Let’s Burn Things
There were days she regretted kicking that lantern.
They didn’t come often, of course, but sometimes she’d reflect upon her actions with something resembling remorse.
Every time Gilda had struck a match, in those few seconds before tossing it at its designated target, she would consider its implications: who would be hurt by it? Would she care?
Then she would shrug, and once again set something that was probably important to somepony ablaze.
She didn’t know if Pinkie thought about these things. She didn’t really know what Pinkie thought about, to be perfectly honest.
“Oh, Gilly, you know it’s all for the higher cause!” Gilda would not have been surprised if Pinkie Pie could read minds.
“Yeah, yeah, I know: the ends justify the means, or whatever it is you said.” She rolled her eyes and returned to emptying gasoline tanks onto the basement floor. Pinkie had recently garnered a liking for gas lighting; Gilda preferred nitroglycerin, but that was much more difficult to get a hold of.
“Depends on the ends, of course,” she giggled in that overly angelic way of hers, “Hey, that rhymed! Gilly, do you know anything that rhymes with fire?”
“....Pyre?” Gilda offered. Pinkie became quiet. She struck a match, and held it in front of her face for a second.
“Start a fire, make a pyre!”
In that all-too-familiar fashion, they ran like hell as it exploded behind them.
The lantern had been red, she remembered, when she’d gotten it as a young griffin at Junior Speedster’s; it had lit up dozens of tents on various excursions she had taken with Rainbow Dash. When they had lost touch, she kept it, and it had sat on a shelf until it faded to a faint pink.
It now sat in the mossy dirt, flickering softly, as Gilda lay curled up bitterly in its meager glow. The occasional extremely undignified tear leaked out onto the ground.
“Stupid...flip-flops...stupid Rainbow Dash and her stupid new friends...” She muttered like she was having a nightmare, but her eyes were wide open. “Stupid what’s-her-face--Pudding Pie? Something pie...Well if I ever get my claws on you, you’re gonna wish you were never baked, Pie!” She roared into the empty forest.
And she kept on roaring, as loudly as she could, until her throat gave out in a pathetic little whimper.
“Real cool, Gilda. Not lame at all.”
Her back leg moved of its own volition, a last attempt to release her frustration now that her screaming muscles were shot.
It smashed against the tree quietly, without pretention or purpose, just a small clink of broken glass. It went dark for a moment. Gilda’s foot went back to the ground. There was silence.
Then, there was fire. Lots of fire.
Gilda discovered that her vocal chords had enough life left in them for sounds of terror; everywhere she turned was fire, searing hot and monstrous. She flapped her wings desperately, hoping there was enough air left to fly with had the flames not devoured it all.
She lifted off the ground and heaved towards the one opening she could see, a little patch of night sky turned hellish orange by the blaze. Her very survival depended on that dot.
As she felt herself break through into the blessedly cold air, a stinging sensation in her left wing caused her to cry out and tumble across the sky before regaining some semblance of balance. She smelled burning feathers and cursed.
The stinging in her wing intensified with each flap, until all of sudden she began to careen towards the ground. As she fell, she looked back at the burning forest, and felt relieved, as she tumbled towards the earth, that it was safely far away.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in!” A voice broke into the darkness. An extremely familiar and even more annoying voice. “...But cats are way too small to drag a griffin. Even I had trouble dragging you and I’m almost as big as you are! Maybe a dragon could?”
Whatever it was kept on talking. And talking. It was to the point where Gilda couldn’t even feel gratitude as cold water was poured into her beak. She sputtered as she tried to gulp it down and found that she couldn’t.
“Can’t...swallow...” She gasped, hoping the thing would let her regain her bearings before attempting to give her more water.
“What? A swallow? A swallow couldn’t carry you; at least, not on its own. Two swallows might be able to. Maybe a Zebrican swallow? I hear those are pretty b--” Gilda’s right talon was now clasping its mouth, and she was glaring right at the face of the very pony whose name she would have cursed if she could remember it.
“YOU.”
“Yes, me!” Pinkie Pie’s answer was muffled.
“You...saved me.” She nodded. Gilda gave a very old, tired groan. “You tried to help me,” she added cautiously, “again.”
“Ibourgunaasgmegestshuns--” Gilda pulled her paw out of Pinkie’s mouth.
“What?” Gilda demanded. Pinkie sighed almost irritably.
“I said, if you’re gonna ask me questions you should get your paw out of my mouth!” She giggled. Gilda hated that noise. She really hated it.
“Quit laughin’ at me, Pudding Pie.” She snarled. Pinkie acted as if she hadn’t been laughing at all.
“I’m Pinkie Pie, silly! And you’re....Glida?” She moved back and forth, examining her. Had she really met that many griffins in her life?
“Gilda.” she snapped. “And you’re the just the pony I’ve been lookin’ for.”
“Well, that’s quite a coincidence, Gilda,” she looked her straight on. It was mildly disturbing. “‘Cause you’re the just the griffin I wasn’t looking for!” She rolled on the ground, laughing, as if this was something extraordinarily funny.
“Yeah. Hilarious.” Gilda rolled over to get on her feet in what might have been grace, had she not barrel-rolled and staggered instead. “You got a date with destiny, Pie--I’m gonna make you pay for what you did!” She lunged from her haunches, eyes bloodthirsty and sharp talons aimed for Pinkie’s neck.
She smacked into the ground, hard, as Pinkie side-stepped her attack easily. She shook her head condescendingly.
“Why are you so mad at me?” Pinkie pie lowered herself to look Gilda in the eye. She dodged a blow to the head casually.
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe it’s because you’re the stupid lamebrain who turned my best friend against me and humiliated me in front of the entire town?” The accusations rolled off her tongue cathardically.
“Think about it, Gilda,” Pinkie began, in a voice more suited for talking down a wailing child, “Was I the one who set those pranks? Was I the one who rebuked you?” Gilda found herself becoming disturbed again, “It wasn’t me. It wasn’t even Rainbow Dash--well, sort of. So tell me, what caused you to get humiliated?” She went silent, waiting for an answer. Gilda found herself wishing she was back in the forest fire.
“I freaked out about it....?” If she had been able to fly away, she would have.
“Bingo! You win the prize!” Pinkie Pie chirped. “Course I don’t have a prize, so that’s a little silly of me to say--” Gilda sighed.
It would be a long, long day.
Throughout the entire first few weeks she spent living with Pinkie Pie, she heard nothing about the Plan.
She understood Pinkie’s reasoning in significant hindsight, as she nearly always did--if it had been mentioned, she would’ve thought she was insane and would’ve had nothing to do with it. She didn’t think Pinkie was insane anymore; she knew she was. Though why she’d agreed to be her accomplice was still a complete mystery, Gilda had complied. Maybe it was because she wanted revenge, maybe it was boredom, but somewhere deep down she knew it was the thought of being forgotten--or worse, alone--that made her do it.
Pinkie had been a marvelous host; or as good as a host could be when they were keeping their guest a secret. She brought her meals, which Gilda ate without complaining, and talked her ear off, while Gilda listened with, if not enthusiasm, at least respectful silence.
It was during these relatively one-sided conversations that she learned about what Rainbow Dash had been up to all these years, and it simultaneously gave her some enjoyment and made her slightly more depressed. The two of them had never been friends like that, not for all her wishing and attempts to make it so. She found herself hating all of them, especially Pinkie Pie. Though that Applejack was a close second.
During one such session, without warning, Pinkie Pie brought up the Plan.
“....Are you freaking kidding me?” Gilda almost did a spittake.
“Wha-at? I’m completely serious!” Pinkie retorted indignantly.
“What possible reason would you have for-” She considered how to phrase it, but chose to use her counterpart’s exact language, “--‘using arson as a form of civil disobedience?’” Pinkie chuckled quietly behind a hoof.
“It’s free speech in action, Gilly,” Gilda cringed at the use of her nickname and the patronization, “Only by symbolically quantifying our unrest does the movement stand any chance of success!” Gilda blinked for a few moments. Pinkie started laughing again, “That’s kinda catchy, actually...the revolution needs a good slogan, too. But PR can come later.”
It annoyed and disturbed Gilda to no end how Pinkie could switch back and forth between being serious and eloquent to being...whatever it is she was the rest of the time.
“Okay,” she interjected, “Let me get this straight,” Gilda looked Pinkie directly in the eyes, which she almost never did. “You want to pick off, one by one, capplest--”
“Capitalist, Gilly. Capitalist.”
“Cap-i-tal-ist...institutions with arson,”
“Yup.”
“So that our current egalita-whatever-the-hell-it-is society stays free of these institutions.”
“Ya-huh.”
“And you want me to help you burn down buildings that do--”
“Or represent.”
“--or represent, bad things...?”
Pinkie nodded sagely.
“Except for that last bit, you’re definitely learning, Gilly!” She clapped her hooves together, as if she’d just had a successful stuffed-animal tea party. “And I’ve got it planned just so that nopony gets (physically) injured! That’s why I can’t do it all alone, you see. I need somepony to help with what I call ‘civilian removals’--we get everypony out of the building before it’s burned,” She winked, “That’s non-violent civil disobedience, Gilly; the Earth pony civil rights movement did the same thing way back when.” Gilda raised an eyebrow.
“Didn’t they just stop working and let the unicorns starve to death?” She intoned. Pinkie scoffed.
“Well, our methods differ, but the idea is the same. Sort of.” Pinkie shook Gilda by the shoulders giddily. “So? So? Are you gonna help me? Are you?”
“You ruined my life before, remember?” Gilda had the funny feeling she was going to do it, no matter what her conscience said.
“Yes, but I also saved it.” This was true. A little too true for her liking.
“........Fine. I’ll help you burn stuff.”
Pinkie squealed, and wrapped Gilda in a crushing hug as she went on about how she was the greatest friend anypony could ask for.
Gilda hugged back. She figured she’d take what she could get.
They found themselves outside of the First National Equestrian Bank, watching the “civilians” (as Pinkie called them) from behind a hedge. Gummy had chosen come along, toothless jaws deadlocked on Pinkie’s tail; he kept staring vacantly at Gilda and she wondered if he was as insane as his owner was.
“Why does he always do that?” She asked distantly. She was watching a pegasus mailpony stumble blindly out of the bank. It occurred to the once staunchly sane griffin that sanity was a lot harder to come by these days.
“Oh. Alligators want my fluids.” She produced a blueprint of the building, and extended one side towards Gilda. She wondered, again, how she could possibly have gotten used to this. “They sense my power, and seek the life essence.” She started sniggering. It really should have been more off-putting than it was.
“Uh...Anyway, why are we here, exactly?” Gilda squinted through the large glass windows of the bank, watching the ponies inside going about their business.
She remembered how, in her youth, she had played a game with a magnifying glass and an anthill. She would let the magnifying glass catch the sun just right, and direct the deadly, fiery beam at the ants just right, and watch as they squirmed in agony and eventually burned to death.
Out of the two of them, Gilda was far more sane than Pinkie Pie but lacked her scruples. As such, looking through the glass at the money and possessions in the bank vaults, and indeed at the building itself, and imagining it all ablaze gave her that same sort of sick satisfaction.
“We need to figure out a way to get everypony out of the building,” she added, “even the staff, like security guards and all that.” She rubbed her chin intellectually.
“Well, there’d either have to be something dangerous or something they’d all want.” Gilda remarked, still studying the tellers. She found herself getting delightfully enraged by the self-satisfied smirks of the bank workers--she was going to love wiping the smiles off their faces.
“Hey, Gilly?” Pinkie had the tone she always used when she was about to say something she thought was brilliant. “I’ve got an idea.”
She had always fancied herself to be pretty tough.
It was undeniable that Gilda was intimidating, and that she was most certainly not one to trifle with; griffins, by necessity, were terrifying to ponies--it was how they’d managed not to make war on Equestria thousands of times.
This is what she tried desperately to convince Pinkie of while she was being spray-painted black for “effect”. The paint was making her sneeze constantly, which in and of itself dampened the effect anyway.
“Pie, I’m a griff-” she sneezed violently, “g-griffin! They’ll be runnin’ scared at the sight of me anyway!” She sniffled.
“Yes, but a big, black, scary griffin popping out of the shadows is even better.” She finished painting her tail with a slight flourish and a snicker, “And this is actually flame-retardant anyway.” She sobered up as she laid the plan out for Gilda, whose sneezing had mostly subsided.
Gilda was to sneak in through the back door, which had been hacked by Pinkie (and Gummy, apparently) and just start roaring and terrifying everyone she saw. Had it not been for lunacy of the whole situation, she might have taken great pleasure in the action; but as it was, she was covered in a substance she was seemingly allergic to, and would have to run around screaming at bank-goers all for the purpose of saving their pathetic little lives.
What the hell, she got to roar a lot.
It was actually sort of fun, once she got used to the sneezing . The sneezing actually seemed to terrify them more, somehow. All she had to do was roar and sneeze and flap her wings violently and they ran like sheep--it was quite satisfying.
As she ran, per Pinkie’s instructions, she dropped metal pellets (some kind of explosive she didn’t know at the time) in the building’s vital points, scaring off security guards and staff at said points. Each little clink against the marble floors was like the ticking of a clock--her anticipation of the final stage reached an apex when the twelfth and final bomb was placed, and she ran through the lobby, hoping to reach the exit in time.
When they started going off, they rang in her ears violently, jarring even her sight and cognition. Dizzily, she stumbled towards the front doors, fluttering her wings and growling weakly, the sweat on her brow making the paint run into her eyes. She inhaled deeply, her biggest sneeze yet straining against her sinuses as the little ticking clock struck its final chord.
She wasn’t sure whether it was the sneeze or the blast that propelled her through the broken doors, but she did know it felt like being shot out of a cannon; she would later give a silent prayer of thanks for the fact that she managed to narrowly miss the jagged edges of broken glass.
She lay on the ground, surrounded by burning rubble and coated in paint that pooled around her face, staring up at the acrid, smokey sky blankly.
“Geez, Gilly, how many times will I have to save you? I thought you were tough!” Pinkie slid her hooves under Gilda’s forelegs, and began dragging her across the ground. Gummy gnawed toothlessly on her ankle. She would have snarled at the nickname, had she not been too jarred and overwhelmed to process it.
“Pie...” she grumbled, cross-eyed, “That was tough, wun’t it? Did’ja see how scared they was?”
“Were, Gilly. Were.” Pinkie said gently.
“We’re what? Where ya takin’ me too?”
“The hideout. I don’t want the Cakes involved in this, you see,” she sighed, “It’s a long ways away, though. You think you can walk now?”
“Nooope.” Gilda’s head spun so fast she could have sworn Pinkie looked--
“‘Kay.” Pinkie showed no signs of exertion. In a weak moment Gilda credited it to her protection of her fluids.
“You’re so...random, Pie.” Rainbow Dash had said it, before, so Gilda hesitated to use it, but it was true.
And while it might not have been legal, safe, or healthy, it was becoming less and less intolerable.
It was amazing how methodical the whole thing became.
Even after only a few days, Gilda got the impression Pinkie had been burning things long enough to be some kind of expert. She didn’t really have to handle the actual burning side of things most of the time; she handled “removals”. But when she did, Pinkie lovingly taught her the craft of destruction the way a mother would teach her children to sew. Had she been anypony else (and not to mention a little bit psycho) she would have been touched by this.
“You have to be very gentle with the tinder, Gilly--don’t crunch it like that!” She scolded softly. Gilda rolled her eyes.
“What does it matter? It burns anyway.” These practice burnings were starting to get kind of annoying. She’d assumed everything burned the same way, but apparently different materials needed different levels of intensity.
“Forest fires are easy. Too easy, since lots of ponies set them off by accident,” the spiel continued, “Marble or stone buildings require full-out explosives, since you can’t really burn rocks.” She giggled and fake-punched Gilda in the shoulder. “We managed to pull of that first one pretty well, considering.”
“Considering?” Gilda intruded. Pinkie gestured to the tinder.
“Wooden buildings are the easiest, of course. Just take a match to ‘em and whammo! Especially whole villages.”
“You know, if you’re trying not to hurt anypony I think that’s not really the way to do it.” Gilda didn’t really care, of course, she was just annoyed by hypocrites.
“I’m not going to, of course. That was just an example,” Pinkie leapt up such that she was standing on Gilda’s back with her hooves on her shoulders, “But you and me have got bigger-er fish to fry!”
“Uh...What does that mean?” Already they’d taken out five banks and two insurance firms. Luckily, the Equestrian authorities weren’t used to dealing with anything more than a cat up a tree or a robbery here and there, so it had been relatively easy to keep hitting targets and leave the police unable to draw connections between them.
“The cops might not be the sharpest, but they’re gonna catch on soon. Too many witnesses not to.” Somehow, she was now in front of Gilda with her hooves still on her shoulders, “So before that happens, we’re going for the big one.”
To Gilda’s horror, she gestured upwards.
Towards the ever-present sight of Canterlot Castle.
Horror might not have been the right word. Anticipation quickly replaced horror as they walked through Canterlot, seeing all the ponies and their stupid bourgeoisie faces; as Pinkie ranted quietly to Gilda, she realized her nods of agreement were starting to be in earnest.
“You see what I mean?” Pinkie pointed, in succession, to a poor, starving pony in a gutter and a glittering mansion built into the mountainside. “The widening gap won’t be under wraps for much longer. Ohhh no. We’re gonna bring it out into the open!” She silently hoof-gestured a building blowing up.
Gilda remembered she didn’t care. Not about these ponies, not about the “mission” and most certainly not about Pinkie Pie. In fact, she hated her, with a passion. The only thing other than herself that she’d ever cared about was Rainbow Dash, and it was Pinkie who took that from her. Sort of.
That “sort of” was becoming less and less of a viable excuse.
“So...uh...when do we do it?” Pinkie was walking uncomfortably close, so she was able to feel when her whole body tensed for a second.
“....Do what?” She grinned innocently at her. Too innocently.
“Pie, what’s up with--” She was cut off by what she assumed was Pinkie’s reason for being terrified.
“Pinkie?” the questioning voice of the most studious student ever might as well have been a death sentence.
“Oh, hi Twilight!” Pinkie hooked arms with Gilda, “What are you up to?”
“Well, I’m here to deliver my annual report to the princess,” she glanced at Gilda nervously, “And everypony else is off doing different things--”
“Everypony else? You mean the others are here?” there was a subtle slyness to Pinkie’s voice. It was so subtle, in fact, that Twilight didn’t seem to pick up on it.
“Yes, but where have you been? We’ve been looking for you for two months!” Twilight pointed at Gilda, “And then I find you here, in Canterlot, with that griffin? What’s going on, Pinkie?”
Pinkie moved a bit closer to Gilda.
“Well...it’s...hard to explain, exactly...” She sounded almost coy. Gilda flushed under her feathers. “Gilly and I were travelling around for a while, and um, lost track of time...”
“Uh, Pie--Er, Pinkie? Should you really be talking about this with...?” She tried her best to sound flirtatious, but her embarrassment would have to do.
Twilight made the expression one makes at an awkward realization.
“Oh.” She blinked. “Okay...I’ll, um, go...find the others and catch up with you...two...later?” Pinkie smiled like she’d just been done a huge favor.
“Thank you so much, Twilight! We’d love to see everyone again, right Gilly?” She “suggested”.
“Oh, sure, I’d love to meet your friends, uh...Pumpkin?” she vomited in her mouth in a little.
Twilight nodded and scampered away.
If Gilda felt anything, it was lost in her desire for vengeance.
She didn’t really believe in Pinkie, per se; it was more like she had nothing better to do, and no one else to turn to. She was tired of being alone. While it would seem this was not a good enough reason to get involved in her highly dangerous schemes, loneliness is a far better motivator than one might think. Loneliness trumps vengeance.
“Hey, Pie?” Gilda asked into the darkness of the motel room--she had never seen Pinkie sleep, at any time. Somehow, it was very much like her.
“Yes?” She replied distantly, as if in a dream.
There was silence. Gilda didn’t really know what she wanted to say.
“...G’night, Pie.” She rolled over in her bed and planted her face in the pillow.
“G’night, Gilly.” Pinkie Pie gave a long, uncharacteristically weary sigh. “Are you wondering about Rainbow Dash?” Gilda curled up defensively.
“Yes.” She said it, but mostly out of habit.
“I didn’t want any of my friends involved in this,” Gilda could feel Pinkie staring at her from across the room, “I wanted somepony to take the fall. I couldn’t tell them, of course, because that’d make them not want to be my friends anymore.” As she said it, Gilda curled more into herself with the depressing weight of the truth. Hadn’t she always known that?
“I’m horrible, aren’t I? I didn’t even want to tell you this, not after we’d gotten this far,” Pinkie continued, “Because I can’t do it alone.” Her voice was breaking with tears, “I can understand if you wouldn’t want to continue. I won’t make you.” Another silence.
“Shut your trap, Pie.” Gilda grumbled, “I need to sleep if I’m gonna have to spend all day doing your dirty work.”
“Gilly--” Pinkie reached out towards Gilda’s bed.
“I don’t wanna be alone, either,” she said, softly, “Nopony does.”
Without a word, Pinkie sauntered over to the other side of Gilda’s bed, climbed up, and lay on her side facing her. Her hair was flattened out, but she was smiling broadly.
“Together, then?” She extended a hoof.
“Not on your life.” Gilda growled, and turned over. Pinkie slid up next to her and wrapped her arms around her.
“Goood niiight, Gilda.”
Gilda just grunted, then shut her eyes. She could only take so many assaults on her dignity in one day.
The atmosphere couldn’t have been more bizarre.
The seven of them sat around a table in a very posh cafe, not speaking. Even Pinkie Pie seemed subdued into silence, which frightened Gilda more than the quasi-spiteful glances Rainbow Dash kept giving her.
“So,” Applejack spoke first, “Just what in tarnation is goin’ on? Yer gone for two months, then all of a sudden--”
“Gilda, did you put her up to this?” Rainbow slammed a hoof on the table, rattling the glasses and causing even Gilda to retreat slightly. This was her chance for reconciliation, after all, so why was she now so loth to the idea?
“What makes you think that?” The irritating part, of course, was that she had to maintain Pinkie’s innocence. And that involved taking most of the blame.
“Trust me, I know; you’re the clingy type--I bet you didn’t want any of her friends to see her ever again!” Rainbow pointed at her accusingly, “You did the same thing to me when we were kids. So I’m sorry if I don’t believe that Pinkie would just up and leave her friends on her own.” Her words stung, and Gilda wanted so badly to tell her the truth. A great deal of affection for Rainbow Dash still lingered in her, but she’d chosen her side the moment she’d agreed to light those matches.
“Stop it, you guys, it’s not what you think it is!” Pinkie countered, “Is it wrong for me to try and do something with my life? Is it wrong for me love somepony?” Gilda’s pulse hitched.
“WHAT?!” They all shouted in unison. Most of the ponies in the cafe ignored them, but a few turned their heads, wondering what the fuss was about.
“Dear me, you can’t possibly be serious!”
“Yer Pinkie Pie! Yer never serious!”
“Um...congratulations?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on, I thought you were buddies or something!”
“EVERYPONY CALM DOWN!” Twilight roared. Everypony sank into their seats. “Now, I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation. Pinkie, Gilda, start from the beginning; tell us everything that’s happened in the last two months.
There was only one way out of this: a bald-faced lie.
With disturbing skill, Pinkie wove an elaborate love story out of thin air, with the occasional astonished affirmation from Gilda. About how they’d met, how they’d fallen for each other and decided to run off for a while, then come to Canterlot for a while before returning to Ponyville to tell them about their relationship.
It was cheesy. Decidedly so. But for some reason, it worked. Rainbow Dash looked at the floor.
“Alright then. So I’ve lost you both.”
Pinkie promised to meet with her friends in a week. Both she and Gilda knew it was a lie--there was no going back after this, for them or for Equestria.
The plan was set for that evening, during some minor gala--the guards would be occupied. It was kind of funny how even in the midst of a string of crises, the authorities still didn’t even post guards at every door of Canterlot Castle. Even with the need for Pinkie’s lock-picking abilities, it was still far too easy. Gilda grew a little bit nervous.
“Nervous is good, Gilda.” Pinkie gave her a quick hug, “nervous means you’re thinking.”
Yes, she was thinking. There were far too many signs of a trap, and they both knew it.
“So, does this cause need martyrs?” Gilda looked up at the castle as it approached.
“I suppose it couldn’t hurt.” Pinkie smiled sadly.
“I never heard ‘doesn’t hurt’ and ‘martyr’ in the same conversation.” Gilda chuckled a little.
“I’ve never heard you use the word ‘martyr’ before, Gilda,” Pinkie giggled, “Your vocab’s improving! Too bad it’s so late in the game.”
They both sobered up.
They crept through the empty halls, hopping from shadow to shadow, and, occasionally, Pinkie would hop on Gilda’s back and they would fly over obstacles or float for a few minutes to avoid the lone guard or two.
“The whole building’s center pressure point is in the ballroom, where the gala’s taking place,” Pinkie leaned in close, “it serves our purposes, though, because it’s where all the civilians are plus Princess Celestia.” Gilda had the feeling she was about to dropped with some major responsibility.
“And what, exactly, is the reason the princess needs to be around?” Gilda leaned in closer, more threateningly.
“You’re going to make it look like an assassination attempt.” She punctuated her statement by kissing Gilda’s cheek. Against her will, Gilda yelped. Pinkie squashed her behind a statute as a drunken stallion lumbered past.
“W-w-what? And moreover, why?” Gilda whispered harshly.
“ Well the first question is because if you make like you’re going to attack the princess, you can scare away all the civilians and the Princess, and lead the guards out of the castle.” Pinkie extricated herself from behind the statute, and Gilda blinked. “The second question is because, well, when will I ever get another chance?”
“GET YOUR HOOVES OUT OF MY POCKET HORN-HEAD!” Gilda howled at the top her lungs. She zipped about the room menacingly, easily throwing a few of the royal guards to the side as she swooped in towards the princess. The air buzzed with fear and shock, and she herself was high on the adrenaline and the sheer power of it; she took a dive at a few civilians, too, while she was at it. Guests began running, guards began chasing, and the princess tried talking everypony down, but to no avail as she flew up to give her loudest possible roar right in Princess Celestia’s face.
“GILDA?!” An all-too-familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.
“Rainbow Dash,” She said, mockingly, “how nice to see you at this little party here.”
“What are you doing, Gilda?!” The other four remaining members of their little group were behind her, obviously battle-ready.
“What’s it look like I’m doing, Dash?” She said, sarcastically, “I don’t know, maybe I just wanted to give a nice old hello to the princess here.” This was all for effect, she told herself, and all for Pinkie, “I’ve always wanted to eat royalty.” her cackling echoed eerily around the ballroom, which was quickly emptying.
“Hold it right there, Gilda.” The thundering voice of an angered Celestia echoed less eerily through their vibrating eardrums. “I have no intention of letting you terrorize my subjects; and what makes you think you can possibly terrorize me?”
Gilda wanted so badly to cringe, but stood her ground.
“Let’s just say I’m fighting for what I believe in!” She dived at Celestia, roaring her loudest in what she thought might be her final moments. Angry magic whirled painfully around her, searing her feathers and flesh. She thought about the night before, when she’d slept curled up with Pinkie Pie--the threats that always danced just at the corners of her mind dissipated, and she had been far too at peace to sleep.
She was blown all the way across the room in an inferno of blue light, smashing against the opposite wall. The force of the impact rang through her bones like the first strike of a sword in combat, a ringing that shook her whole body. One of her wings was assuredly broken. A little blood stained the floor.
“Gilda Griffin! Do you understand what you’re trying to do?” Celestia called from across the room. Her voice was starting to piss Gilda off. “You are trying to kill a god. It’s impossible by definition. What are you trying to accomplish?” She was mocking her. Gilda pulled herself to her feet. The floor shook.
“Rainbow Dash.” The five of them had been in various states of either cowering in fear or standing behind the princess with manes bristling and muscles tense. Rainbow’s angry glare softened a little. The floor shook again. “And all your friends, too, I guess.” She paused, feeling the vibrations in the floor grow stronger. It was almost time. “This is the last time I’ll ever speak to you. But all I wanna say is...” She braced her own broken wings for flight. “Run.”
Pure hell quite literally broke loose.
She wasn’t sure if the other ponies had escaped, if Pinkie had escaped, or if she herself had escaped, but all she knew was that it was what hell probably felt like.
There was fire. Lots of fire.
She looked up through the flames, up at the sky through the broken roof, and saw fireworks exploding between the stars.
It was the only thing she could be assured wasn’t her imagination.
“Pie?” She called out hoarsely. No answer. “Well...here I am, dying for you, and you’re not even here. S’okay though. You’ve got a mission to finish.” The flames, which were subsiding somewhat, crackled almost amiably. “Y’know something, Pie? I used to love Rainbow Dash. I think. I’m not really sure how to tell.” darkness teased the edges of her vision. She inhaled deeply, coughing out smoke. “And I think I love you. Maybe. I suck at this.” She was growing dizzier, and the world was slipping away. “Pie...Er, Pinkie Pie, I, Gilda, love you. Probably.”
The fireworks faded away.
“Wa-ake up, sleepyhead!”
Gilda groaned. Pinkie could be so annoying at times. And the fact that her bed seemed to be made of rock wasn’t really helping either.
“Shut up, Pie. I’m tryin’ to sleep here.” Her whole body ached.
“Yeah, but you’ve been asleep for almost a week! 6.93 days, roughly speaking.”
“Well...” She considered for a moment. “Wait, WHAT?”
She bolted upright, gasping in pain as she became aware of the numerous injuries she’d sustained and head reeling from the knowledge that she was alive. In what she’d consider a lapse in her facade, she grabbed Pinkie and hugged her with all the force she could muster.
“Don’t you dare tell anypony about this.” She snarled into Pinkie’s shoulder. Pinkie laughed softly.
“Okay, it’s our secret.” She kissed her head.
They sat like that for a few minutes, until Gilda became coherent enough to figure out where she was.
“Pie.”
“Yes, Gilda?”
“We’re in a prison cell.”
“Yes.”
“How’d we get here?”
“We blew up Canterlot Castle and tried to assassinate the princess. Where else would we be?”
Gilda sighed irritably. “So we succeeded?”
“In one part, yes.”
“So we’re gonna rot in prison now.” Gilda looked out the tiny window, suddenly feeling very claustrophobic. Her good wing twitched.
“That depends.” Pinkie grinned, in the way only she could, “Got a match?”
