Parchment

by Alaborn

Rating: mature
Tags: Original Character, Spike, Twilight Sparkle, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Other
Length: 2572

In the magical land of Equestria, where does parchment come from?

Twilight Sparkle has run out of parchment, a frequent occurrence for her. It’s a good thing that the owner of Ponyville’s stationery shop is a master parchment maker.

Published 2012-09-13 11:54:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-09-13 11:54:01 UTC

Parchment

Parchment

By Alaborn

Standard disclaimer: This is a not for profit fan work. My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic is copyright Hasbro, Inc. I make no claim to any copyrighted material mentioned herein.

Further disclaimer: This story contains scenes of graphic violence. For mature readers only.

“Shelve the returned books?” said Twilight Sparkle.

“Check,” confirmed Spike.

“Catalog last week’s acquisitions?”

“Check.”

“Write out overdue notices?”

Twilight Sparkle’s review of the evening’s checklist was interrupted by the dragon’s sudden belch of green fire.

“A message from Princess Celestia!” Twilight Sparkle said eagerly. She snatched the scroll with her telekinesis and opened it. “Spike, check this out!”

“Huh?” he replied, as Twilight Sparkle shoved the letter in front of his eyes.

“Princess Celestia wants my help in researching the magical curses and maladies of the flora and fauna of the Everfree Forest!”

“With the close proximity of the Everfree to Ponyville, there’s sure to be books and documents that even the royal archives in Canterlot don’t have!” Spike said.

“Not only that, there’s Zecora’s experience, and I’m sure there’s plenty of oral history not yet recorded! I’m sure there’s something in the Apple family lore. Or maybe the Riches.” Twilight Sparkle prepared to create a fresh checklist. She picked up a quill and ink bottle with her telekinesis, but then gasped.

She was out of parchment.

Twilight Sparkle started pacing the library. “I can’t start my assignment without a plan. I can’t plan without a checklist. I can’t write a checklist without parchment.”

“Relax. We can get more parchment!” said Spike.

Twilight Sparkle looked to the dragon, who continued. “Why don’t I collect books from here, while you head to the stationery shop?” he suggested. “You can organize your thoughts on the walk over, and by the time you come back, I’ll have everything you need to start work!”

Twilight Sparkle hugged Spike. “Thanks, Spike! That’s a great idea! That’s my number one assistant for you!”

Spike smiled, casting a smug glance at the sleeping Owlowiscious.

Twilight Sparkle pushed open the door of Ponyville’s stationery shop, causing a small bell to chime. She smiled as she gazed upon shelves of pens, pencils, inks, parchment, and envelopes, in multiple different colors and qualities. In a corner, a phonograph played opera music; this music always made this store feel special to Twilight Sparkle.

The shop’s owner, an older red unicorn stallion who always had a pencil behind his ear, looked up from the counter and adjusted his glasses. “Well, if it isn’t my best customer!” he said cheerily. “What can I get you, Twilight Sparkle?”

“Good morning, Quill! I have a big assignment today, so I need another sheaf of parchment,” Twilight Sparkle explained. “And, just to be safe, let me get a half dozen quills and three ink bottles.”

Quill chuckled. “If you keep writing so much, you’re going to run me out of stock!” The store owner gathered the requested items with his magic, wrapping them carefully into one bundle, and then tying it with string.

Twilight Sparkle levitated over seventeen bits; she had made the exact same purchase on multiple occasions, and so remembered the final tab. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Quill!”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Quill replied.

Quill checked his stocks as the librarian left. “I am getting low,” he said to himself. He walked over to the door, hung up a sign saying CLOSED, and then locked the door.

He gazed over the crowd of ponies, their eyes full of excitement. This was his favorite part of the show: the entrance. The music. The smoke. The lights. The revelation. The fireworks.

“Welcome, friends! My name is Iron Will, and today is the first day of your new life! I wanna hear you stomp if you're tired of being a pushover!”

All around him, he watched as ponies stomped and cheered for his employer, his idol, his friend.

“Stomp if you're tired of being a doormat!”

The stomping and cheering continued.

“Stomp if you wanna pay nothing for this seminar!”

The stomping slowed as the ponies reacted with confusion to Iron Will’s announcement. The hooffalls faded, to be replaced by a shifting sound. No, a scraping sound.

The memory faded as a dark gray goat buck opened his grime-caked eyes. In the dim basement where the goat was imprisoned, a red unicorn hummed along to the faint sound of opera music. In his magical aura, he grasped a crescent-shaped blade, which he used to scrape a skin, stretched tight on a drying rack. The putrid smell of rot and corruption still clung to the skin.

The unicorn heard the goat shift his head. “And a good evening to you, Billy,” he said with a smile. “You’ll be happy to know that business is positively booming. I’ll be restocking soon.”

Billy shut his eyes tightly. “You… you monster!” The unicorn always scraped the skins in clear view of him.

Another scrape, and Quill examined his work. “Such language. I’d bite that tongue if I were you. In fact, you should be thankful I let you keep it at all.”

Billy growled. Each wet stroke triggered phantom pains, wracking his body without it even being touched. The thin and dirty blanket that covered his body felt like a million tiny pins pressing into his skin. He couldn’t remove it. He couldn’t touch his sensitive hide. As always, he was on his knees, thick metal loops binding his legs to the cold concrete of the basement floor.

Worst of all, his bindings meant Billy couldn’t cover his ears. He desperately sought release from the infernal noise.

Iron Will was the life of any party, and he knew just where they all were. It didn’t matter when or where the party was held. It didn’t matter if there was a guest list. If somepony blocked the minotaur, the Boss would show them he rocked, and soon he and his entourage of goats would be living it up. The many ponies who benefitted from Iron Will’s seminars treated the group well. They were showered with gifts. Decadent foodstuffs. Fashionable clothes. Top shelf alcohol. Drugs. Bits flowed like water, and Iron Will was always generous to his staff. Billy grew to love the lifestyle, the attention, the excitement. He met a stunning doe at one of the parties, passion blooming into true love. His life was perfect.

And then, she happened. He remembered her well; he helped pick her out of the crowd of ponies at the seminar outside Ponyville. She couldn’t even stand up for herself in a crowd of ponies, accepting being forced to the back. The perfect demonstration of Iron Will’s motivational talents. Right on stage, she transformed from doormat to a proud and assertive pony. The crowd cheered. Bits flowed into their coffers as ponies hoped for a transformation of their own.

But she said no. She said no. She said she was not happy with the Boss’s program. She said she didn’t like the change she so obviously needed. She refused to pay. And somehow, her attitude spread throughout Equestria. More and more ponies said they weren’t satisfied by Iron Will’s winning techniques. They walked out of the seminars. The crowds dwindled. But worst were the whispers, whispers about the greatest minotaur in Equestria. Bully. Tyrant. Monster. Monster? These ponies had never met a true monster.

His thoughts were interrupted by the blanket being removed from his body. Chills shook his form violently, even rattling the solid metal braces holding him to the floor. It was not the air crossing his nearly bare hide that caused this reaction. It was the way the unicorn eyed him. Assessed him.

The red unicorn lit his horn. In the light, his white smock was easy to see, fresh and clean as usual. He wore safety goggles over his spectacles. His favorite pencil still rested behind his left ear, but the light reflected off something metallic tucked behind his right ear.

Quill ran his hoof across Billy’s left side. It rubbed against the hairs trying to grow through the loose skin. His hair. His beautiful hide, the hide that he once pampered with grooming in the finest spas in Equestria, was reduced to… this. “Yes, yes, we are quite ready,” the unicorn cooed. The goat was not eating much; it made the skin that much easier to handle.

“St… stop,” Billy pleaded, his voice a whisper.

“Stop?” Quill responded with mock curiosity. “But we have a business arrangement.”

He couldn’t stop spending bits. He couldn’t stand to admit his failure to his beautiful doe. The savings soon disappeared. Then there were the loans. He desperately sought bits from shadier and shadier sources to cover his old loans. The threats. Against him, his wife, his kids. And then, he met the unicorn, who promised to cover his debts, as long as he worked for him for a year. Just work a year, and your debts will be gone. Your family will be provided for. Isn’t that all you want?

“I suppose we could terminate our arrangement,” the unicorn offered. He casually inspected his hoof. “But that can’t be what you want. Silver, your youngest? Just started school? I’ve heard Bonecrusher likes them young… and exotic.”

Billy bowed his head in defeat. This was his only way left to provide.

Quill smiled. With his magic, he retrieved the scalpel from behind his right ear, and circled the goat. He maneuvered the scalpel to the goat’s belly, slicing the skin just under the navel. Billy pulled away, as far as his bound legs would let him move.

The unicorn chuckled. He always pulled back at the first touch of the scalpel. Didn’t he recognize the futility? Billy strained against his metal bindings, trying desperately to free his numb legs. Again, pointless.

“What do you think you’re going to do? Tell the princesses?” Quill mocked the goat. “Have you ever seen how much parchment gets used in Canterlot Castle? I’ve heard tales of the parchment factories in Canterlot. Yes, factories. You should be glad you’re in the care of a pony who’s so gentle.”

Billy stopped struggling, as he again accepted the inevitable. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would protect him from what his other senses would relay to his mind. The failure of this tactic was obvious. He felt the stinging pain of the small incision. He heard the blood drip from the cut onto the concrete floor below.

The unicorn stood still, the only noise coming from Billy’s terrified breaths and the faint sound of opera from far above. When the time felt right, he resumed his incision, tracing a line from groin to neck. He continued down the sides of both left legs, cutting across just above the knee. The goat whimpered. In the past, the pain would have caused him to bleat like a little kid. Now, the greatest pain came from waiting. He shook, blood dripping down his left side.

Quill returned the scalpel to its resting place behind his ear. He walked up to Billy, and placed his hooves on the goat’s underside. If there was one thing a master parchment crafter understood, it was the importance of handling this step by hoof. He paused, listening to the music from upstairs, waiting for a cue.

As the soprano began to sing her aria, Quill began to pull. Skin and fat separated from muscle. Billy screamed, his terrified bleats mixing with the soprano’s powerful voice to create a disturbing duet. Connective tissue popped and snapped as hot, sticky blood traced a path from his underside, down his legs, to the stained concrete floor. Blood began to pool around his knees. The goat’s mind was only pain. As the skin tore free from both legs, he voided himself.

The unicorn continued to pull, yanking the half skin from the goat’s flanks. Half his body burned, burned worse than the hottest fire. He hadn’t realized he was still screaming until he gagged. The screams were drowned in sour bile, which rose in his throat before spilling from his mouth.

Above, the soprano’s voice rose, persisting on a high C. Inspired by her vocal heights, Quill lifted the nearly flayed skin, pulling the goat’s body with it. Gravity now aided in separating the skin of Billy’s left side from his body. It tore from hock and shoulder. The skin was now raised perpendicular to the goat’s body, connected only along the spine. Quill let the voice raise his spirits; it was his favorite part of the opera. As the soprano finally released her hold on the lofty note, Quill summoned his scalpel, finally severing the skin with one quick stroke. The goat fell, unconscious, and both the phonograph and the basement fell silent.

Billy awoke minutes later. The unbearable pain wouldn’t allow him rest. He had pitched forward into the mess of blood, bile, and excrement that had pooled under him. Quill would clean him up, but later. Always later. The cool sensations coming from his right heightened the burning pain from his left. Blood continued to pour from his exposed muscles. He felt dizzy and incredibly weak.

Quill was again humming as he sliced dried skin into parchment sheets and scrolls. His skin. Skin from his left side. Was it harvested a week ago? Two weeks ago? He no longer knew. Through barely open eyes, Billy saw Quill levitate a bowl of cold vegetable stew in front of him. To that bowl, he added the cerulean contents of a potion flask.

“Eat up,” the unicorn instructed. “You need to regain your strength.”

That accursed potion. Powerful regenerative magic. His first night in the basement, it had been force fed to him. As he watched, fibers had stretched over exposed muscle and tightened, finally forming fresh skin. He looked again at the bowl. It was the only way to end the pain.

Not the only way, he finally realized. There was a way to not only end the physical pain, but finally cease the mental agony, the phantom pains, the unforgiving nightmare. Just don’t consume the potion. It was so simple.

Billy shook. He could put aside the pain. He knew he could put aside the pain. But he felt torment at the same time as relief. The half of him that was intact demanded the release of being made whole. The goat cried as he lowered his muzzle into the bowl.

As he continued to cut parchment, Quill smiled. After a few days, they always drank the potion. Always.

Twilight Sparkle researched late into the night, scarcely getting any sleep before starting again in the morning. As notes from the eleventh book in the stack, Mystifying Monsters and Maddening Maladies, filled yet another sheet of parchment, Twilight Sparkle levitated over a fresh sheet, the final sheet of the sheaf. Again, her parchment box was empty.

“Out of parchment again?” Twilight Sparkle said, a bit surprised.

“Hey, Twilight, want me to stop by the stationery store?” Spike offered.

“Oh, that’s not necessary. I’m going out to lunch with Rarity soon. I’ll pick up some fresh parchment on my way back.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to handle it?” Spike asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Twilight Sparkle told her number one assistant. “I’m fine with handling this errand.”

She smiled. “It’s no skin off my back.”