read it.”

“Of course,” chimed in Octavia, flipping over her paper. “Your version of ‘a while’ is more akin to the rest of the afternoon, instead of the week or so most ponies would take to finish the book.”

Rarity chuckled, taking a sip from her coffee. That hit the spot. She set the mug down on her placemat and wandered over to the fridge. “Apologies for hijacking the conversation. You were saying, Vinyl?”

“What?” Vinyl blinked owlishly at her for a moment before a grin spread across her cheeks. “Oh yeah! So! I didn’t end up buying it, because I wasn’t sure where we’d put it, but I thought you’d love it, Twi, it had a little lemon on it, and guess what it said? It was real clever. It said ‘you’re the zest.’ Zest, like in lemons! I thought you’d appreciate it.”

Twilight took a sip of her juice and set her bookmark down to mark her page. “That is pretty funny. And she said that was an heirloom?”

“Eh, I’d make it an heirloom too, if I were her. That’s the good stuff that future generations would enjoy, ya know?” Vinyl shrugged, stealing a glance at Rarity as she rummaged through the partially-labeled tupperware. “The waffles are on the counter, Rare. We saved you one.”

Rarity extracted herself from the fridge. “Oh, thank you! Is the syrup out, too?”

“Of course, though most of it was, shall we say, donated to Twilight’s cause.” Octavia gave her a conspiratal smile and dunked the rest of her scone into her own coffee mug.

“Ah, yes,” Rarity said, sitting down at the table with her marefriends. “The Can-Waffles-Be-Soup Research Fund, I’d quite forgotten. It’s fortunate that I don’t need very much to begin with.” She set the tupperware with the lone remaining waffle at her place and poured the remains of the syrup over it.

Twilight gave her a mock-indignant pout before returning to her book, and Vinyl cackled, tilting her chair back. “Oh, filly, it’s good that you’re awake, I missed you.”

“I sleep right next to your room, you know.” Rarity eyed her over her coffee.

Octavia nudged her gently, and it was all Rarity could do to keep from sloshing her hot coffee onto her lap. “You know very well that’s not what she meant-”

“-and the morning just isn’t the same without you!” Twilight finished, flipping a page. “Everyday chaos and all, it’s always better when you’re in the mix.”

An Honest Pony

The memories of the Elements were all we needed. They were the pillars of our forgotten Equestria, and we wouldn’t have made it through the dark earlier years without them. Without ponies who were Honest, how would we know where dissenters were plotting? Without ponies who were Generous, where would we find the materials to stake out the rebels? Without Loyalty, we’d have crumbled from vicious rumors long ago. Without Laughter, we wouldn’t be able to keep our heads high, even while witnessing the worst the world had to offer.

We have Kindness too, of course. Don’t you worry your pretty head, I didn’t forget that one. Kindness is the reason you’re still alive.

Sh, sh. Don’t struggle. You know, the sentries would’ve hurt you far worse. All your bones are still intact with us! Well, the important ones, anyway. Oh, don’t look at me like that. Maud knows how to break things in ways that’ll heal well enough for you to work. Bone’s a lot easier to snap than rocks, so I promise, she’s being really gentle with you.

I think we’re going to be good friends, you and I. You know where they’re hiding, don’t you? Come on, you can tell me. That’s what bestest besties are for, right?

Hey! Don’t spit at me! That’s not very nice. And here we’re being so Kind to you. Look, I didn’t want this either, okay? If you’d just told us where the nasty meanie-pants were hiding, we could have ended this right away! I’m offering you a chance to talk, a chance to breathe and relax and tell us the truth. Please, just take it? We both know it’s harder to breathe when most of your ribs are broken, and last I checked, Maud was getting a sledgehammer.

Stop it. Stop crying! Sun above, I know it hurts, but it’d hurt less if you’d just give me some information. Something to work with. The Church of Daylight would accept any sort of Honest answer from you at this point. Do you have names? Dates and times? We know about the strike they’re planning. We know they’ve been stealing supplies. Just be glad we’re the ones taking care of this, and not the guards. I’ve heard they have unicorns that can just rip the answers right out of your head!

What was that? Ooooh, that’s not very family-friendly. I hear Maud coming. Look, I’m really sorry you don’t want to tell us anything, but we know that you’re hiding something. I’ll come back later, when she takes a break next, and see if you want to talk then. Don’t worry, I’ve told her to make sure you still can! And then I’ll listen to all you have to say.

No, no, she’s coming back right now. You can tell me later, alright?

You spat on me. You just opened your mouth and spat on me. What if you’re lying to me right now?

Oh, stop crying. Maud? Tell me when you’re done, okay? Maybe they’ll tell us the actual truth then, instead of just shouting anything on their mind. And don’t worry, I’ll be back soon. Well, soon for me. It’ll probably feel like a lot longer to you, but I’ll see you again before you know it! I Pinkie-promise.

And I’m an Honest pony, so you know I’ll keep my word.

Bon-Bon's Delivery

Bon-Bon sighed as she slumped against the rooftop. It’d been over three hours since she’d gotten the letter, and none of the ponies she was supposed to meet had arrived.

It wasn’t the first time she’d gotten faulty intel, not in the slightest, but a part of her wished they’d picked just about any other day to be wrong. It had rained earlier that morning, and the leftover dampness soaked through her lightweight jumpsuit and into her fur.

She grit her teeth and peered at the business entryway beneath her, trying to push past the chill. If it were any other customer, she’d have called it quits. Three hours with wet fur might’ve sounded awfully petty, but she was a professional, and she had standards. Unfortunately, the Lady Rarity held her contracted employees to higher standards, and the pay often reflected that.

So Bon-Bon took a deep breath in, slowly let it out, and squelched into a slightly-more-comfortable position. After the job was over, maybe she’d get some take-out. She’d earned a decent amount of cheap food, even if she didn’t meet her-

Wait-

The door swung open beneath her position with a muted jingle. Bon-Bon jolted to her hooves, as a friendly-sounding feminine voice called back into the building. The pony was distracted, then. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she crouched down on her hind hooves, dangling over the lip of the roof. This was it. This was one of the ponies listed, judging by the bit of aquamarine tail she’d seen swish as the mare turned.

One was better than none, and Lady Rarity was rather generous when she got the results she wanted.

The mare squinted into the early evening light, raising a dainty hoof against the sun. If she hadn’t, she might’ve seen Bon-Bon’s shadow flit past as she dove from the roof above.

It was over before the door behind the mare fully swung shut. The pavement to the left of the target had taken the brunt of Bon-Bon’s impact - this contract wasn’t to kill, but to incapacitate - but it’d been enough of a shock to make the mare reel backwards, off balance. It was the opening Bon-Bon had needed, and without hesitation she spun and kicked.

The mare flew backwards off her hooves. She was an earth pony, Bon-Bon noted as she watched the target’s head bounce off the pavement, but she hadn’t been ready. A pity. With her little bob manecut, she was actually kind of cute. Bon-Bon shuffled the mare onto her back and trotted right, hugging the building. A few more minutes of trotting due East and Lady Rarity would get her mare.

It wasn’t Bon-Bon’s job to ask questions, but she’d been around long enough to know that it was a matter of intimidating the competition. The target would probably survive whatever the next contractor she had on the list did to her. And even if she didn’t, well, Coco Pommel should’ve known better than to cross the Belles.

Take-out, Bon-Bon decided as she re-adjusted the unconscious mare slung across her back, sounded like an excellent plan.

A Normal Poem About a Normal Pony

I am a pony, you see
Quite a normal one, at that
Nopony notices me, and sometimes
That's good, my friends
That's good

For it's a good thing to be
Someone who won't stand out in the crowd
Since nopony looks twice, so really
That's good, my dears
That's good

Someday I dream of rising
Above the heads of those blinded
Those who close their eyes and think
That's good, to be ignorant
That's good

They didn't think to look closer
And really, why would they?
Nopony stares too closely at other ponies's shadows
That's good, for me
That's good

When I stand above their world
Their bones adorning her ashen crown
They'll weep and beg and wail, and see the truth
That's good, wee subjects
That's good

No venom on my part is needed
The real toxin festered in their hearts
Long before I arrived
That's good, you see
That's good

Apathy's the real killer, not I
For I'll wait til the moment you succumb to it's lull
And I'll welcome you into my jaws
That's good, sweet prey
That's good

But for now you'll prance and sing
The average pony more a monster than you think
Yet you care not what awaits you
That's good, young ponies
That's good

But I'm just a pony, hiveless, holeless
Look closer, don't I look just like you now?
Come closer, sweet child, and find out
So good, little one
Mm…
So good

Somepony stole my car radio, and now I just sit in silence

It was a quiet night, for the most part. Well, Vinyl Scratch was stuck in traffic, so in actuality it was a quiet night everywhere but a ten-foot radius from her car. She had the radio cranked up to max; partially because it was 9pm and if somepony got mad that her music kept them up, well, they weren’t supposed to be sleeping at the wheel anyway, but mostly because it wasn’t as though anypony was going to file a noise complaint on the interstate.

When Octavia was in the car, the music would be classical this time of night. The hosts giving informative blurbs would have long since finished their final messages, leaving only calm music, played at window-rattling decibels because it was Vinyl’s car and she wouldn’t let ‘Tavi pick both the music and the volume.

Her marefriend wasn’t in the car, though, so it was Vinyl’s turn to pick. She flipped through stations idly, never sticking with the same one for a whole song. The ponies in the van next to her must’ve been confused to be serenaded with spicy dance music one moment, then the jarring voice of NPR halfway through the final chorus. Vinyl didn’t care. This was her car, it was her volume knob, it was her choice to wait until the last minute to head to the store, only to be stuck in after-dark-construction-traffic on the way home.

And she wished Octavia was in the car, so Octavia could tell her that she’d been right all along in reminding her to go earlier. Then, Vinyl would crank up the noise to drown out her rightness, and flip through stations until the words blended together into meaningless sound. But Octavia hadn’t ridden with her, she’d said she was perfectly fine waiting at home for the groceries, so it was just Vinyl, with a few jugs of milk and bunches of barley in the passenger seat, and the nagging feeling that no amount of radio could drown out.

It was a quiet night, inside her head, and unlike anypony else’s voice, she couldn’t choke out the doubts swirling around her mind as she waited. The ruby eyes of the brake lights in front of her gazed into her soul, and confirmed what she’d known the moment she glanced up at the clock: Octavia had been right, and Vinyl was wrong. Again. She reached over and, after a moment of hesitation, pressed her hoof against the power button on the radio. The silence, at least, would let her feel guilt in peace.