Clashby sweetiebotzombieChaptersSweetie-bot BluesBroken Wings and Stunts and ThingsTough Love TangoSweetie-bot BluesBetween the water and the ceiling was a crawl space. It had been there for ages, holding bolts of old fabric and scraps of ribbons. At the present moment it was a hiding place and impromptu repair shop, now complete with its own swimming pool. The 'pool' was dirty, as one might expect from water which has been swilling around a dirty basement floor. However, quite unlike her sister, Sweetie Belle didn't mind being wet and/or dirty. What she did mind, though, was get the dirty water on the delicate- and currently exposed- circuitry in her chest. Sweetie Belle fumbled with the panel that usually covered her innards, fear causing her hands to tremble. Fear was a ridiculous thing for an artificial being to experience. It was the product of glands and organs that she did not possess. Nonetheless, she was afraid. The water slapped the lower edge of the crawl space. Across the room it gushed from the multitude of broken pipes that twisted through the basement of the Carousel Boutique. Sweetie dropped the panel again, picked it back up, and struggled to refit it. A crude mess of tape and wires rested beneath it. Clearly there was something still wrong, which was preventing the panel from operating properly. Sweetie pushed it into place as best she could, then covered the edges with a thicker variety of tape. Given more time, she could have repaired herself nearly as well as her sister could. But there wasn't more time, and Rarity couldn't help her anymore. Water now began to trickle into the space. Sweetie grinned bitterly. This place had been her safe haven ever since her first program start. It had seemed like a good place to go into sleep more after everything had happened. The pipes hadn't even registered as a threat in her dazed, injured state. It seemed almost funny that the place she had once considered safest was now something of a death trap. With a few extra pats to the edges of the tape, Sweetie finished her repairs and tugged her shirt back down. It wouldn't hold up to anything strong, but hopefully it would be able to support her until she could swim to the stairway. For a moment she considered running probabilities, but rejected the idea quickly. She'd rather not know her chances of shorting out. She tossed her repair kit back into her bag, sealed it tightly, then scooted forward. Her toes touched the top of the shelf she had so often climbed to reach this place. It was already knee deep in water. Taking a deep breath (more out of habit than necessity), Sweetie slipped in. Her eyes glowed in the murky depth. Old scarves drifted through the water like snakes, attempting to tangle her feet. Aware that time was running short, Sweetie kicked off the edge of the shelf and began swimming. The busted pipes continued spewing water, but she ignored them. There wasn't any reason to save this place. She had what she really needed in her bag. Sweetie's hands bumped the lower step, and she scrambled from the water. Tugging an oily cloth from her bag, she quickly wiped down the panel and the areas around it. No water had gotten through, but the tape was already peeling. She climbed the stairs, pulling away tape as she went. At the top was the shattered remains of a door, and beyond that the Boutique lay in shambles. Gore splattered the walls, dripping onto torn fabrics and scattered gems. Mannequins had been toppled, displays destroyed. Sweetie plopped down on one of the still standing chairs and plucked her repair kit up once again. Beside her was a scattered array of broken teeth and a shattered baseball bat, both of which she ignored. Somewhere down the hall, something growled and pounded on the door of its room. Sweetie ignored it as well, confident in her security measures. She did a proper rewiring, and then fit the panel back in place. This time in clicked in properly, then faded into her skin. This done, Sweetie stood and moved down the hallway. She stopped in front of the door from whence the growling originated, then bent down to peek through the keyhole. Bloodshot blue eyes met hers, but if they saw her, they gave no sign. Sweetie Belle sighed and stood up. "I'll be back soon, Rarity." she said softly, then stepped away, moving towards the front of the boutique and out into the wasteland beyond. A few of the beasts shambled by, but none of them paid her any mind. Whatever these things were, they didn't seem to recognize her as prey, and for that Sweetie was thankful. She shouldered her bag and jogged down the street, clothes leaving a dripping trail behind her. Images, maps, names and histories of those she passed, flickered through her mind. She quickly came to the conclusion that more than half of the residents of Ponyville were dead (to some degree, at least). Those who weren't dead had probably long since left the area, although Sweetie's probabilities told her that there was very little chance of things being much better elsewhere. A memory arose, unbidden, to her mind. Standing beneath a tree, watching the other children running and playing, dirt on her knees. Her movements were still accompanied by a soft whirring sound, and her vocabulary was limited to a few phrases. "Hello, how are you? Welcome to Carousel Boutique. Do you need any assistance?" Repeating those phrases at anyone who approached, until someone (Silver Spoon, her records quickly filled in the knowledge her memory had lacked) had pushed her over and called her a freak. Rarity running out and taking her hand and pulling her away (whir, whir, whirring from her knees as she scurried to keep up), taking her inside, telling her "You're not ready! You're not ready! Stay away from the other children! And look at the mess you've made of yourself!" Sweetie Belle wrinkled her nose and dismissed the memory. The outskirts of Ponyville had appeared before her, and she stopped. A few of the beasts nearly ran into her in their slow, meandering quest for flesh. For a moment she let the gravity of the world she now lived in sink in. Then, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth (something Rarity had done quite often), she set out once more. It was day two of the outbreak in Ponyville, and Sweetie Belle was alone. Broken Wings and Stunts and ThingsSpeed. Fast. Legs pumping, heart thudding. Screw the helmet, no time to stop. Scootaloo crested the hilltop,landed with a thud, and kept pushing. Behind her was a roiling, boiling, growling mess of Zees. She'd taken to calling them Zees on her own. It sounded edgy and cool, like she was. However edgy and cool the name was, though, the beasts themselves were entirely lame. Scootaloo propelled her scooter faster, aiming for the next hill. As she went over it, she turned around, tugged the gun from her belt, and fired a few wild rounds into the hoard behind her. A few heads exploded, but most of the bullets missed by far. Nonetheless, Scootaloo let out a rowdy yawp as she landed. That was a stunt she was sure Rainbow Dash would approve of. Speaking of Rainbow Dash... Scootaloo glanced skyward. On a normal day Rainbow would be zipping about, testing the limits of whatever the latest in personal flying technology was. Her recent addiction (before the shit hit the fan, Scootaloo thought, and giggled at how awesome it was to be able to swear like that) had been Winqs, designed to flap like bird wings and reach beyond the speed of sound. From her place on the ground, Scootaloo would always feel a pang of mixed jealousy and admiration at the sight. This was not a normal day, however. The skies were empty of any form of life. Scootaloo grinned anyways, seeing her idol and part-time big sister zooming by in her imagination. It was easier to pretend she was there. Easier than accepting that she was... that she had... A growling before her stirred Scootaloo from the depths of her mind. She drew her gun and took aim at the huge, lumbering Zee before her. Both his kneecaps gave out under her sharp shooting, and, by angling herself and pushing hard off the ground, Scootaloo coasted over him, bringing the back wheel down onto his skull and grinding it into the dust. She grinned bitterly and pushed off again, leaving the other Zees to trip over his prone form. Scootaloo sped on, not looking back. Her goal was ahead- the entrance of the Everfree Forest. If she could get in there, she'd be safe for awhile. Applebloom had mentioned that she had a friend there who- Scootaloo nearly fell off her scooter at the sudden, horrible twisting in her stomach. Applebloom! How could she have forgotten?! Not that it was her fault. The outbreak, her daring escape, the sudden attack of the Zees... how could anyone remember anything in that environment? She needn't beat herself up about it. And why not turn around and go help her? That was easy. Sweet Apple Acres was all the way across town, and there were hundreds of Zees in the way, and she was so close to her goal. Besides, if Applebloom was still alive, she would be able to take care of herself. She had Applejack and Big Mac to defend her. But wasn't that Big Mac you just shot down in the street? whispered her subconcious. Scootaloo shook her head. There was still Applejack. they were a tough family. They would live. Rainbow Dash was tough too. Scootaloo squeezed her eyes shut, momentarily forgetting the danger. Is tough! She is tough! Still is! She's right there! Right up there! But the sky was empty as ever. Scootaloo grounded to a halt before the trees and fell to the ground. Her head was full of sobbing pleas, a click, a bang, a recoil. You gotta do it, kid. I don't wanna be that. It... wouldn't be awesome. Tough people can't do that. She was tough! And there was that deadly past tense. Scootaloo held her head in her hands and leaned against the nearest tree, then, chest heaving, began to sob. Tough Love TangoThe match almost winked out, but a moment after Applebloom was certain she would have to hunt down another one, the flame pounced on the dry barn wall and edged towards the gasoline soaked bales of hay. Applebloom hefted her bloody shovel and turned away, took a few steps, then bent over and vomited, narrowly missing her boots. Behind her, the small flame was becoming a hearty blaze. There was no scrapping or thumping from behind those doors. She had seen to that. Her vomiting turned to little more than a series of dry, heaving gags. Why had Applejack chosen now to leave the farm? Why did Big Macintosh think he could keep Granny in the barn, along with the other bitten refugees, and why did he have to hide his own bites? There had been so many bodies, so much work, and Big Mac had escaped. Applebloom nearly swore, but caught herself. She was used to tough chores, but this? This was too much. She straighten up and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. Now the barn was engulfed in flames. Soon it would follow the gasoline to the main house, and, if the wind kept going like it was, it might even hit the orchard. This elicited no emotion from Applebloom, but she did lean back over and heave up what little was left in her stomach. It wouldn't do to stay here. She knew that. She also knew that if this thing had spread all the way to Appaloosa, her sister would be rushing back as quickly as possible to save her family. Applebloom lifted her shovel again, only to deposit it in a red wagon a moment later. The wagon was her pride and joy. She'd bought it with her own allowance money- seven months of hard work. It had aided in plenty of adventures, and would aid in one more. Folded in the corner was a map, the quickest path to Appaloosa, marked with a bright red "X." If all went well, Applejack would follow the same route, and they would meet at some point along the way. Applebloom picked up the handle of the wagon and trudged down the hill. As she passed through the gate at the front of the house, the all consuming urge to vomit once more overtook her. She leaned over, gasping and gagging on nothing. Her heart hammered wildly. Leaving. Leaving forever. The barn groaned as its supports were destroyed, then toppled into a spinning inferno. Applebloom resumed walking, still queasy. "Just follow the train tracks," she said, "follow the train tracks, and y'll get there. It'll be okay. Ah'm okay. Just follow the train tracks." She repeated this as she trudged along the edge of Ponyville. Fluttershy's cottage squatted in the distance, and Applebloom was tempted to check in on the reclusive young woman. She had always been so kind and caring, and she could probably use the help. But the train tracks and the idea of Applejack called. Fluttershy was tougher than she looked. She wrestled bears for fun. A few crawling corpses wouldn't cause her too much trouble. Applebloom continued walking, eyes on the ground, heading for the train station. "It'll be alright. Ah'll be alright." she chanted. The shovel rattled in the wagon, blood crusting on its metal head. Tough love was the first lesson of the Apple family.
Sweetie-bot BluesBetween the water and the ceiling was a crawl space. It had been there for ages, holding bolts of old fabric and scraps of ribbons. At the present moment it was a hiding place and impromptu repair shop, now complete with its own swimming pool. The 'pool' was dirty, as one might expect from water which has been swilling around a dirty basement floor. However, quite unlike her sister, Sweetie Belle didn't mind being wet and/or dirty. What she did mind, though, was get the dirty water on the delicate- and currently exposed- circuitry in her chest. Sweetie Belle fumbled with the panel that usually covered her innards, fear causing her hands to tremble. Fear was a ridiculous thing for an artificial being to experience. It was the product of glands and organs that she did not possess. Nonetheless, she was afraid. The water slapped the lower edge of the crawl space. Across the room it gushed from the multitude of broken pipes that twisted through the basement of the Carousel Boutique. Sweetie dropped the panel again, picked it back up, and struggled to refit it. A crude mess of tape and wires rested beneath it. Clearly there was something still wrong, which was preventing the panel from operating properly. Sweetie pushed it into place as best she could, then covered the edges with a thicker variety of tape. Given more time, she could have repaired herself nearly as well as her sister could. But there wasn't more time, and Rarity couldn't help her anymore. Water now began to trickle into the space. Sweetie grinned bitterly. This place had been her safe haven ever since her first program start. It had seemed like a good place to go into sleep more after everything had happened. The pipes hadn't even registered as a threat in her dazed, injured state. It seemed almost funny that the place she had once considered safest was now something of a death trap. With a few extra pats to the edges of the tape, Sweetie finished her repairs and tugged her shirt back down. It wouldn't hold up to anything strong, but hopefully it would be able to support her until she could swim to the stairway. For a moment she considered running probabilities, but rejected the idea quickly. She'd rather not know her chances of shorting out. She tossed her repair kit back into her bag, sealed it tightly, then scooted forward. Her toes touched the top of the shelf she had so often climbed to reach this place. It was already knee deep in water. Taking a deep breath (more out of habit than necessity), Sweetie slipped in. Her eyes glowed in the murky depth. Old scarves drifted through the water like snakes, attempting to tangle her feet. Aware that time was running short, Sweetie kicked off the edge of the shelf and began swimming. The busted pipes continued spewing water, but she ignored them. There wasn't any reason to save this place. She had what she really needed in her bag. Sweetie's hands bumped the lower step, and she scrambled from the water. Tugging an oily cloth from her bag, she quickly wiped down the panel and the areas around it. No water had gotten through, but the tape was already peeling. She climbed the stairs, pulling away tape as she went. At the top was the shattered remains of a door, and beyond that the Boutique lay in shambles. Gore splattered the walls, dripping onto torn fabrics and scattered gems. Mannequins had been toppled, displays destroyed. Sweetie plopped down on one of the still standing chairs and plucked her repair kit up once again. Beside her was a scattered array of broken teeth and a shattered baseball bat, both of which she ignored. Somewhere down the hall, something growled and pounded on the door of its room. Sweetie ignored it as well, confident in her security measures. She did a proper rewiring, and then fit the panel back in place. This time in clicked in properly, then faded into her skin. This done, Sweetie stood and moved down the hallway. She stopped in front of the door from whence the growling originated, then bent down to peek through the keyhole. Bloodshot blue eyes met hers, but if they saw her, they gave no sign. Sweetie Belle sighed and stood up. "I'll be back soon, Rarity." she said softly, then stepped away, moving towards the front of the boutique and out into the wasteland beyond. A few of the beasts shambled by, but none of them paid her any mind. Whatever these things were, they didn't seem to recognize her as prey, and for that Sweetie was thankful. She shouldered her bag and jogged down the street, clothes leaving a dripping trail behind her. Images, maps, names and histories of those she passed, flickered through her mind. She quickly came to the conclusion that more than half of the residents of Ponyville were dead (to some degree, at least). Those who weren't dead had probably long since left the area, although Sweetie's probabilities told her that there was very little chance of things being much better elsewhere. A memory arose, unbidden, to her mind. Standing beneath a tree, watching the other children running and playing, dirt on her knees. Her movements were still accompanied by a soft whirring sound, and her vocabulary was limited to a few phrases. "Hello, how are you? Welcome to Carousel Boutique. Do you need any assistance?" Repeating those phrases at anyone who approached, until someone (Silver Spoon, her records quickly filled in the knowledge her memory had lacked) had pushed her over and called her a freak. Rarity running out and taking her hand and pulling her away (whir, whir, whirring from her knees as she scurried to keep up), taking her inside, telling her "You're not ready! You're not ready! Stay away from the other children! And look at the mess you've made of yourself!" Sweetie Belle wrinkled her nose and dismissed the memory. The outskirts of Ponyville had appeared before her, and she stopped. A few of the beasts nearly ran into her in their slow, meandering quest for flesh. For a moment she let the gravity of the world she now lived in sink in. Then, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth (something Rarity had done quite often), she set out once more. It was day two of the outbreak in Ponyville, and Sweetie Belle was alone.
Broken Wings and Stunts and ThingsSpeed. Fast. Legs pumping, heart thudding. Screw the helmet, no time to stop. Scootaloo crested the hilltop,landed with a thud, and kept pushing. Behind her was a roiling, boiling, growling mess of Zees. She'd taken to calling them Zees on her own. It sounded edgy and cool, like she was. However edgy and cool the name was, though, the beasts themselves were entirely lame. Scootaloo propelled her scooter faster, aiming for the next hill. As she went over it, she turned around, tugged the gun from her belt, and fired a few wild rounds into the hoard behind her. A few heads exploded, but most of the bullets missed by far. Nonetheless, Scootaloo let out a rowdy yawp as she landed. That was a stunt she was sure Rainbow Dash would approve of. Speaking of Rainbow Dash... Scootaloo glanced skyward. On a normal day Rainbow would be zipping about, testing the limits of whatever the latest in personal flying technology was. Her recent addiction (before the shit hit the fan, Scootaloo thought, and giggled at how awesome it was to be able to swear like that) had been Winqs, designed to flap like bird wings and reach beyond the speed of sound. From her place on the ground, Scootaloo would always feel a pang of mixed jealousy and admiration at the sight. This was not a normal day, however. The skies were empty of any form of life. Scootaloo grinned anyways, seeing her idol and part-time big sister zooming by in her imagination. It was easier to pretend she was there. Easier than accepting that she was... that she had... A growling before her stirred Scootaloo from the depths of her mind. She drew her gun and took aim at the huge, lumbering Zee before her. Both his kneecaps gave out under her sharp shooting, and, by angling herself and pushing hard off the ground, Scootaloo coasted over him, bringing the back wheel down onto his skull and grinding it into the dust. She grinned bitterly and pushed off again, leaving the other Zees to trip over his prone form. Scootaloo sped on, not looking back. Her goal was ahead- the entrance of the Everfree Forest. If she could get in there, she'd be safe for awhile. Applebloom had mentioned that she had a friend there who- Scootaloo nearly fell off her scooter at the sudden, horrible twisting in her stomach. Applebloom! How could she have forgotten?! Not that it was her fault. The outbreak, her daring escape, the sudden attack of the Zees... how could anyone remember anything in that environment? She needn't beat herself up about it. And why not turn around and go help her? That was easy. Sweet Apple Acres was all the way across town, and there were hundreds of Zees in the way, and she was so close to her goal. Besides, if Applebloom was still alive, she would be able to take care of herself. She had Applejack and Big Mac to defend her. But wasn't that Big Mac you just shot down in the street? whispered her subconcious. Scootaloo shook her head. There was still Applejack. they were a tough family. They would live. Rainbow Dash was tough too. Scootaloo squeezed her eyes shut, momentarily forgetting the danger. Is tough! She is tough! Still is! She's right there! Right up there! But the sky was empty as ever. Scootaloo grounded to a halt before the trees and fell to the ground. Her head was full of sobbing pleas, a click, a bang, a recoil. You gotta do it, kid. I don't wanna be that. It... wouldn't be awesome. Tough people can't do that. She was tough! And there was that deadly past tense. Scootaloo held her head in her hands and leaned against the nearest tree, then, chest heaving, began to sob.
Tough Love TangoThe match almost winked out, but a moment after Applebloom was certain she would have to hunt down another one, the flame pounced on the dry barn wall and edged towards the gasoline soaked bales of hay. Applebloom hefted her bloody shovel and turned away, took a few steps, then bent over and vomited, narrowly missing her boots. Behind her, the small flame was becoming a hearty blaze. There was no scrapping or thumping from behind those doors. She had seen to that. Her vomiting turned to little more than a series of dry, heaving gags. Why had Applejack chosen now to leave the farm? Why did Big Macintosh think he could keep Granny in the barn, along with the other bitten refugees, and why did he have to hide his own bites? There had been so many bodies, so much work, and Big Mac had escaped. Applebloom nearly swore, but caught herself. She was used to tough chores, but this? This was too much. She straighten up and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. Now the barn was engulfed in flames. Soon it would follow the gasoline to the main house, and, if the wind kept going like it was, it might even hit the orchard. This elicited no emotion from Applebloom, but she did lean back over and heave up what little was left in her stomach. It wouldn't do to stay here. She knew that. She also knew that if this thing had spread all the way to Appaloosa, her sister would be rushing back as quickly as possible to save her family. Applebloom lifted her shovel again, only to deposit it in a red wagon a moment later. The wagon was her pride and joy. She'd bought it with her own allowance money- seven months of hard work. It had aided in plenty of adventures, and would aid in one more. Folded in the corner was a map, the quickest path to Appaloosa, marked with a bright red "X." If all went well, Applejack would follow the same route, and they would meet at some point along the way. Applebloom picked up the handle of the wagon and trudged down the hill. As she passed through the gate at the front of the house, the all consuming urge to vomit once more overtook her. She leaned over, gasping and gagging on nothing. Her heart hammered wildly. Leaving. Leaving forever. The barn groaned as its supports were destroyed, then toppled into a spinning inferno. Applebloom resumed walking, still queasy. "Just follow the train tracks," she said, "follow the train tracks, and y'll get there. It'll be okay. Ah'm okay. Just follow the train tracks." She repeated this as she trudged along the edge of Ponyville. Fluttershy's cottage squatted in the distance, and Applebloom was tempted to check in on the reclusive young woman. She had always been so kind and caring, and she could probably use the help. But the train tracks and the idea of Applejack called. Fluttershy was tougher than she looked. She wrestled bears for fun. A few crawling corpses wouldn't cause her too much trouble. Applebloom continued walking, eyes on the ground, heading for the train station. "It'll be alright. Ah'll be alright." she chanted. The shovel rattled in the wagon, blood crusting on its metal head. Tough love was the first lesson of the Apple family.
