Body-Snatching for Fun and Profit

by meme-asaurus

Rating: mature
Tags: Original Character, Opalescence, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Comedy, Other, Hoity Toity, Random, Discord, Dark, Alternate Universe
Length: 18322

My name is Princess Platinum. Last week, I turned 5,086 years old. I made myself immortal with the help of a gemstone enchanted by my most trusted advisor. Her name is Clover the Clever. One day, we aim to take back the Crystal Empire. This is our s

My name is Princess Platinum. Last week, I turned 5,086 years old. I made myself immortal with the help of a gemstone enchanted by my most trusted advisor. Her name is Clover the Clever. One day, we aim to take back the Crystal Empire.

This is our story.

((This is actually a spinoff story of The Unexpected Love Dusk Shine. Now, let me tell you the truth: I hate it when authors do what I’m doing. It means I’ll have to read a whole nother fic in order to figure out what’s going on in the one I actually want to read. It’s one of the most annoying things that could possibly happen on this site.

Fortunately, this features a couple of characters that weren’t essential to the original story, but were compelling enough to star in their own. In other words, this is pretty much a different fic altogether. In order to give these characters some context though, I’ve taken the liberty to put in the chapters of the original material that concern the characters’ introduction and backstory all in the first chapter of this one.

If you’ve already read the original fic, you can just go ahead and skip the prologue. You already know all this crap.

For those of you that are new here, you should know that this is an alternate timeline from the canon show, so don’t be surprised if Twilight’s a dude.))

Published 2013-05-23 04:50:03 UTC
Last updated 2013-05-31 21:24:00 UTC

The Incredibly Long and Half-Necessary Prologue With a Title That's Too Honest for its Own Good

I walk across the floor of Carousel Boutique, maneuvering myself around the natural clutter. My feline senses multiply every smell and sound. I mostly hear the rhythmic whirring and tapping sound of a sewing machine. Other than that, I can smell the glue Sweetie Belle was using for her latest homework assignment. I think it had something to do with arts and crafts, but I’m not sure. I never paid much attention to that filly. Too much of a bother. Besides, she never has the decency to wipe her nose.

Rarity is working away at some new dress, as usual. Also as usual, she’s forgotten to feed me. I swear, one of these days I’m going to starve to death, then she’ll be sorry. Or maybe I’ll just help myself to one of the edible boots she leaves lying around. Whichever.

Not wanting to munch on footwear, I paw on Rarity’s hind leg. She didn’t even give me a second glance.

“Not now Opal, Mommy’s working.” she said. “Oh, this is going to one of my best works yet!” She shoos me away like some common dust bunny. Such insolence! Doesn’t she know who I am?

What’s that? Who am I, exactly? What a silly question. Why, you’re speaking to none other than Her Royal Majesty, Princess Platinum the First, the shining treasure of Equestria!

...

...STOP LAUGHING.

I’m telling the truth, you know. Granted, I’m stuck in the body of a common housecat named Opalescence, but I assure you, I have an excuse for that. Get yourself comfortable, it’s a long story. Also, I might prattle on a bit. I have mountains to get off my chest, and it’s been ages since I could say anything besides “meow.” (I’m not quite sure how I’m talking to you in the first place, but Father always said not to look a gift horse in the mouth...)

Long ago, there was a beautiful princess from the bountiful land of Unicornia. All was fair in the proud nation, and the princess reveled in her family’s fortune and unicorn superiority. All this changed when a bit of cold weather blew in, and the land of Unicornia wasn’t all that bountiful anymore.

Frankly, it was dead. Along with a lot of unicorns.

Fortunately, a hooful of us escaped and sought out a new land to settle in. Our lucky break was found beyond the borders of our gold-ridden mountains: The nation that is now known as Equestria, the kingdom that spread itself all across the world.

Oh yeah, and we had to share it with the pegasi and earth ponies. That took some getting used to.

I mean, A LOT of getting used to. You know that little Hearth’s Warming play they do every year, where at the end everypony’s seen the error of their ways? Remember when all the world’s leaders finally learned that all their troubles would magically melt away because they all held hooves and got along? Oh, and this is my favorite part: They all lived happily ever after while singing the Equestrian national anthem in perfect, two-dimensional harmony~

Go ahead, get a good picture of it all in your imagination while that warm and fuzzy feeling bubbles up inside you for a few minutes longer. Go on, engorge yourself. Savor the moment.

Now listen to me loud and clear: Politics don’t work that way.

Sure, we all got along for a brief time, but try to look at it from our point of view. Namely, it was the BUCKING APOCALYPSE. It wasn’t a grand union of three countries to form the greatest superpower the world has ever known, it was the last of three dying species grouping together to find safety in numbers from the dangers of the untamed wilderness with absolutely no toilet paper.

Still not convinced? Let me clue you in on a few minor details Celestia “accidentally” missed when writing that oh-so-precious holiday pageant. One, we were living in uncharted territory, so we got constantly lost. Two, we had to leave every cent of our royal fortune back at home, so we had no form of currency. Three, the earth ponies needed at least a year before they could grow a decent crop of food, so we had to eat grass (which tasted terrible) or any wild berries we could find. (Which either tasted terrible or gave you a rather nasty case of the trots. Did I mention we had no toilet paper?)

Lastly, since our population of earth ponies, pegasi and unicorns left alive all counted up to a grand total of 260 or so, we had to arrange marriages very precisely to make sure that our future generations were as little as inbred as possible. And I don’t mean we avoided inbreeding entirely, I mean we punched in the numbers, drew countless charts and graphs, told our children exactly who to have babies with (no matter how much they hated it), and generally worked our plots off, but everypony today is STILL a teensy bit related to each other. Near extinction can do that to a species, you know.

But life back then wasn’t all bad. For me, at least. A few years after we made a permanent settlement, my father (whom we thought was dead), King Sombra the Vigilant, arrived unscathed from our original homeland just in time to witness the birth of his grandson, Prince Blueblood the First. I was so happy that day, I cried.

Well, maybe it was from the contractions. Still, tears are tears.

What? You didn’t know I was a mother? Of course you didn’t. You probably don’t even care what happened to my son. All you really are thinking is, “How did this stunningly gorgeous unicorn end up eating catnip and playing with balls of yarn? How could such a travesty come to be?” Well, I’ll tell you what happened.

Alicorns. Alicorns happened.

Two alicorns, to be precise. You see, we actually had no intention of forming a new country that consisted of each race of pony before King Equinox and Queen Eternia came along. We thought it was the end of the world, after all. The term “Equestria” wasn’t even invented yet. We lived through armageddon, and survival was occupying our every thought. We had no thoughts of conquest, exploration, or even clearing out a forest to build a bigger city. But I digress. Back to the alicorns.

I don’t actually know where they exactly came from. Nopony does. I don’t know if they were part of some long-lost civilization that time forgot, if they’re some scientific experiment that decided to grow legs and come to life, or even if they were just born somewhere in a dusty old manger in the dead of the night. They just flew down from the sky one day and said,

“Thou hath performed quite nicely. We shall take it from here now.”

And that was it. Nopony resisted. Nopony disobeyed. Nopony said, “Clop off, you freaks of nature!”

...Well, almost nopony. Commander Hurricane was always the most outgoing one, after all. Got himself burned to death for that little outburst.

Anyway, that’s how Equestria was made. A pair of immortal beings came and took over a bunch of starving ponies, who were completely defenseless mostly because all of their armies recently died of hypothermia. Love and tolerance, my furry arse.

So, since our ever-so-glorious new king was in charge, ponies like Chancellor Puddinghead were suddenly completely out of a job. As you might’ve guessed, my family was no exception. Father took our fall from power the hardest, saying that the alicorns had no right to rule. He even started studying on a way to kill them in secret.

Eventually, King Equinox caught wind of my father’s defiance. In fact, the pony that ratted us out was my own husband. My own husband, a traitor! (In hindsight, I probably should have saw that one coming, since his name was Snake In The Grass.)

We were banished. The whole royal family. Every last one of us. Well, Snake In The Grass got to stay. Queen Eternia reasoned that Blueblood didn’t know any better, so my son got to stay too. After all, he was only nine at the time.

Abandoned by our once-loyal subjects, we headed north. There, we discovered the Crystal Empire, a kingdom populated by a native tribe of earth ponies with no outside contact to the rest of the world. They hadn’t the slightest notion that other ponies could have wings or horns.

That is, until we arrived. And by Lauren Faust’s horn, they found us fascinating. All one of us had to do was levitate an ear of corn in the air for a bit, and our entire family was perceived as a pantheon of GODS. We were back to telling other ponies what to do by lunchtime.

Years rolled by in our life of luxury. Decades, even. Unfortunately, Father was always paranoid that Equinox would come swooping down any day and “take what’s rightfully ours again.” He began to reinforce our defenses. He experimented with several different kinds of magic, trying to find the most effective way of turning a pony inside-out. Eventually, he discovered the abilities of the Crystal Heart. Before that, we just assumed that thing was just some fancy-looking ornament that the crystal ponies used for some primitive religion. We couldn’t be more wrong.

Now, before I can tell you about the Crystal Heart, I have to explain to you the concept of the Crystal Empire. Namely, that it’s not really an empire. Look at it, it’s no bigger than a decent city. No, the reason it’s called the Crystal Empire is because of the Crystal Heart. Clover the Clever said it basically takes the will and personality of whoever makes a connection with it, and invokes it across the entire planet.

For some odd reason, the crystal ponies never used it to take over the world. They just used it grow food in in snow and frozen soil, allowing them to live so close to the north. Nothing else. Can you believe that? And to top it off, they put it on display in the town square with nopony to guard it. Honestly, if you’ve got magic like that under your roof, you’re just begging for somepony to come around, abuse it to their own personal gain, and go mad with power.

Which is exactly what Father did.

After he harnessed the energy of the Crystal Heart, he put all our subjects to work in the crystal mines, since the more crystals he had, the more powerful he became. Don’t get me wrong; I loved my father, but he totally went insane.With the help of Clover, I tried to reason with him nearly single every day, but he would just laugh in our faces.

“I am the sovereign king of the Crystal Empire,” he would say every time. “I am the most powerful being ever witnessed by mortal eyes! Nopony commands me what to do! Now, leave me in peace. I must prepare for the oncoming war. Equinox will be here any moment, I can feel it!”

Speaking of King Equinox, it turns out he and Queen Eternia were quite dead at the time, courtesy of something called a “draconequus,” or something like that. I never got the details on that story, but from what I heard, the issue resolved itself.

What DID come to overthrow our beautiful empire was Equinox’s two daughters we know today, Celestia and Luna. Apparently, they heard word of Father’s less-than-agreeable labor laws from a random pony that escaped the mines. Obviously, they weren’t just going to banish us this time. Nopony gets that many second chances. Still, Father forbade any of the family to retreat, basically putting us all under house arrest like sitting ducks. We were panicking. We told him that this was madness. He wasn’t worried. He had a plan.

You see, despite all the power he had grown over the years, he still was no match for an alicorn, much less two. So, he wanted to raise an entire army of alicorns to defend his precious crystals. How was he going to do this, you might ask?

By taking his horn and jabbing it into the Crystal Heart repeatedly. Simply brilliant.

But through an incredible stroke of luck, he succeeded. That’s right, at the fragile age of 89, King Sombra the Vigilant actually made an army of alicorns overnight. Except that there were a couple... impediments, if you will.

It wasn’t exactly an army of alicorns. It was just one.

The one, single alicorn he created (not to mention our last hope at survival), looked like this.

...So to summarize, we were all doomed.

Fortunately, Clover learned how to pick locks the night before the Royal Pony Sisters attacked. We moved quietly, avoiding the guards at every turn. We tried to save the rest of my family before we left, but it turned out that each and every one of them decided to get it over with and hang his/herself by his/her respective bedsheets. That said, the only living relatives I had left were my father, my son, and that alicorn foal that I suppose technically counted as my half-sister.

Anyway, Clover and I were about to go out the back door of the castle when we accidentally bumped into Father. He wasn’t even looking for us at the time; he was in the middle of installing flamethrowers in the hallway. Miraculously, he let us leave. Really, he did. Just like that. I was never sure why. Perhaps a small part of him wanted his firstborn daughter to be safe and out of harm’s way. Perhaps he thought I was the Crystal Empire’s last hope, and he wanted me to come back one day to avenge his inevitable death. He never told me his reasons. I think he tried to, though. His mind was so corrupted at that point, he could barely speak a complete sentence.

“F-father?” I exclaimed. “You’re letting us go? But... why? Why now?”

“AAAAaaayyyaahhhhggghhhgaAyAhCrystaalllsssNNgahAAaaggghhh!” he screamed in my face.

“Erm... I love you too, Daddy?”

“Nyaagh.”

And with that, we were gone, fleeing to the frozen hills outside. From a safe distance, we witnessed the Crystal Empire being blasted by a ultra-destructive rainbow of death. Then, our nation began to disappear. Literally. As in it faded into nothingness.

“What’s happening??” I shouted in surprise. “I thought the alicorns wanted to save the Crystal Empire, not make it vanish into thin air with some magic trick!”

“I believe what we’re seeing is a fail-safe spell that King Sombra cast, Your Majesty,” observed Clover the Clever. “According to arcane quota levels I’m sensing, it’s within 80% probability that he planned all of this beforehoof. Due to the rate and method the Crystal Empire is disappearing, it’s likely going into a quasimorphic gap between space and time for-”

“Clover, stop,” I interrupted. “You’re speaking techno-babble again. Just repeat what you just said in Equuish so I can know what’s happened to my favorite dressing room.”

“Apologies, Your Majesty,” my servant said humbly. “I tend to ramble at times. In laymare’s terms, the Crystal Empire has disappeared... for the time being.”

“For the time being?”

‘Yes. You see, it has gone into a state of magical hibernation, if you will. It will come back when the caster cannot sustain the spell any longer.”

“So, the caster is my Father, right?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Well, he’s dead now. Why hasn’t my palace come back yet? Don’t tell me his ghost is sustaining the spell.” I blinked for a second. “Wait, can he do that?”

“I don’t think so,” said Clover, rubbing her chin in thought. “The fact that King Sombra is dead has yet to be determined, you know.”

“Yet to be determined?” I gawked. “YET TO BE DETERMINED?!? THEY ANNIHILATED HIM WITH A NUCLEAR RAINBOW! YOU CAN’T GET MORE DEAD THAN THAT!!!”

“I believe the situation is quite the contrary,” Clover said calmly. “The spell was cast after the rainbow, and one has to be alive to cast even the most simplest spell. Ergo, your father is still very much alive.”

My brain was failing to process this. “He’s... alive? He’s still alive? How is that even possible?”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty,” Clover sighed, “I’ve thrown things like ‘possibility’ out the window ever since I’ve met Chancellor Puddinghead.”

I looked at her for the longest time. “You’re taking this all pretty well.”

“I believe I’m suffering from shock, ma'am,” she replied stoically. “Leaving three countries in ashes does not bond well to a pony’s psyche.” She swallowed a lump. “Anyway, that’s not important right now. I believe we need to pay more attention to that rainbow that hit King Sombra and why it didn’t kill him.

“I have two theories about this phenomenon. One is that it was supposed to kill him, but it somehow malfunctioned. Another is that the Royal Pony Sisters do not believe in the death penalty as strongly as their father, so they put Sombra in some kind of painless, near-death state. The last one is that they believed that death was too good for His Majesty, so they put him in another kind of near-death state that was designed to be painful.

“As long as any of these hypotheses are true, one fact still remains: Your father is alive.”

After I got my eye to stop twitching from the sheer implausibility of the situation, another question popped into my mind.

“How long?” I asked.

“Pardon, Your Majesty?”

“How long can Father sustain the spell?” I elaborated. “Until then, we have no place to call home.”

“I... don’t rightly know,” she said, an usure expression clouding over her face. “It depends on what condition King Sombra is currently in. It could take years. Maybe even a few decades." She paused, the gears in her head turning. “Wait a minute, wasn’t he performing experiments on life force absorption a few months back?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Well, if he can absorb life force, he can use that energy to enhance his own, personal magic. Therefore, he can easily draw upon the life force of the crystal ponies to sustain his spell even longer.”

“How much longer?”

She gulped before she could speak. “About four to six millennia.”

I threw my forehooves up in the air in frustration. “Why? Why would he do this to me? I’m stuck out here in the cold while he takes a cozy, five-thousand-year-long nap! What was he thinking, going with a plan like this?? It doesn’t even benefit him! The alicorns will just come back here to defeat him when he wakes up!”

Clover was still thinking. She was picked as an advisor for one simple purpose: Her special talent was answering questions. Whatever question was asked of her, she always knew how to answer it. Even if she didn’t know what the answer was, she always at least gave out a guess or assumption that turned out to be surprisingly correct. At times, it disturbed me on how uncanny Clover was on subject she supposedly knew nothing about, but I suppose you can’t get a title like “the Clever” for just getting a good grade in math. Besides, that cutie mark of hers came in very handy when she was banished for staying in servitude for my family.

Like right now, when questions were pouring out of me like water through a burst dam.

“Why would Father do all of this?” I said frantically.

“If I had to guess,” Clover said, “I’d have to say that King Sombra is attempting to outlive the alicorns. He probably thinks that they are mortal like us, since they’ve only been around for only forty years or so.”

“Oh,” I said, remembering that Father was still lacking in good judgement and a stable thought process at the time. “So, what are we going to do? We’ve been driven out of house and home for three times now, and the Crystal Empire was our last chance at a happy life. We’ve been beaten.”

There was pause for the longest time. The alicorns had gone back home to celebrate their victory by then. The only ponies there were Clover and I. The only sound that could be heard was the wind hollowing in the air. We were completely alone.

“No,” Clover finally said as she gained a determined look in her eye. “No, we haven’t. All we have to do is wait.”

“What are you saying?”

“If we wait for the Crystal Empire to reappear,” she explained slowly and deliberately, “we can come up with a way to take it back before Sombra or the Royal Pony Sisters can.”

“But... didn’t you say it was going to take... four to six thousand years for the Crystal Empire to reappear?” I said, concerned where this conversation was headed. “Did you hit your head, darling? Maybe you should lie down.”

“I’m fine, Princess. I’ve got it all figured out. I’ve been studying in the local library my spare time, and I believe the crystal ponies may have found a route to immortality.”

“Really?” I said, my eyes dazzling. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place? Let’s do it. Let’s become immortal!”

“Not so fast, Your Majesty,” Clover said cautiously. “It’s not that simple. You know these things always come at a price. Are you absolutely sure you want to live forever?”

“Positive!” I snapped. “Who in their right mind says ‘no’ to immortality? Just tell me what we have to do.”

Clover pursed her lips, her horn obediently lighting up. “First, I have to cast this certain spell,” she said. There was a flash of blinding light, and I instantly looked myself over with enthusiasm, expecting to feel stronger, or at least younger.

There was no such effect. I didn’t feel as much as a tingling sensation. Heck, I think I gained a few gray hairs just then.

“It didn’t work,” I huffed, giving out a pout. “You have been demoted to ‘Worst Mage.’”

“The ritual isn't finished yet,” Clover retorted with a dirty look. “And I am not ‘Worst Mage.’”

“Well, what’s the next step?” I grumbled, my words covered in sarcasm. “Dance in a circle and sing the magic words?”

“No,” she said, her voice taking a calm, reasonable tone. “Next, I’m going to kill you with this knife.”

“Wait, WHAT?”

*STAB!*

I prefer not to remember what happened after that. All you need to know for now is that I’m a cat. Except I’m not. Look, it’s complicated. Now, where was I?

Ahh yes, getting Rarity’s attention so she can feed me. Cat food may taste atrocious, but a meal’s still a meal.

I give out yet another meow in protest. She finally looks down at me and smiles.

“What’s that, Opal-Wopal?” the ignorant hag says in that baby-talk voice that never fails to give me nausea. “You want to help Mommy with her dream dress?”

No, you imbecile, I’m trying to tell you that I’m famished!

“Of course you want to help,” she says sweetly. “All you have to do is hold this pincushion for a minute.” She sticks a red pincushion in my mouth, shutting me up. I give her my best growl, glaring daggers at her.

“What’s that? You want to help Mommy even more? You’re such a helpful little angel!” With her telekinesis, she forces me to hold a multitude of various items with nearly all my available appendages, leaving me balancing on one, singular paw like some circus clown. Sometimes I wonder that Rarity actually knows that I was once a perfectly respectable unicorn, and that she keeps me as a pet just to torture me in situations like this one. If this ever proves one day to be true, she is the truly the most sadistic being to ever exist.

Rarity takes a break from sowing to talk to herself for a while. “Oh, I can’t believe it! After years upon years of making dresses for the Grand Galloping Gala, I’ve FINALLY attained the honor of attending. Look Opal, Mommy’s hooves are quivering with excitement just from talking about it!”

I roll my eyes. Cool it girl, it’s just a ball. Take it from somepony who has witnessed more Galas than Celestia herself. The monarchs of Unicornia literally invented the Grand Galloping Gala, after all. It’s main purpose was to allow the peasants that could afford fancy enough clothing to suck up to the nobles one night a year, end of story.

“Not to mention that I’ve acquired the perfect date,” she giggles. “That’s why this dress has be fabulous in every fathomable way.” She throws a sheet of fabric over herself. “Ooo, I can imagine Dusk and I on the dance floor right now.” She pulls up a mannequin with her magic and starts to waltz with it. I see her eyes glaze over as she flung herself into her fantasy.

“Why yes, my love, this gown IS made of 100% silk. Except for the parts where I sowed in the diamonds, of course. You don’t look bad yourself tonight. I’m so glad you chose me over the others. They wouldn’t take offense if we steal a kiss by midnight, will they?

“Hm? What’s that you say? More than a kiss?

...

“Oh, such language, my dear! I see you’ve gotten a bit excited. Do I really turn you on that much?

...

“My goodness! There’s a time and a place for such naughty words, Dusk! I dare say I might have to discipline you for the way you’re misbehaving... *tee-hee!*”

Thank heavens that somepony decided to knock on the door just now. I swear, she was just a few more minutes away from getting it on with a plastic stallion.

Rarity nearly falls over in surprise. She tosses off her sheet of cloth and hurries to the door, her cheeks still burning red. I use this distraction as an opportunity to drop all the junk she gave me.

What happened in the next few seconds was... confusing, to say the least, and it happened at an extremely fast pace. I’ll have to break it down for you.

Event #1: Rarity opens the door.

Event #2: Rarity slams the door before the pony outside can even think.

Event #3: Rarity races away to another corner of the house, muttering something.

Event #4: I hear the telltale sound of water running from the bathroom.

Event #5: Rarity runs back to the door, her mane positively drenched.

Event #6: Rarity opens the door, striking the most seductive pose she can manage.

Event #7: “Sorry about the delay, Applejack. I wasn’t expecting company, and you happened to interrupt me in the middle of my midday shower. Oh, hello to you too, Dusk! I didn’t see you there.”

Event #8: Dusk Shine gets a nosebleed.

Event #9: I catch up to speed on what’s going on, but I’m still completely baffled by the fact that I HAVEN’T BEEN FED YET.

After Dusk’s nose stops bleeding and Applejack gets him to stop ogling you-know-who, I take the time to eavesdrop on their conversation.

“So, what is it that you came here for in the first place, darlings?” Rarity asks.

“Ah need you ta fix mah hat one more time,” the unintelligent cowgirl says with her southern drawl. Typical for an earth pony to never understand proper Equuish. “Poor thing’s gettin’ all worn out again.”

“And I need you to fix my old tux,” says Dusk, throwing away the last of his bloody tissues. He pulls out a powder blue tuxedo from his saddlebags. It’s crinkled, it’s unfashionable, it smells of mothballs and it makes me wish I didn’t have eyes. I can see Rarity holding back the urge to tear the suit to shreds.

“It has a button loose,” he explains trying to avoid gazing at Rarity’s mane. I think other corrections are needed for that suit. Like it needs to be set on fire. Ponies back in my day would’ve been flogged for dressing so undesirably.

“Err... If I were to be so bold Dusk,” Rarity says with an uncomfortable smile, “I say a new suit would be more appropriate. Why don’t I make you one?”

Dusk looked a little offended. “But this is the suit I wore back at my senior prom,” he defends.

He wore THAT to his prom? By Lauren Faust, this boy is sad. I have no idea what Rarity sees in him.

“No darling, I insist,” Rarity persuades. “It would be a personal offense to my pride if I didn’t help you.” She turns to Apple-what’s-her-face. “And you know what? I think you could use a little help too, Applejack.”

The orange earth pony looks back with looks back with a blatantly indifferent expression. “Naw, ya don’t need ta help me, Rares. Ah’m perfectly happy with goin’ ta th’ Gala with mah work duds.”

“Work... duds?” Rarity parrots slowly. “Darling, you don’t wear ‘work duds.’”

“‘Course Ah do,” says Applejack, putting on a smile. “Ah have mah hat, don’t Ah?”

“That hardly qualifies as an entire outfit,” Rarity frowns, “much less as a style formal enough for the Gala.”

“Ah ain’t gettin’ in a dress again,” the stubborn hick says outright. “Not after that nightmare of a truth-or-dare game with y’all. No way, no how.”

Dusk speaks up. “AJ, I know you aren’t exactly comfortable with sprucing yourself up, but Rarity has a point. If we don’t dress appropriately, we’ll get kicked out, invitation or otherwise.”

True, very true. I have to admit, Celestia’s got her priorities straight.

Applecrap pouts her lip and snorts. “Fine ya make me a dress. Jus’ don’t make it too fru-fru.”

Thank you, Applejack!’ Rarity says , grinning ear to ear. “I’ll get started right away.” She pauses for a moment. “Wait a minute... I forgot to feed Opal her din-din!” She rushes to the kitchen with great haste. “Oh, Opal-Wopal, no wonder you’ve been so cranky! Mommy’s so sorry. How about some gourmet salmon and rice to make up for it?”

Hallelujah! My time of waiting has finally ended. It’s times like this where I almost begin to like the bitter old witch.

…

...What? What are you still standing around for? I’m not telling you what happens next. I’m not even paying attention anymore. The world could end tomorrow, for all I care. I’m getting my din-din!~

Okay, I’m back. It’s been a couple days since you were all here, and things have hectic around this place. For reasons that are completely beyond me, Rarity has agreed to make a dress for each of all five of her friends, in addition to that suit for her ‘dreamboat,’ Dusk Shine.

All day, every day, the air in the dressmaking room has been high-traffic area for needles, spools of thread, rolls of fabric, buttons, pins, needles, sheets of paper for design, pencils for writing on said paper, and all other kinds of manure; all levitated by Rarity’s horn. I’m constantly surprised at what that tiny thing on her forehead can do. Back in my day, a unicorn at her age would typically get a serious hangover afterward. Then again, that was before Neighagra was invented. That stuff is like steroids for your horn.

Currently, Rarity was taking measurements for one of her ‘clients,’ or whatever you call somepony that you’re making clothing for free for. (I personally believe the term is called, ‘your friendly neighborhood sweatshop owner.’)

Rarity only invites one pony to her place at a time, saying that the one-one-one interaction “helps you become one with your outfit,” or something ridiculous like that. I don’t really buy it myself. I half-believe it, at the very least. My guess is that she either can’t deal with the needs of more than one customer at a time, or that she just uses the opportunity to invade their personal space without all those pesky interruptions.

Like what she was doing to Dusk right now. Just watch.

“Hold still darling, this will only take a few more minutes,” she says.

“Rarity, that tickles!” snickers Dusk. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough time?”

“Not yet, love,” she says patiently, “I have to take a few more measurements.”

Dusk deadpans. “Rarity, you’ve measured every conceivable part and joint of my body twice.”

“Well, it never hurts to double-check,” she chirps innocently. “Besides, I want to get nice, accurate picture of your body committed to memory. You never know when something like that could come in handy.”

“Rarity, you’re measuring my horn. It’s time for you to stop.”

She backs off and gives a pleading look. “You don’t have to be so crude about it.”

“I am not being crude.”

She gives up and sighs. “Fine, I suppose I can work with the measurements of you I have already. But before you leave, there is one matter I simply can’t leave unaddressed.”

“What?”

“You have a smudge on your cheek,” she informs while gesturing to a spot on her face.

He rubs the left side of his own face. “Better?”

“You didn’t get it,” she answers. “I can’t quite place what it is. Is is some kind of hot sauce? Did have your lunch at Famous Hay’s before you went here?”

“Um, no.. I didn’t have lunch yet...”

“Nevertheless, there’s still something on your face,” she insists. It’s obvious that she’s lying, in case you dimwits haven’t caught on yet. “Here, come closer so I can get it for you.”

Dusk (like an idiot) steps closer and comes eye level with her. With a swift motion, Rarity closes the distance between herself and her colt-candy, and starts to slip him the tongue. Surprisingly, this convinces him to stand still during the kiss. I dare say that he was secretly having bit of fun with it.

Finally, he breaks away and says, “What was that for?”

My so-called owner gives him what I believe today’s commoners call ‘bedroom eyes.’ “No reason. Just teensy friendly reminder about what you’re missing out on.” She gives him a quick peck on the nose to punctuate her point. “Of course, all that can change if you can admit that you love me. Then we can-*whisper whisper whisper*-and then we-*whisper whisper whisper*-and not to mention-*whisper whisper whisper*-with me tied down to your-*whisper whisper whisper*-all over the bedsheets-*whisper whisper whisper*-after that, we can go on to the bathtub and-*whisper whisper whisper*-and I know this extra-kinky spell where we-*whisper whisper whisper*-but you’ll have to buy some lubricant first.”

Did you know that unicorn horns start to perform sparks when they’re aroused or excited? It’s a very amusing sight. I just learned that Dusk’s sparks are a lovely shade of magenta.

He tries to form words. Goodness, how he tries. “Buhh-uuuhhh-duuhh-luuhh...”

Rarity giggles like schoolfilly. “You’re so cute when you’re flustered, darling.”

She’s right, you know. Absolutely adorable.

“Well? What’s your answer, Prince Charming? Do you love me or not? It’s rude to keep a lady waiting, you know.”

Dusk Shine faced the moment of truth. He swallowed a big, fat lump, takes a deep breath, and chickens out like the nerd he is.

“SORRYRARITYIGOTTADOSOMETSTUDYINGBUT’LLSEEYOUSOONBYE!!!”

One chapter later...

Why, hello again! It’s me, your dear friend and disgraced housecat, Princess Platinum. Not much has changed. Rarity’s still slaving over those dresses, my life is still miserable, and if I hear one more encore of Art of the Dress, I swear I’m going to scream.

I’ve always found spontaneous singing annoying. It’s nonsensical and unnecessary. Nevertheless, Father taught me at an early age that musical numbers are a natural occurring part of life. Birds must fly, the sun must shine, and ponies tend break out into song now and then.

I thought this was a humongous amount of bullocks until one day Clover the Clever scientifically explained the phenomenon to me. She told me that every single living organism in the universe that had the capacity to think was telepathically linked to a higher plane of semi-existence.

This plane is officially called the Extra-Astral Theoretical Collective Unconscious by the drull scientists and philosophers that study it to death, but the commoner’s name for it is simply Limbo.

Nothing really occupies Limbo. Nopony lives there. No physical matter can exist in it at all, in fact. It’s just a big, white room of nothingness that goes on forever. Nothing occurs there. Nothing happens. It’s only purpose is to touch the subconscious of everypony in creation.

That said, Limbo indirectly connects the minds of everypony alive. Think of it like Facebuck: If you’re friends with Limbo, you’re one connection away from everypony else, whether you know them or not. And believe me, everypony is friends with Limbo.

Now, here’s where the music comes in. For some reason that could probably be better explained by a string of Clover’s classic techno-babble, Limbo synchronizes all thoughts that pass into it to a massive, complex rhythm. This rhythm (or at least a small part of it) occasionally slips out of Limbo and directly into your brain, manifesting itself as a catchy tune that plays in the back of your head.

Before you know what you’re doing, you find yourself singing somthing or other about how you love to make everyone you meet smile. When you sing out loud, you psychically project the song into everypony that hears you, compelling them to join in. Suddenly, there’s an entire musical parade going through Mane Street because a little diddy popped into your head.

So, now you know that impromptu singing is the result of subliminal messages from another plane. Scary, huh?

But it’s not all bad. There’s a few benefits and uses to musical numbers. Like Rarity here, you could make the lyrics to the tune in your head about working at your job, making the working hours fly by. (And annoying your cat to death.) Food cart ponies at the marketplace sing songs about eating to mind-control their customers into buying their products. The possibilities are endless.

The most historical use of singing belonged to my great-grandfather, despite the fact that I can’t remember his name. During a grueling war between Unicornia and the horse kingdom of Saddle Arabia, he was inspired to break out into a twelve-hour sonnet in the midst of the final battle. Eventually, the enemy horses were forced to join in the musical fiasco, suddenly caring more about forming a can-can line than strategic battle positions. Soon, the my great-grandfather’s forces drove back drove back the Saddle Arabians by slaughtering them in the thousands and mercilessly outclassing their vocal chops. The song itself was afterward made into an instant classic, and was named Ow, I’ve Been Shot by an Arrow.

But enough about that. I still think singing is annoying, and I hate myself whenever I’m pulled into it. I’ve talked enough about that topic for now. Instead, let’s discuss what happened to Clover the Clever. From what I can gather, you all keep asking about her. Why do you care, anyway? She stabbed me with a knife!

...

Well, I suppose you have a point there. You’re right, I should finish my story. It would be rude to leave my listeners hanging, after all. Now, where were we?

Ah yes, I DIED. That was quite painful, by the way. You know, in case I haven’t mentioned that.

5,000 years ago...

I awoke in a bed with broken, rusty springs. The blankets were unbearably itchy and smelled smelled like a ghastly combination body odor and mothballs. I opened my eyes and looked up at the ceiling, which was made out of old, moldy timberwood.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Clover’s voice said from the other side of the room. “How do you feel, Miss Merryweather?”

“Who?” I mumbled, my morning grogginess still holding my mind captive.

Clover put a hoof on my half-asleep body and nudged me. “Are you alright, Miss Merryweather? Do you... feel like yourself? I sure hope not...”

I was then that my brain snapped to attention as I remembered the unpleasant events that happened before I blacked out. Enraged at Clover, I shot out my hooves, wrapped them around her smartass little neck, and began choking her.

“YOU TRAITOROUS, DOUBLE-CROSSING BITCH! YOU STABBED ME IN THE BUCKING THROAT! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH THAT HURTS??”

Thinking fast, Clover used her magic to rip my vengeful forelegs off her person and dangled me in the air. Helplessly levitating upside-down, I kicked and flailed my hooves in manner that probably looked rather silly.

“RELEASE ME AT ONCE!” I shouted. “YOUR PRINCESS COMMANDS YOU! I SWEAR BY THE SWORD OF THE HOLY TITANS, I WILL HAVE YOU HANGED FOR TREASON!!!”

“Nice to have you back, Your Majesty,” Clover said sarcastically, rubbing her neck. “Now you be quiet please? You’re making too much noise, and you’ll make the innkeeper if you don’t stop yelling.”

“IF YOU DON’T DON’T PUT ME DOWN, I’LL YELL ALL CLOPPING DAY!”

“Promise not to choke me if I do?”

By now, my seething hatred for Clover the Clever boiled down from SHE-NEEDS-TO-DIE-RIGHT-FREAKING-NOW levels to I’ll-kill-her-later-because-she-needs-to-cook-me-breakfast-first levels. In short, I got back in control of my temper.

“Fine,” I said begrudgingly through gritted teeth. “I’ll stop screaming, and I won’t choke you. Happy? Now, put me down; all my blood is starting to rush to my head.”

After Clover set me down gently, I asked a few obvious questions. “Where are we, Clover? What happened? Why did you call me ‘Miss Merryweather?’”

As always, Clover answered them like a good little servant. “Where we are is back in the country of Equestria. A small village near the northern border, to be precise. You’d be surprised how much this nation has grown since we last were here. It’s almost as big as the United Democracy of Earth once was.

“I got into an inn for the night. You shouldn’t call me Clover in public, by the way. We’re still banished, and we have to keep our identities a secret.

“As for what happened, you died.”

“What?” I said, tilting my head to the side in confusion. “That’s not possible. If I died, how could I be standing here right now, speaking to you? That’s just...” I drifted off, noticing something painfully obvious.

“Clover...” I said slowly, looking down at my hooves, “...was my coat always this color?”

“You’re dead, remember?” Clover said matter-of-factly, “Your body is buried in snow back in the outskirts of the Crystal Empire. You’re not Princess Platinum anymore. Now, you’re Miss Merryweather, the innkeeper’s firstborn daughter.”

“Th-this is a joke, right?” I said with a nervous laugh.

She pointed to a full-length mirror near the door of bedroom. “See for yourself.’

I walked in front of the mirror and stared. I cringed immediately.

Let me take a moment to describe the gorgeous body that I born & raised in. I had the purest white coat that was massaged and tended to every day by the castle servants. My bleach-blond mane and tail were constantly pampered by the rarest and most expensive of shampoos and conditioners. I inherited my red eyes from my father, which glistened like rubies in the evening moonlight.

There was nothing that I valued more than preserving my appearance. I dieted and exercised every day of my life to keep my tall, slender figure. After giving birth to my son, I kept my routine to its physical limits to get rid of every last ounce of that utterly disgraceful post-baby weight. When my age grew past its prime, I applied only the most scientifically advanced aging creams to prevent any slightest notion of... ugh... I can’t even bear to say the word... W-R-I-N-K-L-E-S.

Back when we first took over the Crystal Empire, every single day was like heaven for me. The crystal ponies had everything at their spa: hooficures, mud baths, aromatherapy, and they even invented vibrating chairs! I was so grateful, I shared my beauty tips with them. Combining our collective knowledge of cosmetics, we created the perfect manestyle: the Royal Headdress. Of course, I had to pass a law saying that only the princess of the Crystal Empire (namely, me) could style her mane that way. Wouldn’t want to go to the ball with somepony there looking exactly the same as myself, now would I?

The beauty of yours truly didn’t stop with new manestyles, either. As a resident of the Crystal Empire, I was turned into a crystal pony myself. I couldn’t get enough on how much I sparkled. It looked like I made of living diamonds! (Not to mention that my shininess made it hard to spot *shudder* the W-word.) I ordered the Royal Dressmaker to sew me a brand-new crystallized dress every single morning to match my glory. By the time Clover and I escaped, I was fifty-seven years old and didn’t look a day over twenty-three. I was that fabulous.

I didn’t look like that anymore.

I was now a dirty shade of beige, one that reminded me of whole-wheat bread. My mane was the color of buffalo droppings, which was tied up in a singular, country-girl braid. My eyes were an unimpressive shade of baby-barf-green. There was no indication that I ever had a horn. I turned to my side, inspecting my new body with greater detail. I now possessed the badly-groomed wings of a pegasus. My old cutie mark (a lovely design of a platinum crown) was replaced to my horror with a boring rain cloud and a stupid-looking smiley face on it.

“What did you do to me!?” I yelped. I was getting frightened of the reflection staring back at me.

“I tried to tell you, Your Majesty,” Clover smoothly explained, “the route to immortality always has a price to be paid.”

I took a deep breath, trying extremely hard to keep my promise over not strangling her again. “Clover,” I said sternly, “I want you to tell me exactly what your spell did.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” my royal advisor said smugly. She pointed to my neck. “See that jewel you’re wearing?”

I looked in the mirror again. When I was busy taking in my new appearance, I missed one seemingly insignificant detail: I was apparently wearing a velvet choker snugly around my neck, adorned by a magnificent, finely-cut gem in the center.

“That is what the crystal ponies call a soul gem,” she continued. “Like the name implies, it now contains your soul. The natives never actually used these for containing the spirit of a pony before, mind you. They mostly used these things for harvesting the souls of animals (such as frost trolls or mammoths) and using the gem’s energy to power magical artifacts. You know, like axes that do fire damage or vibrating chairs.

“I simply took the next step in soul gem technology: I enchanted that choker with a personal spell that I invented, so whomever is wearing will be possessed by the soul trapped in the gemstone, namely you.

“After I ‘killed’ you, I traveled south to the first backwater town I could find, rented a room at this inn, met Miss Merryweather while she was serving drinks at the bar downstairs, found out which room she stayed in via some old-fashioned stalking, went to her bedroom when everypony was asleep, put the choker on her, and waited for you to wake up to see if see if the spell worked.”

I gave what she just said some serious thought. “So... mind-controlling crystals? Really? That’s the way we’re supposed to live forever? Jumping from body to body, taking over innocent ponies? Isn’t that... you know... wrong?”

Clover shifted her posture, her expression showing a faint but clear sign of uncertainty and guilt. “I admit, it’s not my most... ethical course of action,” she mumbled. She looked at me, her gaze containing a hint of anxiety, but still was strong and unfaltering. I think that was the first time in Clover’s life that she didn’t have a clear idea of what she was getting into, and she was taking it like a pro. It was because of times like this I secretly harbor a great deal of respect for that mare’s sense of resilience. “You have to understand that this wasn’t my first option. I tried every single spell in the book before I chose the soul gems. It was either this, or signing a blood pact with the Queen of Tartarus.”

There was a pregnant pause. I spoke up. “So, what happens now?”

She handed me an all-too-familiar-looking knife. “Now, it’s my turn to die,” she said as she pulled out a second item from her pocket. It was a small, silver bracelet with a single soul gem embedded in it. Next, her horn illuminated, and there was a brilliant flash of magic.

“Just be sure to make it fast. The spell only works if you kill me in the next five sec-ACK!”

Yes, I stabbed her mid-sentence. She didn’t exactly have to tell me twice. I was still a teensy bit mad at her, after all. So, you would understand if I stabbed her twice juuuust to make sure she was dead.

Okay, maybe three times.

Fine, it was four.

Now that I think about it, I kinda lost track. Was it fifteen or twenty? Nevermind, it worked all the same.

Have you ever seen a real soul float in midair? It’s an amazing sight. Clover’s soul was whirlwind of blues and violets, quickly being sucked into the bracelet she had self-prepared. It looked as if a tornado and the Northern Lights had a baby, and then strapped that baby to a collection of the world’s most spectacular fireworks. As soon as the extravaganza of colors had started, it was over.

Clover the Clever was now immortal.

It was at this precise moment that the innkeeper had decided to barge into the bedroom and ask Merryweather why it was taking so long for her to get out of bed. What he saw was a dead body on the floor and his eldest daughter clutching a bloody knife.

It didn’t look good.

“Merryweather, it’s time to wake-SWEET CELESTIA’S HOLY CROWN, WHAT HAPPENED HERE?!?”

I opened my mouth to speak. “Uhh...” I looked at myself. Slicing up Clover had left me drenched in 81% of her blood and a few trace pieces of her kidney. If I was wearing any clothing (besides my magical stainless choker) it would’ve been soaked beyond the point of wearing. I desperately needed a way out of this. Fortunately, I had developed into a compulsive liar early in my foalhood.

“Oh Papa, it was terrible!” I wailed, bursting into a fit of crocodile tears. “This lesbian tried to RAPE me in my sleep! I woke up and tried to call for you, but she threatened me with a knife! And then... and th-then... *sniff* OH PAPA, IT HAPPENED SO FAST!!! I’ve killed a pony! I need your loving embrace to comfort me!”

To my incredible luck, three coincidental facts were present that allowed me to be 100% forgiven for murder, no questions asked:

The pony in front of me was actually Merryweather’s father, and not somepony else, such as one of her older brothers or whatever.

Merryweather coincidentally always called him ‘Papa,’ and not something else like ‘Father Dearest’ or ‘Daddy-O.’

My so-called father bought my story hook, line & sinker.

Rushing to my side, he hugged me protectively. He was confused and scared, but the old guy had a very strong opinion of his daughter. Trust me, I could tell from how tightly he squeezed me. That hug was NOT healthy for my new spine.

“It’s okay, s-sweetie,” he said between sobs, “Papa’s here n-now,” He sniffled. “We’ll... uhh... hide the body! Yeah, that’s a good idea. It’s be like this never happened.”

I was perfectly fine with this option, but I was not fine with going on to work in a grimy old inn for the rest of Merryweather’s life. I had bigger plans. I wanted more. That was pretty much the gist of the years to come: Always wanting more. But enough of that; I’m getting ahead of myself.

“But Papa,” I said, fake tears still streaming down my face, “you don’t understand; I’ve committed murder! The law will catch up with us, and I’ll be thrown in the dungeon!”

“They won’t,” he said sternly, “I promise you, they will never lay a hoof on you. I will fight off the entire Royal Guard before that happens.”

“Papa, please understand! You can’t imagine the weight of my actions!” I begged, putting a considerable effort in my performance. I’m rather proud of my acting skills, if I do say so myself. “Even if we never get caught, I’ll still be living a horrible lie! I just can’t look in the faces of the neighbors I grew up with, knowing that I took a life!”

Now, ‘Papa’ was looking baffled. I don’t believe he ever had Merryweather disagree with him on anything before. (I later used this assumption as evidence to conclude that Merryweather was a complete loser.)

“What should we do?” he wondered aloud.

“I’m afraid that I must run away, Papa,” I said dramatically. “I’ll change my name, start a new life in the big city!”

“You can’t!” he gasped. “You have no money of your own.”

“You’ll have to give me half the inn’s funds,” I said, “Or maybe three quarters. That should be enough to start a new life, right?”

Now, a more clever pony would be at least a bit suspicious at that last remark, but judging by the fact that the innkeeper hadn’t noticed that his daughter was wearing a choker that he’d never seen before in his life, it would be safe to say that he wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer.

“You can have as much money as you want, Merryweather.”

Thirty minutes later, I was gleefully skipping down the closest road to the next town over, my saddlebags filled to the brim with bits.

Unfortunately, I have to cut that story short again. Rarity’s friends have come over to inspect their new eveningwear.

“Thank you all for gathering here, my little ponies,” Rarity says with a brush of pride. “I have to say, you’re going to absolutely love the way you look. I’ve really outdone myself this time.”

“You didn’t use any lace on mine, did you?” Rainbow Dash questions. “That stuff itches like crazy.”

“No lace, I assure you,” nods Rarity. “Besides, I used my entire supply of lace on my own gown, and that’s not even finished yet.”

“So, where’s the dresses?” asks Pinkie Pie. “Is mine edible? OOO! Is is chocolate-flavored?”

Rarity thankfully ignores Pinkie’s last two questions, and instead answers the first one. “Your outfits are right here under these sheets.” She gestures to a array of mannikins hidden under various white cloths. “But I don’t want to reveal them just yet. There’s this new trend that I’ve always wanted to try out personally.” She holds up a magazine and shows her guests a certain article. “It’s called the Flash Fashion spell. Bascially, I just magic the clothes on all of you, and then you can tell me what you think. It saves a heap of time in the dressing room, and it’s all the rage in Canterlot!”

“Well, that sounds kinda fun,” Fluttershy says, nodding her head. “Just give me a second to mentally prepare myself and then you can-*eep!*”

Apparently, the Flash Fashion spell doesn’t use any form of teleportation. What it uses instead is an insanely rapid version of automatic telekinesis. The outfits Rarity made spring to life, fly across the room, at breakneck speeds, and proceed to slip, wrap, bundle, buckle, fold, constrict, and strangle themselves onto her friends in ultrafast, unpredictable motions. Hair brushes, curlers, and mane extensions join the frenzy, stylizing each mane and tail to match the respective outfit each pony was being forced to try on. The spectacle looks like the six ponies are being assaulted by a merciless ninja wardrobe.

When the dust clears, I see that the spell was a complete success, no matter how uncomfortable it must’ve been.

“Never. Do. That. Again,” wheezes Trixie, exhausted from struggling against the spell.

“Am Ah wearin’ panties under this?” asks Applejack. “Mah hindquarters feel all... ticklish.”

“WEEE!!!” Pinkie squeals. “That was fun! Can we do that just one more time?”

Rainbow Dash is muttering something to herself about she expected her dress to be sexier. In contrast, Fluttershy says nothing, mostly because she’s too busy shivering in fetal position. This is the third time she’s been in fetal position in public this month, so nopony really pays attention to her.

Dusk Shine looks into one of the many mirrors Carousel Boutique has. He has an unsatisfied look on his face.

“What’s the matter, darling?” Rarity says with concern. “Don’t you like the suit that I made for you?”

“No Rarity, it’s fine,” he insists. “Don’t mind me, really.”

“Star-crossed lovers can sense when they’re lying to each other, you know,” she says. This little remark gets a few angry glares from more than half the ponies in the room, but as usual, Rarity doesn’t appear to give a damn. Her eyes are only on Dusk.

“The suit is fine,” he says, putting on a fake smile. “Honest. Don’t have a problem with it at all.”

“Nonsense,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “I’ve ran a clothing store long enough to tell when a client is unsatisfied with one of my designs.” She places a hoof on his shoulder. “All of these are custom orders, Dusk. If you are in any way unsatisfied with what your suit looks like, you’re perfectly allowed to make all the design changes you want. It’s certainly no skin off my back.”

“Really? You wouldn’t mind if I make a few tweaks?”

“But of course not!” she says, giving him a hug. An honest-to-goodness hug. No sexual implication whatsoever. Who is this pony, and what has she done with Rarity?

“In that case,” pipes up Fluttershy, now somehow fully recovered from her state of shock, “there’s a few changes I’d like to make to my dress.”

“Yeah, me too,” adds Rainbow.

“Me three!” says Pinkie.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie wants her dress to have more stars!”

Erm... I’ll have to get back to you later. I just wanna watch how this plays out, and narrating everything I see is getting to be a chore.

That’s your cue to go.

...

Seriously, go away. Out. Away with you. Your princess needs her privacy.

Still yet another chapter later...

“Piece by piece, snip by snip

Croup, dock, haunch, shoulders, hip

Bolt by bolt, primmed and pressed

Yard by yard, always stressed

And that's the art of the dress~!”

Ugh. I feel like I’m gonna cough up another hairball. Welcome back, by the way. Remember when I said that narrating was getting to a chore for me? Well, I changed my mind. In fact, I’m going to monolouge the crap out of this week! I’LL DO ANYTHING TO GET THIS STUPID SONG OUTTA MY HEAD!

Three days ago...

After Rarity’s friends had understood that she was willing to make their dream outfits, they had swarmed her with so many design changes and requests that she had to yell at the top of her lungs for all of them to be quiet. She then organized a schedule so that each pony could simply go to her shop one at a time, and then that particular pony could brainstorm all the ideas he/she could want.

Today’s pony was Rainbow Dash. She sauntered in with her usual amount of cockiness.

“Sup, Rarity?” she said. “Ready to get started?”

“I’m surprised that you’re so motivated about this, darling,” Rarity replied. “Maybe there IS a feminine side to you.” She gave an enthusiastic grin. “Are you ready to explore the world of fashion?”

“Actually,” said Rainbow Dash, “I just want my dress to be cool.” She paused. “And sexy. Don’t forget sexy.”

Rarity pursed her lips. “Well, where can we start?” she said, offput by the uncertainty of where this conversation was going.

“Like I said, just make it cool and sexy,” Rainbow Dash repeated. “Or, you know, sexy and cool. Whichever is fine.”

“Should we start with the color?”

“The color’s okay, just make it cool. With a touch of sexy.”

“Should we change fabric? Maybe silk instead of cotton?”

“Fabric, schmabric. Two words to remember, Rarity: Cool and sexy.”

Rarity was trying hardest to interpret what Dash was saying. “So... by ‘fabric, schmabric,’ so mean we should have less fabric? Adjusting the length to be more revealing, perhaps?”

“Look,” said Rainbow Dash, “All I want for my dress is to be cool and sexy. Isn’t there a setting on your sewing machine that just produces the maximum of both?”

“No.”

“Well, sewing machines are lame.” Dash said crossly.

Four hours later...

“Any changes you have in mind, Pinkie Pie?” asked Rarity.

“Well, me and Pinkamena had this reeaaally long talk about how my ‘bad’ dress would either be the same as the one as the original episode-”

“Who’s Pinkamena?”

“Nevermind. Anywho, I decided that my dress should look like... this!” Pinkie said as she pulled out a crayon drawing from absolutely nowhere.

Rarity studied the sketch with growing disgust. “Pinkie... that doesn’t even look like a dress! I don’t think I even have enough rubber and spandex to make that work!”

“But spandex is fuuuun~” Pinkie whined. “Who doesn’t love the way it snuggles your rump?”

The next day...

“So, Ah was thinkin’ that mah dress could come with galoshes,” suggested Applejack. “Ya know, in case it rains.”

...WHAT.

NO.

SERIOUSLY, NO.

NOPONY IN THEIR RIGHT MIND WOULD WANT THAT WITH A GOWN.

THE GALA ISN’T EVEN OUTSID-

“Alright,” sighed Rarity, letting four hundred years of fashion die a little. “Let’s see what we can do with... galoshes.”

That afternoon...

”So, what should we start with, Trixie?” said Rarity.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie’s dress must have gold chains strewn in it,” ordered Trixie.

“Got it.”

“And it must be longer, so it drags wherever Trixie walks.”

“Longer. I can do longer.”

“And it must have a servant to carry the part that drags, so the dress doesn’t get dirty.”

“Um... I don’t think I can-”

“And the dress must have wings.”

“Wings?”

“Artificial wings. So Trixie can look like an alicorn.”

“Well, I can certainly attach some wings-”

“With neon lighting, please.”

“-But you’re on your own about the servant. Got that?”

“Oh, the servant will be no problem. You can be the one to carry it. Of course, you’ll have to say please first.”

The doctor’s said that Trixie could stop eating out of a straw after a couple days, so I suppose she’ll be fine. Rarity might even apologize for the broken jaw.

The day after that...

This time, Fluttershy came over. The good news is that she’s one of Rarity’s friends that actually knows a thing or two about fashion. The bad news is that Fluttershy wrote down a list of things wrong with her dress as long as the Amarezon River.

As Rarity reviewed the list with bloodshot, sleep-deprived eyes, she made some small talk with her butter-yellow friend.

“So, how are things with your animals?” asked Rarity.

“It’s nice,” said Fluttershy coyly.

“And the new batch of bunnies? How are they doing?”

“Nice,” Fluttershy repeated.

“And Angel? How’s he?”

“Nice.”

“And your relationship with Dusk?” Rarity slipped in.

“Nic-Oh, I’d rather not talk about that,” said her visitor, backing away slowly.

Rarity lifted her head slowly from her workbench, eyeing Fluttershy carefully. “Why’s that?” she asked, seemingly innocent.

“Um, because it’s sorta technically none of your business, if you don’t mind,” mumbled Fluttershy. She really didn’t drive her point across.

“None of my business?” scowled Rarity. “Why? Has something changed?”

“C-can we stop talking about this?”

“Okay, let’s discuss something else,” Rarity said sternly, not changing the mood in the slightest. “Where were you last Friday? I went to your house that day, and nopony was there.”

“...”

“I went to Dusk’s house after that,” she continued, “but guess what? He wasn’t home either. SO, WHERE WERE YOU TWO?”

“I really think we should keep it down to our indoor voices,”

“Fluttershy, if there’s something you’re hiding, just tell me.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“Well... no, I kind of promised myself to keep it a secret.”

“Keep what a secret?”

“Please stop asking me these questions.”

“Tellmetellmetellmetellmetellmetellmetellmeeee!!!”

And that’s when the dam burst.

*GASP*“Dusk and I went on a date but I swear nothing happened but I said yes to a second date and I’m sorry and we’re going to see The Host next Friday even though the reviews for it are terrible because it’s the only date movie out right now and I’m sorry and he’s been really really really nice to me and I’m sorry and I get lost in his eyes sometimes and I’m sorry and I’ve never felt this way about a colt before and I’m sorry butIthinkI’minlove!”

Rarity could only stare with her mouth agape. The only sound in the room was Fluttershy’s heavy breathing. On one hoof, Rarity could punch Fluttershy into next week. On the other hoof, it was Fluttershy that we were talking about here. She’s as frail as a dandelion. Nopony could really even insult her without at least feeling guilty about it. Rarity was effectively landlocked. Her worst enemy was her best friend.

“...Go,” said Rarity coldly, holding back tears. “Get out of my store.”

Ooo, this just started to get goooood. I’m gonna need some popcorn. In the meantime, why don’t I get back to my story with Clover?

5,000 years ago...

The largest and closest city to the humble village Merryweather grew up in was called Tondown Abbey, and I soon learned it was the central station for all the 1% that loved nothing more than kissing Celestia’s flanks. The stone-paved roads all lead to a clamoring marketplace, where traveling salesponies tried to sell all sorts of trinkets to the wealthy locals and dim-witted tourists.

As I promised my precious ‘father,’ I changed my name. It was now a more proper name of my suiting, Treasure Cove. I know it didn’t seem like it matched my current cutie mark, but that‘s actually quite common. Lots of parents name their foals in hopes of determining their future careers, and sometimes it doesn’t go so well. I once knew a rebellious rockstar named Brain Surgeon back in the day.

I spent nearly all my bits on opening a small jewelry stand, trying my best to make it expensive-looking as possible. Pretty soon, I had my first customer: The fattest, snobbiest, richest unicorn in town: Madame Ruzzletop.

The day that I met her, Ruzzletop was wearing a humungous black fur coat that did the impossible feat of covering all of her flabby body. She was a widow, having recently gained her late husband’s booming hat-selling business. Her wide-brimmed hat was a spring green, giving her the look that she was a morbidly obese toad that decided to put a lily-pad on top of her head.

“Hello, ma’am,” I said, grabbing her attention. “Would you like to buy some accessories to go with that astounding figure of yours?”

She waddled over, awe-ing over the bits and pieces of jewellery that I had on display. “How much are these pearls?” she said with the classic Canterlot accent. (Of course, Canterlot hadn’t been built yet. The city simply adopted the accent.)

“Oh, those are just cheap fakes,” I dismissed with a wave of my hoof. I reached from under the counter, pulling out Clover’s braclet. “This is much more fitting for a mare of your stature.”

“Oh?” she said, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. “And what, pray tell, is that?”

“That,” I said with a smirk, “is the only thing that survived the downfall of the Crystal Empire.”

“The Crystal Empire?!” she replied with a sharp intake of breath. “I read all about that in the newspaper. The Royal Pony Sisters overthrew the tyrant king, but the entire kingdom disappeared before it could be saved. How in the name of Celestia’s nonexistent beard did you retrieve that??”

“Well, I’d tell you, but then THEY would find me,” I hinted ominously.

“They?”

“That’s not important right now,” I said, driving her attention away the details. “What’s important is that I’m selling you a bracelet from a place that doesn’t exist anymore, and that it’s got a one-of-a-kind gemstone infused in it. I’m not going to be in town tomorrow (because THEY are already on my trail), so it’s very important that you need to buy this right now while my offer still stands.”

“Deal!” Ruzzletop says enthusiastically, nodding her head so fast that her nine chins are practically flapping like wings. “Let me just try it on to see it fits and then-OH!” Her eyes glazed over as the soul gem’s magic took effect. Clover shook herself awake and looked at me.

“This was the best body you could find?” she said with disgust.

“It was the wealthiest one,” I smiled. If anypony was watching, they didn’t suspect a thing. “Now, let’s find the way back to your estate, ‘Madame Ruzzletop.’ I hear that you’re looking for a new maid for your mansion, and I believe it’s time for me to make a career change.” My grin grew wider. “Who knows? You might even promote me all the way up to being your business partner.”

There have been entire books written on the concept of living forever. They say that it is a fool’s errand to pursue it. It’s also commonly said that once accomplished, a pony could be driven to madness from all the tedious years of pointless existence. Celestia and Luna were once asked about this, and they said that their mother taught them specific mental training exercises in order to fend off boredom and insanity, and that they still don’t recommend the typical pony chasing the dream of eternity.

That’s all bullshit.

The truth is, Clover and I never got that bored. In fact, immortality can pay off in the later years. We took over business after business, company after company, right up until we were filthy, stinking rich. And when we got old? We just signed our wills to leave everything to our youngest relative, plus a certain piece of jewelry under the name of a ‘family heirloom.’

Oh, now I know what you’re thinking. “Ponies need companionship to survive, Platinum! You can’t just live forever with just one pony as your friend. What about romance? What about the family life? Can you honestly tell us that you’ve never met that one stallion that every girl dreams about, and that you stood and watched as he grew old and died? Can you bear the torture and depression of outliving all of your loved ones? Surely, you must be riddled with angst from being deprived of a normal life!”

Also bullshit.

In truth, I actually met the true love of my life. Loves of my lifes, to be grammatically accurate. Fifteen perfect marriages so far, in case you were wondering. They were all such lovely gentlecolts. I cherished my time with all of them, and of course I was sad when they died. It’s only natural. But you know what? I moved on. You know, like a normal pony? Don’t tell me that you’re still mourning over your grandma’s death that happened ten years ago. It’s not that different. Sure, you were sad about it back then, but then you accept it and you get on with your life. (In truth, their deaths were more times of a relief than a burden. I said I had fifteen PERFECT marriages, and I've simply lost track of the terrible brutes I’ve said “I do” to.)

As of the family life, Clover and I both had multiple children each. Armfuls of them, actually. Raising spoiled-to-death fillies and colts was a little hectic at first, but it wasn’t worst obstacle that we came across. Once and awhile, we got a legitimately warm feeling in our hearts when we saw our foals playing with each other. And yes, they died too. Same thing as the romantic stuff. If you’re really pressing it, maybe it was a little harder to see them go.

Anyway, my point is that living forever was ironically underrated from our perspective. The world changed around us, ever evolving, and we happily evolved with it. The best part: We never got caught.

Well, except that one time.

...

I don’t wanna talk about it.

...

Look, let’s just say that it’s a dark place that I don’t like to go to. It wasn’t exactly a fond memory.

...

I’ll never forget you, Clover. *sniff* We had a good run...

...

I said, I don’t wanna talk about it. Seriously. Stop asking me. And quit looking at me like that! I don’t need your pity.

...

Tell you what: Let’s just skip to the part where I got stuck as a cat, okay?

Seven years ago...

I can’t exactly give you the details of what goes on around me when I’m not possessing a body, but I gathered enough info to tell you what happened. Of course, you’ve probably guess the general idea of what went down by now.

My choker was sitting in the window of an old antique shop, gathering dust. No, I don’t know how I got there. The last thing I remember from back then was going to sleep in my personal manor under the name ‘Karat Gold.’ My guess is that I was stolen by some burglar, who then pawned it to the shop owner.

Anyway, whom better to drop in than Little Miss Prissypants herself, Rarity the She-Demon? Apparently, either the salepony or Rarity thought that my choker was a very wide and fancy cat collar, and the next thing I know, I’m a kitten.

Of course, the thought of escaping never leaves my mind. I’ve plotted several ways to get Rarity to at try on the choker (or at least somehow attach it on her while she’s sleeping), but I’m constantly thwarted by one simple detail: Taking off the choker requires either unicorn magic or opposable thumbs. For those of you that fail biology class, cats have neither of those things. Thus, the only time Rarity takes the choker off is Opal’s bathtime, in which it placed on the windowsill. I am powerless.

And alone.

...I miss you so much, Clover. You’d know exactly what to do.

...You know what? That’s enough about me for today. Back to that thing that’s been going on with Rarity.

Present time...

Dusk Shine walks into Carousel Boutique. Rarity is staring out a nearby window, watching the rain trickle outside.

“Hello, Dusk,” she says.

“Hi Rarity, I’m here about my suit,” he says benevolently.

“We’re not going to talk about the suit,” she snaps quickly.

Dusk is confused. “Are we going to talk about your fight with Trixie?” he guesses.

“No,” says Rarity. “I’ve already paid her medical bills in full and you convinced her not to press charges. That should be enough.”

“Well, what are we going to talk about?”

She glares at him with eyes like laser sights. “I suppose we can talk about a lot of things,” she growls. “We can talk about Fluttershy...”

Dusk gulps.

“...We can talk about how you’ve been spending your time lately...”

Dusk starts to back away.

“...We can talk about how you’ve carelessly stomped on my heart...”

Dusk lunges for the door, but it’s already locked.

“...We can talk about how much I’ve tried to make you happy...”

“Rarity, before you do anything rash...”

“...We can talk about the countless dreams I’ve had of our future together that you’ve killed today...”

“Well, I wouldn’t say ‘countless dreams’...”

“But do you REALLY want to know what I want to talk about? Do want to know the subject that’s been running through my mind over and over?” challenges Rarity, so close now that the two ponies are nose-to-nose.

“Why.”

The word is more of a statement than a question. Dusk is speechless.

“Why her?” she continues, her voice finally cracking from the unfallen tears. “Why her and not me? What was wrong with having me instead? Was I really that awful of a choice? Did I push too hard? Is that it? ‘Oh, I don’t want to end up with Rarity. She’s too demanding. She wants me to whisk her away into a life of joy and love! That’s just TOO MUCH to ask of me, the high and mighty student of Celestia that can do anything he wants! I’ll stick with Fluttershy. She’s too much of a doormat to want ANYTHING from me!!!’ IS THAT WHAT YOU THINK?!?!?!”

“Rarity, stop,” says Dusk.

“Oh, what’s this? Dusk Shine want ME to stop talking? Why, I must be so honored for him to come down from his ivory tower to speak to me, the lowly fashion designer from the humdrum town of Ponyville! Who, by the way, WORKED HER FLANKS OFF FOR THE OUTFITS OF SIX TERRIBLE FRIENDS THAT NEVER EVEN SAID SO MUCH AS ‘THANK YOU!!!’”

“Rarity, please stop.”

“WHY?”

“Because I never want to see you this unhappy again,” says Dusk intensely.

"..."

“Special somepony or not, I never want anypony to feel this bad because of me,” he continues. “I know that you love me, I understand that. I’m also in love, so I know how it feels.

“But hear me now: I am not going to leave any of my friends so broken-hearted. That’s what you are to me, Rarity. You’re my friend. Friends don’t let friends feel this bad about anything, not even toward each other. Wait, scratch that, we’re more than friends. We never were ‘just friends’ from day one. But at the same time, we couldn’t get past that. All I know is that things won’t be normal between us. Look, I’m sorry that I rejected you, and maybe our friendship will suffer because of that. I may not be in love with you, but I don’t want you in pain.”

Rarity wasn’t trying to hold back tears anymore. She was flat-out sobbing now. Her mascara is running like a river of black. Dusk opens his arms to hug her in an apologetic fashion, and she complies. They just sit like that for ten minutes straight, all the time with Rarity crying her eyes out. Finally, the tears dry out, she stands up straight.

“Thank you Dusk, I needed that,” she says in that shaky voice that you use after a good cry.

This tender moment was interrupted by the the cruel hoof of fate when Spike decided to barge into the building.

“Hey Rarity, guess wha-Hey, have you been crying?”

Rarity pulls out a personally-made handkerchief and begins to dab out her mascara. “Could you give us a minute, Spike? This is grown-up talk.”

Not to be defied, Spike puffs out his chest in the most masculine way he can manage. “I’m a grown-up too, you know.”

“You’re a baby dragon,” Dusk reminds him. “How many times do we have to go over that?”

“Well, Rarity’s been crying and I wanna know why,” the lovestruck dragon insists. Then, he puts two and two together. “Wait, did you tell her about last Friday?”

“He didn’t tell me, found out,” Rarity points out. “And I’d appreciate that you’d keep what you’ve seen here our little secret.”

“You know,” Spike said smoothly, “I’d be happy to help you on the rebound if you’d-”

“Why did you come here, exactly?” Rarity interrupts, changing the subject.

“Oh!” Spike recalls, “I just happened to bump into Hoity Toity, that big hot shot from Canterlot that your magazines are always talking about. I told him how beautiful your work is, and I convinced him to book a fashion show right here in Ponyville, starring the outfits you’ve made for the whole gang!”

Oh no.

“Erm... really?” says Rarity unsurely. “Hoity Toity wants to see... those outfits?”

“What?” Dusk questions, “What’s wrong with the outfits?”

Rarity bit her lip. “Umm... nothing! Nothing at all. Can’t wait to get to that fashion show. When is that?”

“This evening, after sundown,” says Spike.

“Great!” says Dusk. “That gives us just enough time for us to make the changes to my suit.”

At the fashion show, in which the public was cruelly subjected to these monstrosities...

(Insert image of Trixie Gala Dress here.)

The crowd of ponies were disgusted, and that’s putting it lightly. Vomiting sounds could be heard all around. I watched with Rarity from behind the curtains. Her companions’ faces slowly turned to looks of dawning horror as they became aware of the piss-poor approval rating of their ‘custom wear.’

Hoity Toity, however, doesn’t speak at all. He silently goes up and starts to walk backstage. Rarity has noticed this and has already started to panic.

“Oh my gosh, he’s coming over here?” she says, hyperventilating. “What does he want? Did he actually hate the designs so much that he wants to scold me? Oh no, he’s going to take away my fabulousity license, isn’t he? He’ll call the fashion police on me and I’ll be forced to live a life in exile! I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO PACK FOR EXILE!”

By this time, Hoity Toity was ten paces away. “Are you the designer for these clothes?” he asks. His voice seems to be nasally and nonchalant, as if he was stuck all his life in a permanent unimpressed mood.

Rarity hangs her head low in acceptance. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

“May I speak to you in private?” he requests.

“Of course,” Rarity agrees. “I mean, why would we want to further humiliate me in public?”

Again, Hoity Toity is silent. He simply makes his way to the dressing room, and we follow. When we’re alone, his attitude turns a complete 180.

“That was fantastic!” he exclaims.

“I beg your pardon?”

“My dear, your designs were completely original,” he says, wildly shaking her hoof in congratulations. “I’ve never seen something so... so.. so artistic!~ It’s like you took those models and poured their souls out to the crowd with absolutely NO REGARD for social standards!

“But... but... I used galoshes...”

“Of course you used galoshes,” he says with a gleaming smile. “What else could be such an accurate metaphor for the struggle and hardships of the working class? I’m surprised I didn’t come up with that myself!”

“...But the audience hated them...”

Hoity Toity laughed heartedly. “Because your ideas are that underground, darling! Trust me, if your outfits were shown to the anti-mainstream crowd, they’d be tearing each other apart to get just one of your works!”

Rarity blinked. “So... you’re saying that you actually like them?”

“I’d wear that suit myself.”

By now, Rarity finally caught on started to get the right attitude. “Well, I couldn’t accomplish my greatest pieces ever without the help of my friends, now could I? So, how’s about we call Canterlot Weekly, hm?”

“A splendid idea,” nods Hoity Toity. “Here’s my card. Call my secretary as soon as you can. Baby, you’re going to be on the front page!” He starts to head out, but he stops himself. “Oh, and one more thing before I go...”

“Yes?”

“Can I buy off that choker?”

“Say again?”

“That choker. On your cat. How much are you willing to part with it?”

Wait, what? Me?

“Well, Opal’s had that since I was a little-”

“How’s 10,000 bits sound?”

Rarity’s jaw drops simultaneously with mine.

“It’s a small exchange for you remember me by,” he says coolly.

“Uhh... certainly!” Rarity says after a moment of pause. “I mean, this collar has been sort of a small souvenir of the first time I got a cat... but that’s a LOT of money! May I ask why?”

“Oh, I’m planning on giving it as gift to a friend of mine,” he vaguely explains. “You see, I want to give her something that matches my bracelet.” He removes one of his cuffs and shows us the impossible.

It’s... her! It’s really her! I thought that she died! I saw her soul gem crushed to shards before my very eyes, but she’s alive! Oh, this is the happiest day of-*CLICK*

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Let's Start Out With a Dash of Murder

A long time ago, I asked Clover a question. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Plan?”

“You know,” I said, “the plan. How are we going to take back the Crystal Empire? I mean, I like living a life in wealth and luxury as much as the next pony, but I want to know what we’re going to do when it reappears.”

To my great offense, Clover fell over laughing at this. When she got up, she still couldn’t banish the smile on her face, as if she knew an inside joke. “I never plan anything!” she said through heavy breaths. “Only failures plan. Supervillains plan to conquer the world with a giant laser before the heroes show up to take to jail. Bank robbers plan to break into a vault before they trigger a tripwire that’s part of the new security system. Spies plan to gather enemy intelligence before they get caught red-hoofed!”

She had calmed her suppressed laughter now and went back to the stoic sidekick I knew. “I never plan, Platinum, because plans go awry. Instead, I strategize. I adapt. This world is always changing, and I intend not to be left behind. So to answer to your question, there is no plan yet, because that’s the greatest plan of all.”

I have to admit, at the end of day, that bit was kind of inspiring. It’s pretty much the damn smartest thing I’ve ever listened from Clover. That speech helped through some rough times. It gave me the confidence that Clover would always have my back, no matter how much I pushed her around.

And let me tell you, I needed her at my back. Constantly. You’d be surprised how many close shaves she’s pulled the both of us through.

But then, I learned that there are some things you just can’t rely on one pony to solve. There are some problems that can’t be placed on the shoulders of one pony, no matter how brilliant they are.

Gather round, my listeners, because this is the greatest story that was never told. The public probably will never be ready to hear the story, but for you, I’ll make an exception. Be warned, this tale is not a happy one.

This is the story about how it all went wrong.

This is the story about how my world got shattered like a glass house in a hurricane.

This is the story about how Princess Platinum cried real tears for the first time in five millenia.

This is the story about how Clover the Clever died.

Eighty years ago...

I tossed my mane and gave a glance at the wonderful Trottingham evening sunset. I levitated my two tons of shopping bags with the horn of my latest body, named Spoiled Rotten. She was a golden-well, I was a golden-yellow unicorn with snow-white locks of hair that I often tied in pigtails.

She wasn’t exactly the prettiest face I’ve owned when she first put my soul gem on, but I changed that. I always do. Every time my choker gets inherited, I immediately get to work on the way I look. I diet. I exercise. I buy the largest makeup kit I find. I throw out my wardrobe and go on a shopping spree big enough to fuel an economy of a small country. I get a plastic surgeon on speed dial. I transform myself into a beauty queen, no matter what body I have to work with. Sometimes the makeover is so drastic, the father I have at the time does a spit take when he sees the new me. Clover says its a bit self-absorbent of me, but what does she know?

I walk up the steps to my enormous house, whistling a tune. The butler gets my bags, despite breaking his back trying to lift them. I never really knew his name, but then again, I never really cared.

“I’m home!” I said into the barren halls of our house. It’s awfully hard to keep track of my official age these days, but I believe I was thirteen at the time, judging the way my voice cracked. Nasty business, going through puberty. Absolutely horrid. I try to avoid it at every chance.

“You’re late,” said a voice. It’s Clover. She was currently living the body of my biological mother. I’d rather not explain how we came to those circumstances, mind you.

...

I sort of... lost a coin toss.

“Correction,” I retorted with a smirk, “I’m fashionably late.”

“Don’t give me that lip, young lady,” said Clover with a convincingly stern look. I think she was acting in-character because the butler hadn’t left the room yet, but I couldn’t help but suspect that she was relishing the privilege of bossing me around. “This is the third time this week that you’ve arrived home past curfew. It’s a school night, you know. Don’t think just because I have a career doesn’t mean that I’ll let you run wild every other day.”

I rolled my eyes. Clover didn’t have a career. She had a “job” where all she had to do was be famous. You see, the video camera was recently invented at the time, and Clover was one of the first silent-movie actresses. She even had a color scheme composed of shades of black and white, so she transferred onto the screen beautifully. She had the name of Guest Star, which was pretty ironic since she essentially took the leading role in every movie that she signed up for. Of course, you never had to memorize any lines for silent movies, so all she had to do was make the right faces at the right time.

And yes, I was a little bitter about it. Just a bit of harmless envy between friends.

...

Okay, I kinda hated her for it.

“Now, get dressed,” she told me, “we’re going to a dinner party hosted by my director. Let’s hope you’ve got yourself some age-appropriate evening wear.”

Actually, I bought dresses for the both of us. I levitated them out of the bags to show her.

“Why thank you, Spoiled Rotten,” she said, flashing me a smile with the perfectly-white teeth that she knew that I wanted for myself. “You’re such a sweet little angel!” She took her dress and went away to change. “Oh, and before I forget: Try not to put on too much lipstick this time. You’re still too young to look like a slut.”

The party was mediocre at best. You know that awkward feeling when your parents dragged you to one of their get-togethers and the only other children there are those of your parents’ friends, so you don’t know anypony there?

Yeah, imagine being subjected to that after you grow up.

Fortunately, Clover slipped me a juice box or two filled with champagne, so at least I didn’t have to go through it sober. Clover, you’re a lifesaver. I seriously owe you one.

Nice house, though. The director had a taste for classic architecture, making every room and hallway a marvel to look at. The carpets were decorated with maroon and gold. The mahogany tables were spotless. A candlelit chandelier hung above the buffet table. Everything was undeniably perfect.

Although, the trouble about the place was that I couldn't imagine anypony actually living here. Yes, I know how ridiculous that sounds coming from the likes of me, but even from my standards, everything was just. Too. Damn. Fragile. Don’t get me wrong, I loved living in a castle for all of my foalhood, but a castle is built to last. If you go through the trouble of spending billions of bits on your living space, you might as well make sure nothing in there breaks easily. Any one of those kids there could’ve broken everything in that house in twelve seconds flat, and they wouldn't even have to do it intentionally

As the guests with actual pubic hair ignored my attempts at small talk (presumably because they thought it was cute that I was trying to be a “big girl”), a colt stepped up to me. He was a pegasus with a baby-blue coat and a mane that flawlessly matched the color of carrots. He was wearing a white sweater-vest that he obviously didn’t want to wear and a black clip-on bowtie that was crooked enough to make me gag.

“Hey,” he said with a smile, showing some of Equestria’s first braces, “you looked a little lonely there in the corner. Whatcha name, sweetheart?”

Oh, great. He was flirting with me. I forgot that I was at the age where the colts stopped hanging a ‘no fillies allowed’ sign on their clubhouses and started listening to their hormones.

“My name,” I said, “is Spoiled Rotten. Remember it, so you can avoid it.”

“Oo, saucy,” said the colt. “I like my mares with a little spice in them. My name’s-”

“Filth.”

“...What?”

“Filth,” I repeated. “Your name is Filth. That’s all you’ll ever be. Now get out face, you worthless blank-flank.”

Okay, maaaybe I was a bit too harsh on the ‘blank-flank’ part. I guess it might be pretty rough for him, going into his tween years with no cutie mark.

Still don’t care, though. If you’re stupid enough to not figure out your special talent by then, you DESERVE to be called names.

“Wha... Duh... DO YOU KNOW WHO MY FATHER IS??” screamed ‘Filth.’

“What’s all the commotion?” said a voice from across the room. A larger, adult pegasus trots over and gives me a glare, as if I had just announced that his grandmother blew up orphanages in her spare time.

“Dad, this filly was being disrespectful to our family name!” accused the colt.

“Was she now?” the stallion said. I then recognized who he was, and mentally slapped myself for not noticing the family resemblance. The stallion was the host of the party and Clover’s current boss, Live Action.

And I just dissed his firstborn son. D’oh!

“Young lady, we’re going to have a little talk,” he said, grabbing me by the foreleg. For somepony that worked behind the camera, he really had a firm grip. With little choice in the matter, I followed him into his study. He shoved me down in his desk chair and began barking at me a mile a minute. “Just what in Celestia’s name did you think you’re doing? Who’s your mother? Do even have any idea how much trouble you’re in?”

With a calm breath, I disregarded the fact that he didn’t even know whether or not I had actually insulted anything remotely about him or his son. He wouldn't have listened to me, anyway. I knew the ponies of this part of society. Their minds were narrowed with prejudice, pretentiousness, and the delusion that they were smarter than everypony else. There was absolutely no way to reason with this dolt, so sucking up was the name of the game.

“Forgive me, Mister,” I said, putting on my ‘I’m the most innocent thing since newborn kittens’ face. “I was just seeing how pretty your house was that I bumped into your son. I’m oh-so-very sorry. Please don’t be mad at lil’ old me!” I even managed to come up with a single fake tear to trickle down my face.

Live Action stared at me with a stunned expression. I silently giggled at the look plastered on his face. I think he was in shock from being forced to feeling sympathy for the first time in years. Unfortunately, it didn’t last long.

“Who are your parents? There’ll be Tararus to pay!”

Craaaap. Clover was going to be sooo fired.

Unless...

I lit up my horn.

“What are you doing?” said an irritated Live Action. “Listen to me when I’m talking to you!”

You see, getting my soul gem from one host to another is especially tricky for me, since once I take my choker off, I lose control of my body and I’m left as a helpless piece of rock. But in recent times, I’ve been practicing a certain move where I fling the collar to another neck in one swift move. It took some practice, and I always needed to find a completely new host when I miss, but after a couple centuries, I perfected it.

I activated my levitation and made my move, aiming at Live Action’s neck. Next thing I knew, I was staring back at the other end of the desk at Spoiled Rotten, who was waking up and looking around for the first time in a long while.

“Googoo-gaga!” she blubbered.

A very long while. Better not leave her wandering around. I searched Live Action’s desktop and found a fountain pen. Perfect.

I looked at Spoiled Rotten for a moment, who in turn sucked her own hoof while a warm, yellow liquid ran down one of her back legs. Without another word, I walked over to Spoiled Rotten’s seat, quietly raised my foreleg, and brought it down with all my strength, stabbing her in the eye.

Her good eye went wide with the sudden pain. She opened her mouth to scream, but it took too long for her to comprehend how much agony she was in. Nothing came out of her throat except a small gasp of air. Within another half-second, she fell from her chest and slumped onto the floor, dead as a doornail.

“That’s for pissing in my brand-new dress, you piece of manure,” I muttered as her blood began to stain the carpet. I coughed. It was while since I had been in a stallion’s body, and the deep voice was still new to me. Oh, well. I’ll get used to it eventually.

I threw the bloody pen into the garbage bin and picked up my old body. Wow, was I really that heavy? Better lay off the cake next time. I surveyed the room, looking for a closet to store the corpse. No such luck. I pondered my options. I couldn't drag a dead, bleeding filly out of this room without anypony seeing me, couldn't I?

My eyes met an open window. I walked over to it to take a closer look. The twilight sky cast a shadow over dimly-lit lawn of Live Action’s manor, but I could make out a thick line of shrubbery surrounding the household. I was in the second-story window, so I’d have to aim carefully.

I took the body of Spoiled Rotten and dropped it out the window without a second thought. The corpse make a soft thumping sound as it hit the soil of the garden. I checked my work, seeing to my satisfaction that the body was nicely hidden among the bushes. I made a mental note to get a plastic bag and pick up Spoiled Rotten at a later time. Maybe I could dump her in a lake somewhere. Also, it might be a good idea to do it before sunrise. The neighbors might be a tad suspicious if they spot a dead filly in the bushes.

Suddenly, I heard a scream from downstairs. “CELESTIA’S FLOWING MANE, I JUST SAW A FILLY FALL FROM THE SECOND-STORY WINDOW! SOMEPONY CALL AN AMBULANCE!!!”

Buck.

Author's Note

Did I ever mention how desperately this story needs some cover art?

Just sayin'.

With full color, please.

And What’s a Murder Without a Murder Mystery?

There wasn’t much time to lose. I had to get to Clover. She’ll know what to do.

But first, I had to hide the choker that was laying bare and exposed around my new neck. After all, Spoiled Rotten was never seen without it, and Live Action didn’t look exactly innocent wearing her property. Better find this guy’s bedroom. There, I could get an ascot or something to cover my soul gem. I had to move fast before anypony noticed Live Action missing.

I scurried through the hallways, trying to avoid rooms with ponies in them. Did you ever consider how difficult it is to be as quiet as possible while galloping as fast as you can?

I’ll tell you short explanation: It’s hard. It’s astonishingly, spectacularly, irritably, very, very, very hard.

So of course, I didn’t watch where I was going 100% of the time. Consequently, you’d understand if I crashed face-first into a thing or two. To my luck, one of those things was Clover the Clever.

“Oof!” said Clover, rubbing her stubbed nose. “Sorry Mister Action, I was just looking for-Your Majesty! There you are!” she said as she noticed my signature piece of jewelry. “What were you thinking?? You can’t just murder yourself like that! How the clop am I supposed going to explain this to the cops?”

“Live Action was about to fire you,” I said, looking around to see if nopony was seeing or hearing us. “You know how your big latest movie is going to be. Death of a Salesdonkey will be the hit of a generation! I wasn’t about to throw out that kind of money!”

Clover sighed. “Did you really have to throw Spoiled Rotten out the window, though? Honestly Your Highness, sometimes you need to think these things through.”

“Do you have a way out of this mess or not?”

“...”

“Well, do you?”

“...Yes,” she admitted, “but we’ll have to be careful. And we still need to talk about you acting so irrationally. It’s too risky, Platinum. We could get in serious trouble. Worse yet, the Equestrian government could find out that who we really are, and heaven knows what Celestia could to us then. Now, come on.” She turned and headed for a staircase. “I designed this mansion back when I was architect. The master bedroom should be up these stairs.”

“You were an architect?” I said quizzically. “When did that happen?”

“Back when you were having that affair with three married stallions,” Clover said with an eyeroll. “Don’t blame yourself for not noticing what I had going on. You were preoccupied at the time, after all.”

“Ouch,” I said as we made our way into the bedroom. “Aren’t you touchy today.”

Clover just sighed again as she handed me a turtleneck from Live Action’s wardrobe. I put it on, struggling to get my new wings through the custom-made holes.

“What do you know about Live Action’s private life?” I asked. “If I’m going to be him, I need to know about him as much as I can.”

“Well, for starters, his son’s name is Reel Life, not ‘Filth.’” explained Clover. “The kid’s been through a rough time since Live Action’s divorce. Rumor’s going around that he’s dropping out of school. The ex-wife now visits every Thursday, and her name is Tongue N. Cheek. She split up with Live Action because he was too focused on his work and never gave her the attention he wanted.”

“Good enough,” I said, opening the bedroom door. “What do we do about the dead filly?”

“Just follow my lead,” said Clover with a sly smile. “Oh, and could you get me those eyedrops on the vanity? My only daughter has just died, and I need to look as if I was crying.”

As we got to the ground level from upstairs, we saw that the ponies of Live Action’s had taken notice that Spoiled Rotten wasn’t exactly in much need of an ambulance. Well, maybe she needed it a little. She wasn’t going to get to the morgue by herself, you know.

The guests had also taken notice that Spoiled Rotten hadn’t died of natural causes, either. Whispers of murder flowed about the room like water. Everypony was trying their best to retain their dignity, but the gift of a calm dinner party and a clear, worry-free mind was slipping out of the reach of the partygoers.

“Did you see the body?” said one pony.

“Aye, it was Spoiled Rotten,” said another, “She was Guest Star’s kid, wasn’t she? Poor girl. Her mother’s heart must be breaking now.”

“And what was up with the filly’s eye? It looks positively gruesome!”

“Yes, no doubt it’s been stabbed.”

“Stabbed? You mean like... murder?!”

“Well, you can’t really believe that she jumped out the window all by herself, now can you?”

“I can’t believe it! There’s a murderer in this house! A murderer that kills children!”

“Who do you think could’ve done it?”

“I don’t know! I just want out of this place!”

“Don’t worry, I’ve heard that somepony already called the police. They told us that nopony is allowed to leave until they’ve arrived and questioned everypony here.”

“Oh Celestia’s everlasting mercy, what kind of monster could’ve found it in himself to kill a foal??”

Ouch. That can’t be good for my conscience. At that rate, I might’ve actually started to feel guilty about that.

By then, everyone had noticed that Guest Star had entered the room. An awkward feeling took hold of Live Action’s guests, and they eventually grew silent.

“Let me see her,” said Clover with a convincingly sorrowful voice that quivered with false angst. And yes, the eyedrops had done their job. She began to sniffle as ponies made room for her. She reached the body of Spoiled Rotten, who was laid upon a sofa and had a blanket cast over her corpse.

Clover carefully removed the sheet, seeing the body for herself. Spoiled Rotten had many cuts and bruises inflicted from the thorns of of the bushes, but that was nothing compared to the stab wound that had ended her life. Somepony had tried to shut her eyes in respect, but it was hard to do considering that her bad eyelid was slightly torn, thanks to the fountain pen.

So long story short, she wasn’t a pretty sight. I gritted my teeth at what I had done. I had killed ponies before and I had hardened my resolve to feeling minimal remorse for my victims, but it sometimes got hard when the kill turned particularly gorey.

Fortunately, Clover had then decided to cheer me up with some hammy acting.

“My baby...” she sobbed, shamelessly embracing the corpse until blood and pus leaked out of it, “my beautiful BAY-BEEEE!!!!”

She looked ridiculous! She sounded like a dying walrus faking an orgasam! Her dress was ruined, stained from Spoiled Rotten’s bodily fluids. I had to bite my fisted hoof in order to restrain myself from exploding into laughter, feeling like a boiling teapot of tightly restrained guffaws.

Eventually, they managed to pry Clover off. Her cheeks were streaked with twin rivers of tears and mascara, her nose was dripping with trace amounts of boogers, she was still wailing like a beached whale having a seizure, but she still managed to flash me a grin ear-to-ear for just a nanosecond. I knew then that even though this was all my fault and Clover still had one bucking hay of a lecture in store for me, and yet she had the heart to make a foal of herself to lighten the mood for me.

That, my listeners, is true friendship. It isn’t a series of letters listing the morals you’ve learned in the latest set of shenanigans. Friendship is sticking your neck out for somepony just to make them feel better, even if you’ve been fighting.

...

*cough*

Sorry, I just got choked up for second there. Must be something in my throat.

The guests looked upon Clover with a confused mixture of sympathy and disgust. Again, I need to say that she was covered in pus, blood and tears.

“I n-n-need t-to lie d-d-down,” she blubbered to nopony in particular. There was a murmur of compliance.

“You can use the guest bedroom,” I improvised, “And you know what? I’ll be there in case you need anything. You’re the star of my show, after all.”

We spent the next half hour inside the guest bedroom. In that time, Clover took it upon herself to explain our alibi to me. And thank goodness, it was as solid as any other one we’ve had. Five minutes after Clover finished, there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” I answered.

In stepped two ponies. The first was ash-gray earth pony smoking a custom-made pipe and wearing one of the silliest-looking hats I’ve ever seen in my life. (Well, lives.) The strangest thing about him, however, was the eyes. His two golden eyes were never quite straight. They were always crossed in someway, changing direction every time he blinked.

“Greetings,” said Cross-Eyes McStupidhat, “The name’s Hooves. Detective Sherlock Herpaderp Hooves.” He gestured to the second pony, who tipped his equally silly billycock hat in response. “This is my associate, Doctor Elementary Watson. He and I would like to ask you two some questions.”