Or: Chaos, Chaos Everywhere
Ponykind: oh, what could I say about ponies?
Adorable creatures, are they not? Compact, is what they are, yes, that's the word. Barely coming out over three feet on average, tending to be colorful, and with the biggest set of eyes on any living creature I have seen, in comparison to total size.
But that's just the start, really. There personalities are a topic I could go for years about. Ponies, the eternal optimists, impossible to keep down for long but so easy to change, like cheerful fleshy putty! From what I can tell, a pony can change there mind five times in the same amount of time it takes even there closest cousins to come up with a opinion.
Ah, another thing, there variety. Every single one is a special little snowflake in a giant storm of bustling little trotters, with no two cutie-mark being the same. Oh, yes, there are many that follow the same basic pattern, but even in the most chaotic storm patterns will emerge. And even then, there is all the mayrid ways they change. Spend a few generations working with dirt, and eventually piles of brown will show up on there butts. Spend time near a giant crystal? Your kids will sparkle.
Oh, the thing's I could tell you about bat ponies could boil your little brains. If you have a idea about where they really are, your wrong.
And that's not getting to all there cousins. Donkeys in the north and Horses in the south, and even in the oddest places you can find a creature that has a pony in it's family tree.
Yes, even there, to ignore a possible rhyme.
Really, you want to know?
I can't even rhyme that well, I am not nearly as good at it as...
Oh, well. It follows Do Rei Me.
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Still?
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Fine. It's "in the seas."
Bah.
See, I told you I can't rhyme.
Not telling you what's down there, exept that you probably shouldn't go to Hornsmith.
I mean, you could try and track down a Kelpie, but goodness knows how hard that would be.
Anyway, onto the topic of the one creature ponykind likes to ignore there relation to, dispite all evidence of it; Zebras.
Funny folk, really. I would compare them to ponies and there variety, but even that would not work quite well. You see, even with all there funny little tribes and groups and ethnicities and cultural differences, they all have one thing in common.
That thing being rampent xenophobia.
Really, if only pastel and plain could join forces, the world would be far less messy.
But back to xenophobia, the topic of the day.
Ponies are the second-most xenophobic and racist creatures on the planet. Back a few short centuries ago, if you didn't walk on four legs and wandered into pony territory, you were dead by default, and even if you were normal to there eyes, well, you were still screwed if you wandered out in the wrong area of town.
In essance, four legs were good, but four legs and butt-marks were the best.
I don't have time to explain how cattle managed to get so far removed from there free-ranged and spirited ancestors, or how goats managed to go from ruling half the world from a giant reality-warping city, or how pigs went from living in Boardor and ended up eating slop in equine holdings.
But needless to say, there not fuzzy-feeling stories. Chaotic, yes, interesting, yes.
But wholesome?
No.
But back to Zebras.
Some would think that they and ponykind are two sides of a coin, when it comes to the matters of worldly affairs. More importantly, some ponies, and many zebras, would like to think that they are akin to feuding cousins, with one being a offshoot of the others families.
This makes me laugh every time I think about it.
Frankly, want to learn a secret?
Actually, I don't care, because you are going to learn one.
But if your sensitive to things regarding specieism, try to think of something else, because this might blow your little minds.
Quagga, Okapi, and Abada.
What are they?
Ask a pony, and they wouldn't know. I mean, how could they?
Let me give you a moment.
No really, do it. There faces scrunch up adorably when they have to rub braincells together.
...
May I continue?
Good.
Anyway, the zebra's have them beat when it came to xenophobia, you see.
While ponykind is perfectly happy, most of the time, with it's offshoots, the zebras of Roam took note to wipe all of the following out.
Not only did they belong to a nice little three-base-species-under-one-ruling system like ponies did, they rose up and killed them all when they had the chance.
And they wonder why there lands are out of whack.
That's right, Zebras are the most xenophobic creatures on the planet, to the point where they have managed to fill in the roles there cousins preformed after centuries of rebuilding.
So isn't it lovely that they are bound to blow themselves up in, oh, a few hours from now?
Isn't that exciting?
I mean, sure, one could pity the griffons and the donkeys and the dragons and the horses and the antalope and the minotaurs and the camels and the deer and the nagas and the dogs and the buffalo and the goats and the sheep and the harpies and the cavern cats and, oh, why not, the changelings too, but it's partly there faults that this is even happening.
I don't blame any of them, though, because I hate everything equally.
I mean, they were doomed anyway.
Really, raising eyebrows?
Fine, let me explain.
Griffons are slaves to codes, donkey's are slaves to there stubbern wills, dragons to there hoards, horses there familes, antalopes there freedom, minotaurs there lands, camels there oil, deer there prides, nagas there knowlage, dogs there homes, buffalo there secrets, goats there language, sheep there minds, harpies there flocks, cavern cats there prey, and changelings there loves.
Slaves to chaos, every one.
But stiffled ones, at that.
Every one doomed to die, in the end. Little adaptability, dispite many having roots in the primal chaos. Too few numbers, too clustered and too foolish to move on and change.
But ponies and zebras are all eager to change. They thrive in it.
Isn't that wonderful?
...
What was that?
...
The end of the world?
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Want to hear a story?
How about two? One about the start, and the other the finish.
One's new, and one's in the making right now.
Let me start with the first one, hmm?
Once, in a magical land, there was a group of spirits who wanted to be creative.
And lo! one of them had a idea to make a world, like they have done for the last thousand times or so. It had water and hills and cute little flowers and everything.
It was empty of life then, but bear with me.
Three of them, the oldest and the most respected among them, decided to have a little contest to who could make the most impressive creature.
One took a older modal he liked and molded it a bit, all shiny scales and flaming breath and batty wings, and said it was good.
Another took a big mountian, carved four pillars out of it, and decided to make it look nicer with two sand-white spikes and a thick treelike appendage out the front. He was pretty satisfied with this.
Another, looking at his foes intimidating works, decided to go in another direction, creating a slim and delicate creature made of star-dust and the dreams of children yet born.
The other two elders, and everyone else there, for that matter, found this creature wonderful to behold.
Afterwords, they all had a good laugh and left the planet alone for a few eons or so.
Eventually, however, the three creatures decendents, don't ask me how they bred, please, populated the world, and became dimly self aware.
Then one of those spirits was deemed to be a utter arse and got kicked out of the group, and he found his way down to the world he saw made a while ago.
He thought it could be better, and looked to the slim and delicate creatures that lived in great herds, and smiled.
He chose two who were the closest to there original sire and infused them with his power.
The results were interesting.
On offspring was a clear mutant, with horns and wings, while the other was closer to it's parents but with none of there magical luster.
He made clone of these two, naturally, and made them bone.
He thought that the results of this was even more interesting.
The winged one's children clearly marked it as unstable. Out of it's four offspring, only one resembled it. The other three either had it's horn, it's wings, or it's vitality, but never a combination.
The plain one's children was slightly smaller, with only three children. One had floppy ears but seemed to have a odd will to live, while another was more like it's uncle, being graceful and slim but having no magical essence to itself. The third child from this union was odd in itself, having just a little bit of magic and vitality tagged along with a sort of hidden potential.
Seeing that this was nice, the spirit made thousands of copies of varying genders of each creature, sans the winged and horned one, as he disliked it, and left the world after scattering them across the globe.
Naturally, you can probably fill in the rest of the story yourself.
What, you want me to finish it? You don't 'get' it?
You think this doesn't relate to the end of the world at all?
Well, I thought it was a nice story.
...
Fine, fine. Here, let me tell you the other story.
Well, eventually, a few spirits came and went from this new world, with some leaving more of a wake in the waters of time during there visit, until, one day, after one really old one screwed up, a young one was sent to see what was going on.
And when I mean young, I mean young. A toddler when compared to some of her peers, just barely self aware.
Shows you how much they liked the guy who screwed up.
Anyway, she found a strange world filled with strange things. She discovered that the world was a lot more interesting than it seemed, even when compared to space and the folds in it.
She also discovered that, in the end, she could do whatever she wanted here like the one before her, if she found a way to gain some power.
The thing about spirits, or at least her kind, is that they needed conditions much like the one's at the formation of the universe to form. Primal chaos. Regular chaos is nice, really, but one needs the really epic stuff, the things you have things sing along too in dead languages and such, to get any advancement done.
As it turned out, a big old storm of chaos was brewing, enough that she could finally enough power to stop being a nameless thing in the winds.
Well, that's the story.
Ah, wait.
I could start on about ponies and zebras, but I would think talking any more about them right now would be silly.
I mean, Dawn Bay just launched it's payload.
So, yeah, this is it,really. Oh, they will survive, but who cares, really? More creatures will form in there ashes, things spawned by both necromantic radiation and the divine ichor of my kin alike.
Oh, stop screaming.
....
On that note, my listener, before you die horribly, a question.
If you had to choose, as a name, would you pick Carnage or Strife?
Still screaming?
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Why? It's over. Mostly.
I mean, I think.
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What do you mean that explosion wasn't from a bomb?
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Oh, curse you, you made me check.
That's not even funny. That was mean.
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Why are you laughing.
Wait, what? What did I say?
Stop crying!
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What did you say?
What do you mean nothing is making sense?
Of course nothing makes sense! Why do you think this world should make sense!
Have you even looked outside?
Oh, wait, of course you can't, your a few miles underground and if you dared to look outside your face would melt.
Like taffy.
Tasty, tasty taffy.
Of course, it's not like you will ever taste that again, will you, you little twerp?
...
Your crying again.
Stop that.
...
That's better, laugh it out.
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See, that's better.
Now, that's a laugh I can appreciate. Nice and hearty. You are going to need to laugh like that if you are going to live here.
Wait.
How old are you again? I really can't tell.
...
You are kidding me.
What do you mean your-
I have been talking for a hour with a twelve year old.
Oh, goodness. Fifteen minutes of godhood and I have hit rock bottom.
Well, I suppose that's a hour of wasted time influencing the mind of ponyfolk to do my bidding.
You don't know what infl-oh, for the love of me.
...
You want to know why I am here, kid?
Yes, I am going to give in and call you kid because you are one, you little...earth pony.
Your name's Filk?
Well, I am going to call you kid, kid.
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Don't call me stupid. I liked Strife, thank you very much.
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You don't know what that means, do you?
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Well, I suppose you don't know what a lot of things mean, do you?
You want to know what it means, go ask your parents.
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They're not in there with you?
They didn't get tickets?
Well, that's a bummer, considering you are going to be here for the rest of your life.
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Stop crying. Oh, what did I say?
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You want me to get out?
Get out of your head?
I was already here before you had your first-oh, forget it!
No need telling you things you will probably never understand.
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Stop giving me that look.
Yes, that one.
Wait, no!
Ugg.
Hngg.
Hnnngggg.
Close your eyes!
Make a stupid face!
Niegh!
Stop it.
Stop it Filk.
Why.
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Fine, if you stop that, I will tell you a story.
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Why are you crying again.
Stop that.
No, it will be a nicer story.
You like hero's?
Heh, thought you did.
Ponies are always a sucker for hero's. Hero's and candy.
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Wait, you didn't like my other one's.
You don't have good taste, then.
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Yes, I know you are twelve.
Also, stop snickering. I couldn't even fit a van down here if I wanted too, and this is coming from me.
Okay, okay, enough.
So, our story begins with a king.
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Why did you wince at that? What's the matter with kings?
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You want it to be about a princess?
Why?
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Okay, you really think your pretty pink pony princesses are going to save you?
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Yes, I know they are not really pink.
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But you have to know that they are dead. Gone.
Actually, if you want to go there, they should be pink now.
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Stop screaming, you might attract attention.
Goodness knows you might get a adult's attention.
...
Actually, do that. Tell them you need a home.
Going to go for a bit.
Waaaaiiiit.
Did you just tell me to come back soon?
Aww, that's adorable, telling me that.
...
Don't pout. Your face might stick that way.
Anyway, find the place you are staying at and...eat, I guess? Whatever you ponies have for hobbies. Eating and drugs, apparently.
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You write songs?
Really?
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Huh, that's cool, I guess.
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A song for a story?
Okay, I can do that. Actually, that's pretty cool.
So, I am baaaaaacccccck~
And you are-
Oh.
Well.
That's new.
I mean, I like the room, but it looks like someone decided to paint it with a pony.
Or a few.
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Okay, I guess you can cry.
I mean, if I found out I had no parents, I was going to be stuck in a bunker for the rest of my life, and all the rooms were already filled with slaughtered ponies, I guess I would cry too.
...
So, let me get this straight.
You walk in here, this room that you were assigned to stay in alone, and you find these three trying to...hurt each other outside it?
Huh.
Well, in any case, they are all dead.
...
All the other hallways are like this too? Ponies who went down them first suddenly started to have fits later?
That's not good.
That's not good at all.
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Don't touch that blood.
...Well,then, scrub your hoof off with-
Wait, no! You have a bottle of water, right?
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You do? Good, Wash your hoof off with it, but not too much.
Okay, did that? Wonderful.
Now, then, stay in that room and do not talk to any adults.
You hear me?
Don't tell me that.
Don't you dare tell me that.
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Fine. Those ponies are probably infected with something, and anypony else might be infected with it too.
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Well, if you have it, your dead.
Wait a foul moment...
Close your mouth and stop moving! Get behind that dresser!
...
See, there's a stallion in front of your door.
Don't look at him. You wouldn't want too, anyway.
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You want to hear that story now?
It's not a scary one, no.
Okay.
Once, in the magical land of Equestria, there was three siblings. One was a unicorn, another a pegusi, and the last a earth pony.
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Don't question me about your kind's funky genetics.
Anyway, the father claimed that he wanted to leave a heir, as he was old and rich. His pride and joy, however, was a great golden staff carved from emberwood and ruby.
And so, he laid on his deathbed, and told each of them to find a-
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Wait, what do you mean you have heard this one?
Yes, the earth pony son gets it in the end.
Well, smartass, how about another one?
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There was once a stallion from Germaney and a mare from Prance sitting in a bar. The-
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Don't tell me.
Okay, yes, they get married. Gah.
Fine, fine.
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There was once two sisters who-
Oh, damn it.
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Oh, go ahead and laugh at that. Laugh at the silly voice in your head.
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Your getting tired, arn't you?
Go to sleep then. It's not like I have other ponies to talk to.
No, really, go ahead.
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That was sarcasm.
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Wake up Filk.
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Or not.
I could just stare at the stallion outside.
Waiting.
Watching.
Ah, your eye twitched! Knew it!
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No, really, the stallion out there looks like he might, like eat you are something.
It's kind of creepy.
Don't look at it, you need to conserve fluids and you keep leaking everywhere.
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Really, you are going to go to sleep now?
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There's a blanket over there.
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No, the other side.
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See, nice and cozy.
Fluffy, even.
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No, I will not tell you a story.
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Your not going to sing me a song, either, are you?
No?
Well, then. Perhape's tomorrow, where there are less zombie ponies wandering around outside, hmm?
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Don't cry yourself to sleep, kid.
Don't.
Here, want a hug?
I can do hugs.
Here.
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What do you mean my arm is fuzzy? Of course it's fuzzy. It's my arm, and it's fuzzy if I want it to be.
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See, now you are smiling. Go to sleep like that.
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Night, Filk.
