Rainbow Dash

“Hiya, Rainbow Dash!” Scootaloo said with an excited bounce in her gallop. “Can I talk to you?”

“Anytime, Squirt!” Rainbow Dash said with a grin. “Whatya wanna talk about?”

“Well, actually,” Scootaloo said, turning Rainbow Dash around by biting her tail and spinning her, “I think we should go to my place and talk about it.”

“Sure,” Rainbow Dash said with a shrug. “I’ve never been to your place anyway, I’m sure it’ll be cool.”

“Awesome!” Scootaloo said with a squeal. “Hurry, it’s down this way.” Scootaloo lead her fellow pegasus down a sunny bullivard, buzzing her tiny wings the whole way as she bounced down the road. Rainbow Dash followed, her larger strides allowing her to walk must slower than Scootaloo and still catch up to her rather quickly.

At the end of the boulevard was large mansion, sparkling in the rays of the sun, almost as if the place were blessed by Celestia herself. An ornate gate seperated it from the rest of the world, and a mailbox by the side of the house read “Rich Mansion”.

“You live with Filthy Rich and his daughter?” Rainbow Dash asked Scootaloo, her eyebrow raised.

“Oh, no!” Scootaloo said, laughing a bit. “I live over here!”

Rainbow Dash turned to her left, where her little friend was pointing, and her face fell faster than a paraplegic down a flight of steps. Nestled in between the mansion and a large brick building was a tiny, extremely dirty alleyway. A cardboard box, big enough to have once held a stove or some other large kitchen appliance, lay at the very end of the alley.

“You’re homeless?” Rainbow Dash asked, feeling very guilty that she lived in a cloud throwback to the roman era.

“Of course not! My house is right there,” Scootaloo said, pointing to the box. “Can’t you see it? It’s the biggest box I could find.”

“Where did you live before moving into your... er, house?” Rainbow Dash asked, hesitating to call the box a “house”.

“Oh, I was homeless back then,” Scootaloo said in an off-hand manner. “Anyway, come on inside! I need to talk to you.”

Rainbow Dash followed Scootaloo down the dingy alleyway, and stepped inside the cardboard box. Scootaloo struck a match, and held the burning tip to the wick of a nearby half-melted candle. Once the candle was casting an eery, flickering light over the contents of the box, Rainbow Dash let loose a small gasp.

The walls were covered in... her. Photographs of her, Rainbow Dash, flying over Ponyville, talking to her friends, eating a McRib, beating the shit out of Gilda behind a bar, grinding pussies with Derpy as part of a Work and Trust Seminar that her baldheads up in Cloudsdale made her department do, even pics of her when she had that really embarrassing headgear in high school. How did she get all of these?

They weren’t all photographs. There were many hoof-drawn pictures as well. In many places, there were renderings of her in all the basic artistic mediums one used on paper: acrylic, charcoal, pencil, oil paint, watercolors, red dirt, chocolate, and goat’s blood. Scootaloo wasn’t a bad artist; far from it, these pictures were amazing! But most of them involved Dash in some sort of... compromising position, or at the very least had her in some skimpy outfit that really didn’t make any sense for a pony to wear anyway, like socks. Scootaloo’s odd sock obsession with her went beyond creeping Rainbow Dash out; Frankly, it pissed her off.

Scootaloo hadn’t stopped there, though. Little sculptures of Rainbow Dash made out of clay, play-doh, mud, and some unidentifiable brown paste lined the edges of the cardboard box and the dirty hay pile that Dash assumed was Scootaloo’s bed. Plush version of her too, lovingly stitched by hoof, made out of what Dash would later learn to be dried frog sinew and rat pelts, lay clustered around the makeshift bedding.

Hanging on the far side of the wall was a large poster containing a snapshot of the pegasus stretching in downward dog, taken when she was racing her potential pets at Ghastly Gorge. Along the top of the poster, hoof-written words displayed the sentence “I want to cum inside Rainbow Dash”.

“Look down,” Scootaloo said with a smile. Rainbow Dash looked down at the floor, which she had though was made of fuzzy grass up until this point, and to her horror found that a carpet woven of what suspiciously felt like fur and hair displayed a pattern that had been made to look like her laying down and spreading her candy vag for the world to see.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Scootaloo said, ignoring Rainbow Dash’s looks of eldritch terror. “I made them all myself!” Rainbow Dash made a noise like a slowly deflating balloon in response.

“Anyway, I guess I should ask you the question now...” Scootaloo said, blushing and hoofing at the carpet. “You see Rainbow Dash, I kinda like you.”

No shit sherlock, Rainbow Dash thought to herself, her eyes still darting around the room at the many hers that populated the cardboard home.

“No, I really kinda like you,” Scootaloo rephrased. “And I... I want you to take me right here, right now!” The little filly threw herself onto Dash, pinning her to the ground with surprising strength. “Violate me, Rainbow Dash!”

Rainbow Dash, completely taken of guard, and somewhat paralyzed by fear of Scootaloo brutally murdering her and stuffing her corpse so that she could be added to the collection of Rainbow paraphernalia, was thrown to the ground by the little pegasus who had jumped her. Scootaloo jammed her mouth onto Rainbow’s, sharing her first kiss wet and sloppily with her idol.

Scootaloo’s busy little hooves traveled downways, and began to play with Dashie’s tiny crotch-tits. Her little hooves batted around the under-filled milk sacs, the deranged fanatic pulling her face away from Dashie’s so she could bite her lip.

Dash, coming to her senses, flung Scootaloo off of her. “Scootaloo! What the hell?”

Scootaloo picked herself off the ground, giving Dashie huge, watery puppy eyes. “D-don’t you love me?”

“I do,” Rainbow Dash said, rubbing her tongue with one of the pictures from the wall to get the taste of filly out of her mouth, “But not in that way! Besides, there are two very good reasons I can’t do this with you.”

“Yeah?” Scootaloo asked angrily. “What are they?”

“One: You’re a filly, and I’d go to pony prison. That ain’t a pretty place,” Rainbow Dash told her. “And two, I have a boyfriend! Don’t try this again, squirt.”

Rainbow Dash stalked angrily out of the box. Scootaloo wasn’t worried though, everypony knew she was a lesbian.

***

“Wow, she really did all that?” asked Greyhound, Rainbow Dash’s previously mentioned boyfriend, as the two walked together through Ponyville Twon Center. “That’s messed up.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty gnarly,” Rainbow Dash said, using surfer terms because she’s cool. “But Squirt’s not a bad pony. She’s just a bit confused.”

Greyhound and Dash shared a giggle, and the two leaned in to share a kiss. Right before Dash’s blue lips met Greyhound’s grey ones, there was a loud smashing of breaking glass. The two looked behind them, and saw none other than Scootaloo, standing on her hind legs, swaying a bit, with a broken beer bottle on the ground beside her. Her left arm cradled another beer, and she began to drunkenly slur her speech at them.

“YOU!” she drawled. “You two think you can... go and do the... the THING! Well no pony is gonna... *hic* do the thing without me!”

Greyhound shot a apprehensive glance at Rainbow Dash. “A bit confused?” he asked with a smart-ass tone.

“Hey!” Scootaloo shouted at Greyhound. “Faggot!”

“What did you just—” Scootaloo wandered over drunkenly and shoved her hoof into Greyhound’s mouth to keep him from speaking.

Mmm... filly... Greyhound thought to himself, enjoying the taste of hoof in his mouth. Quickly spitting it out so that he could continue to deny his pedophilia, he tried to speak again but was once more hushed by Scootaloo.

“Hey...” she said, far more calmly and lucidly than a drunk ten-year old should have been able to do. “Can you look over there for a moment?”

Greyhound looked to where she was pointing. “I don’t see what you’re trying to do here...”

“Oh, it’ll hit you in a moment,” Scootaloo said, swinging the beer bottle at the unsuspecting stallion’s head.

As it turns out, Scootaloo was much stronger than she had anticipated. The police were soon pinning her down, while Rainbow Dash lamented the crushed skull of her boyfriend.

“Yer lucky that ya only broke a skull,” the police officer told her. “Ye’ll only get up ta five years. If ya had done something like pirate a movie, ya coulda got up to twenty years!”

Scootaloo was barely even listening to the police officer ramble on about the extremely flawed justice system. She was simply crying tears of joy, know that in three to five years she could be able to have Dashie all to herself.

***

“And that’s why you should consider leaving your violent tendencies behind, lest you end up in prison,swearing you won’t end up a changed mare, only to join a gang, pierce your clit, tattoo your ass with the names of the ponies from some metal band you can’t pronounce, and end up smuggling cigarettes and pool balls in your pooter to get them past the guards,” Scootaloo concluded, ending her story with a summary of the general prison experience. “And here’s a little spoiler: Dashie wasn’t waiting for me when I got out of prison. So remember, you can’t solve problems by breaking ponies’ skulls.”

“Did Greyhound ever get better?” asked a foal in the crowd.

“No, he died,” Scootaloo commented, in an off-hand sort of way.

“Thank you for sharing your experiences with us, Scootaloo!” Cheerilee said. “This Scared Straight class is going much better than the first one! No embarassing mixups this time.”

“Hey, Ah want to make sure Ah ain’t raisin’ no queer!” Applejack yelled. Apple Bloom, who was still in elementary school even after five years due to being held back for various academic deficiencies (which is a fancy way of saying she’s fucking stupid), sunk under her desk in shame.

“Applejack, is that a zigger I see roaming free?” Cheerille said, looking out the window and past Applejack.

“Where? Ah got my cattle prod right here!” Applejack ran off to find the imaginary zebra, leaving the ponies in the schoolhouse to continue with the program.

“Don’t hunt ziggers, class,” Cheerilee reminded them. “Ziggers are our friends.”

Scootaloo hocked a loogie. Cheerilee cleared her throat and asked, “Will there be any more questions for Scootaloo here?”

One foal at the front of the class raised his hoof. “Yes, non-descript foal number 3,” Cheerilee said, calling on him.

“That was the stupidest story I have ever heard,” the foal said rudely. Scootaloo sighed deeply, and pointed behind the foal. “Look over there!”

The foal looked behind him. “Huh? What’s over there?” Scootaloo reached for the nearest chair, flinging the foal who was currently on it out the door.

“It’ll hit you in a moment.”

Author's Note