Rocks fall; Everypony dies
Author's Note
Digitally remastered after 5 years. But not in a Lucas way, I promise!
Italics return! I originally wrote this with some italic accenting but that didn't survive the upload process, for whatever reason. Now it's fixed and restored; enjoy the director's cut.
I've also corrected a spelling error or two, swapped 'Applebloom' to the more-conventional 'Apple Bloom', and used proper horizontal break marks instead of some asterisks.
The Whole Shebang.
A pastel spectrum of ponies had gathered at the train station to send off their local heroes, and friends, on a well deserved relaxation trip to sleepy, seaside Maregate.
The band of six responsible for so many recent good deeds had come to a decision. Between themselves they had coordinated, planned carefully with, asked oh-so-sweetly, plotted against or partied with (or both), slept through dealing with, and nervously asked everypony (and everything) necessary in order to spend some time away from their oft-troubled village.
Now, hopefully, they might find some time to simply enjoy themselves, with (hopefully) a somewhat lower than normal chance of being required to, in one cyan pegasus’ words, ‘Do the Princess’s job for her again’ (right before being jabbed in the ribs by a certain purple unicorn).
There had been some small opposition to their leaving, but most of it good-natured and along the lines of ‘Oh but the twins will miss you dear!’, ‘Do you really have to leave town? Can’t you holiday nearby, just in case of an emergency?’ or ‘This is just so you can get out of cleaning up all that grey goop, whatever it is, you’ve coated the laboratory in isn’t it?’. But they were undeterred. The arranged day had finally arrived and fond farewells are now being said.
“I’m pretty sure it’s not toxic.”
Twilight Sparkle is ticking the last couple of items off a check-list entitled ‘Vacation plans: Not just an excuse to avoid dealing with something unpleasant and monochromatic. (Revision C)’
“To ponies, or to dragons?”
Spike returns the hard look he receives from Twilight and ups the ante by crossing his arms.
“... Yes...” evades Twilight with pedantic precision, “Anyway, please just make a start on it. I’ll be back fairly soon and I’ll bring you some nice sticks of seaside rock.” This offer puts a contemplative expression on Spike’s face.
“The sugary kind, or something with gemstones in it?”
“Yes.” Twilight grins at her attempt at humour. “If they have that anyway. Otherwise, probably the former. But if you get even half-way done I’ll see if we can place a special order with the Cakes.”
This seems to mollify the purple drake; he nods and steps over to hug his almost-sister as she rolls up her now completed scroll and, usefulness passed, casually evaporates it with a puff of magic.
“I’ll miss you.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t find a way to bring you with us,” she leans in to return the hug. “Honestly, what sort of incident ends up in a town having ‘No dragons permitted between February and June’ written into the local bylaws?” Spike can only shrug as he releases his grip and they separate.
Farther down the platform, Pinkie Pie is energetically seizing the opportunity provided by the congregation of so many. Armed with the knowledge that she will be outside Ponyville for longer than five minutes (and also armed with a suitcase full of weapons-grade streamers), she has begun to throw an impromptu, last-minute, second going-away party for herself and her pals.
“I hope you’ll all manage without me for a week,” Pinkie watches approvingly as a conga line is being formed by some of the other passengers behind one of the train-driver ponies. “Remember, this town is a no-frown zone, even when I’m away. And if you should forget...” She takes a deep breath and strikes a pose.
“Ooooh, Ponyville is a wonderf-”
A near-white hoof stifles Pinkie before she can get further into her song and the sudden, but not unexpected, presence of an ethereal melody fades after only it’s third chord.
“Aww,” Fluttershy settles back to the ground from where she had briefly arisen in preparation nearby. “That sounded like it was going to be a good one too. I thought maybe we could make it a duet.”
Sighing sadly at the disappointed yet still hopeful tone, Rarity only favours the softly spoken pegasus with an apologetic look.
“I’m sorry girls, but we do have a schedule to keep to,” the unicorn releases her pink friend. “It did sound pretty though, maybe you can sing it some other time.”
“Sure thing. I’m used to saving songs for later. Hey AJ, what’ve you lost?”
Indeed, the apple farmer does appear to be peering about and searching for something nearby.
“What’s that Pinkie?” her ears perk up at hearing her name and she pauses in her hunt.
“Itchy kidneys,” Pinkie says, clearly expecting this to reduce confusion levels. “Oh, wait, and a tickly ear too. Who’ve you lost?”
“Well, Ah was just sayin’ my goodbyes to Apple Bloom, an’ then Mac asked me somethin’ about post cards. Y’know, Ah think he’s really just lookin’ for an excuse to talk to that nice mail pegasus myself. Anyway, then Ah turn back to Apple Bloom, but she’s gone...”
“Actually, I did just see your sister,” Rarity says, “she rushed up to Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo while we were talking, whispered something to them, and then they made up an excuse about Scootaloo being parked in a loading-only zone and shot off somewhere.”
“Ya’ll didn’t find that suspicious?”
The ever-present cold war between fashion and farming escalates to defcon 4.
“I’m not naïve, Applejack. But I made Sweetie promise to not intentionally cause trouble while I’m away, and I’m sure you did the same with Apple Bloom. Whatever they’re up to, I trust them not to go too far with it.”
“Pinchy front knees followed by pinchy back knees!” Pinkie calls from inside the train, disrupting the slowly forming argument. “And Twilight says it’s time to leave too.”
“Which one’s that again, Pinkie?”
“She’s the purple unicorn who’s running this show, you know that Applejack!”
An orange face is planted firmly into an orange hoof. Rallying to Applejack’s side against a stronger, or at least currently more irritating opponent, Rarity makes her own attempt at retrieving information from the pink pony.
“I think she meant, ‘Which pinkie-sense is that?’, my dear.”
“All-purpose, generic foreshadowing!”
Two of the three comrades of calamity known quite well as ‘The Cutie Mark Crusaders’ and known even better as ‘By Celestia, not those three again! Hide the paint!’ are making a hasty exit from the station together. Weaving, scurrying and pushing through the gathered crowd they quickly reach the street and are soon joined by their third member, approaching from around a corner, riding her trademark scooter with trailer, and brandishing two spare helmets.
“Quick! Hop in!” Scootaloo tosses the helmets towards her friends. “We don’t have much time!”
“You’ve got a plan? Where are we going?” Apple Bloom catches and jams a helmet on her head and takes front position in the wagon.
Sweetie Belle fumbles her catch and her helmet bounces out of her hooves, off a flower vendor’s cart and into one of the buckets sat in front, one containing some soggy tulips but mostly just soggy water. Four eyes roll in their sockets as Sweetie fishes the helmet out and gives it a quick shake to remove the biggest drips.
“C’mon! We’ve only got twenty eight minutes left!” Scootaloo buzzes her wings in frustration and points in sequence to Sweetie, the helmet, Sweetie again, the wagon and the road leading off towards the edge of town.
“But... it’s still wet...” mumbles the pale unicorn.
“It’ll dry as we’re moving. Just get on. Quickly!”
“That’s not what I- Fine. Eurgh, it’s cold too...”
A shiver runs down Sweetie’s back as she dons the helmet and hops aboard her transport. Any further complaints are precluded, or at least swept out of hearing by wind-noise, as Scootaloo accelerates the team off towards destination adventure.
“Really? Everfree?”
The three stand at the edge of the forest, two peering into the gloom and one propping her scooter against a nearby fence. While Sweetie Belle remains focused on the woods, Apple Bloom turns back to look questioningly at Scootaloo.
“Yeah, really we have no choice,” the pegasus nods to her friend, “when you think about it.”
“Ah’m not sure ah follow...” Apple Bloom looks to Sweetie to see if she can divine some comprehension from her other friend; she has to stifle a snigger at the tulip snagged in her friend’s damp and somewhat squished mane.
“You said Applejack told you ‘No Crusading’ while she was gone, right? And Rarity said ‘You behave yourself now,’” Sweetie’s voice takes on a quality and tone near perfectly emulating her sister’s as she recites, “’while I’m out of town you understand, Sweetie, dear.’
“’Oh and under no circumstances are you to try on any of my works-in-progress! Remember that! No mischief, no crusading, no fashion shows, no paint... you best be taking notes Sweetie, I want to know you’re paying atten-’ and then I sorta stopped listening...” the unicorn shifts back to her own voice and nods to herself, “she went on like that for a while... Anyway, if we want to do any crusading over the next week, we have to do it now.”
“Right now!” Scootaloo bounces over to the others, leaving behind a pile of bicycle locks with a fence post peeking out the top. Presumably her scooter is buried in there somewhere, but it certainly isn’t visible.
“Yeah, but-”
“Now! We’ve got...” Scootaloo pauses to look at her unadorned wrist, then back towards town where the clock tower is hardly visible and not readable, “twenty three minutes until that train reaches the edge of Ponyville! And once it does, you guys are banned from crusading for seven whole days. So let’s move!” she heads off into the half-light of the forest.
Sweetie Belle starts to follow her friend at a brisk trot. The final member of the trio hurries to catch up.
“Ah get that,” Apple Bloom calls to the ponies up ahead. “That’s what Ah said at the train station. But cramming a whole week’s crusading into half an hour-”
“Twenty two minutes!”
“Yeah... that. It’s gonna be hard enough without having to deal with whatever trouble we get... into... oh...” Apple Bloom decides against pressing a hoof to her forehead in favour of pressing on into the underbrush and not losing sight of her friends.
“It’s the perfect plan!” Scootaloo can’t help herself from skipping and fluttering her wings. “We’ll wander a bit deeper in, nose about a bit, provoke some horrible beast, flee to Zecora’s place-”
“She’ll chide us, in rhyme,” Sweetie takes over, “about taking things we hear too literally or something like that-” Scootaloo interrupts the interruption.
“We’ll check for our cutie marks, see they’re not there, go hassle Spike into writing something meaningful sounding to the Princess and then we can just hang out together for the rest of the week. Easy!”
Sweetie Belle slows and wanders off to the side of the trail to push her head into a bush.
“Here monster! Nice monster!” she calls in her best danger-enticing sing-song voice. “Tasty ponies out here, nice and succulent ponies!”
“Sweetie!” Apple Bloom calls in annoyance then grabs the unicorn by the tail and drags her back to the centre of the path.
“Ooh, I wander what we’ll find?” the tulip in Sweetie’s mane is joined by a couple of twigs as she is removed from the undergrowth.
“Well, I know there’s Manticores in here somewhere,” Apple Bloom can only watch in despair as Scootaloo half-jumps-half-flutters her way up some low-hanging branches into a tree, “I heard that Rainbow Dash beat one up when she went to fight Nightmare Moon,” she peers about, clearly hoping the extra height of the tree will let her spot something monstrous, or perhaps be spotted, before either of the other Crusaders, “I bet that was pretty awesome. I hope we find something awesome!”
“Maybe there’s another cockatrice!” Sweetie eyes up another shrub but finds that a yellow hoof planted firmly on her tail keeps her pinned to the spot.
“Or a basilisk!”
“Or a ghostly village of zombie ponies!”
“Or a yeti!”
“Or a chupacabra!”
“Or a human!”
“Stop, stop! Ah’m pretty sure you’re just makin’ these animals up now...” Apple Bloom glares at each of her friends in turn, then she hangs her head, staring at the ground dejectedly. Her voice wavers slightly. “Anyway, this ain’t crusading...”
The previous excitement rapidly fades from Scootaloo’s face as she hops back down to ground level and Sweetie sits herself down in front of, and tries to make eye contact with, her yellow friend.
“What’s wrong Apple Bloom?” sincere concern tints every word Sweetie Belle says.
“Nothin’.” Apple Bloom sniffs and paws at the ground uncomfortably.
“Yes, there is,” the unicorn softly disagrees, “we’re your friends, you can tell us. Then we can fix it. Won’t we Scootaloo?” the pegasus nods enthusiastically at this.
“Well...” Apple Bloom pauses to compose herself, “what sort of cutie mark is this gonna get us exactly?”
“Huh?”
“That’s the whole point of crusading after all, isn’t it?” she turns to look Scootaloo directly in the eyes, almost accusingly. “Ah want my cutie mark. Ah thought we all did,” she shifts her focus to her other friend, “and that’s why we’re in this stupid forest... right?”
“Uh, yeah?” despite the agreement in her words, there is precious little confidence in Scootaloos voice to back them up.
“So then, what kinda marks are we trying for?” Apple Bloom persists, “Manticore baiting? Animal inventing? Shrub inspecting?” she looks down again, the sparkles of tears beginning to form. And then, quietly, “Time wasting?”
“No, no,” Sweetie shuffles up beside Apple Bloom and loops a foreleg over her distressed friend, pulling her into a hug. Scootaloo hesitates, a conflicted look briefly flashes across her face as she takes a glance deeper into the forest before she too settles next to her yellow friend.
“’Cause... ‘cause that’s what it sounds like. Like, you don’t think we’re going to do it. We’re not gonna get our cutie marks. Not out here... Not like this...”
Sweetie makes a comforting noise but directs a stern look behind and past Apple Bloom to Scootaloo, which can only be interpreted as: ‘This is your fault, fix it’.
“Honestly?” Scootaloo begins slowly, “I doubt it.”
Apple Bloom flinches and stares at the pegasus, while Sweetie Belle desperately shakes her head and makes ‘Stop talking! You’re making it worse!’ motions at Scootaloo.
“I mean, we’ve tried, like, nearly everything!” she presses on regardless, “I think Cheerilee, and Twilight and everypony else must be right about cutie marks. We’ll get them when we get them.”
“B-but,” Apple Bloom stutters.
“I just like it when we’re hanging out together doing awesome things; we always have a great time, don’t we? Even when it ends up with tree sap in my feathers again, or when we get stuck gathering windfall apples or sorting gemstones as punishment for something that’s actually totally harmless, and I don’t really see why it bothered everypony so much, and it all washed off in the end didn’t it?” Scootaloo loses her train of thought, so falls back on the standby of putting on a smile and setting it to ‘winsome’.
Bemused and unconvinced, Apple Bloom turns to her other friend.
“What she’s trying to say, I think,” Sweetie gives Scootaloo a brief appreciative smile to say ‘Well, thanks for trying’, before applying some badly needed tact to the situation, “is that part of being friends is sometimes doing things that are much more important to a friend than they are to you. Friendship is a bit like a well cooked salad in that regard.”
“Cooked salad? How’s that like friendship?”
“I dunno, analogies aren’t my really strong suit,” she shrugs and continues, “but we do know how much you want your cutie mark, and we do too, even if not so... strongly. It’s more important to us that we’re together having fun. And we can all be happy, even if for different reasons. We’re just trying to help...”
“But, it just doesn’t seem like you’re trying to get a cutie mark for anything!”
“For something? I guess, really, we’re not?” Scootaloo tries again, “I mean, I like trying new and awesome things. And I figure that whatever is the most awesome thing, I’ll get a cutie mark for doing that! But I won’t know what’s the most awesome until I get my mark for doing it. So how can I try for anything specific?”
“Specific?” Sweetie Belle chimes in, “Who’s the dictionary now?”
“Pfft,” Scootaloo brushes this comment off, “Rainbow Dash says that reading is awesome now, so I had to try it too.”
“And?” Apple Bloom’s curiosity is piqued.
“I don’t have a book on my flank.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t got a picture of Rainbow Dash there by now, with how awesome you think she is,” Sweetie teases.
This prompts Scootaloo to look furtively at her friends before quietly saying,
“This stays between us, right?”
“Ah course.”
“Ooh, a secret?” Sweetie squeaks. “Should I pinkie-promise?”
“That’s ok, I trust you. Anyway, uh,” Scootaloo lowers her voice even more, “if I don’t have a cutie mark styled after her by now...” there is barely suppressed excitement in Scootaloo’s eyes as she whispers, “there must be something even more awesome than Rainbow Dash. Don’t tell her I said that!”
The others look appropriately shocked, but slowly nod. Sweetie makes a zipping motion with a hoof across her mouth to further emphasise her silence on the matter.
They sit in quiet contemplation for a couple of minutes, simply enjoying each other’s company and their renewed bonds of friendship. Before realising exactly where they’ve been having their unusually deep conversation. Apple Bloom, seeming to have recovered her composure, stands first.
“Thanks, girls. Ah really am glad that we’re friends. But, uh, lets get out of this dingy place?”
“Me too!” Sweetie cheerfully agrees and Scootaloo nods.
“I suppose we’re probably out of time now anyways.”
“Three minutes,” Scootaloo pipes up.
“Really?” Sweetie doesn’t try to disguise the incredulous manner of her question.
“Keep that up and you’ll be getting one of those hourglass cutie marks,” Apple Bloom comments.
“Nah, we already tried that one. Remember?”
“Oh, yeah. So much sand...”
The three giggle at the memory and begin their trek back to town in high spirits.
“What about you then, Sweetie Belle?”
“Hmm?”
“Well, if Scoots is gonna get a cutie mark in awesomeness or something, and I’m gonna get one for trying too hard-”
“Persistence?”
“And we know you’re not getting one just for reading a dictionary...” Scootaloo grins at Sweetie, but they both know it’s an old joke by now.
“So, do you have any idea what you’d want?” Apple Bloom probes, “Miss Cheerilee does always say that ponies normally get their cutie mark for something they really like doing. Have you had a favourite ‘something you liked doing’ yet maybe?”
“Most times when I come visit you or I find you’re first at the clubhouse, you’re singing or humming a tune to yourself,” Scootaloo buzzes her wings and briefly lifts off so that she can put one hoof to her mouth and tuck the other leg across herself, in her best approximation of the expression of contemplation. “Maybe you’ll get some sort of music cutie mark?”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Sweetie dismisses the idea with a gentle shake of her head, “I hardly know any ponies who can’t sing pretty well. My sister has a lovely singing voice. And miss Fluttershy often just sings quietly to herself too, or with some nearby birds. Neither of them have a musical cutie mark.”
The others make ‘Oh, yeah’ faces.
“So, then, what could it be?”
“Maybe you’ll get one for magic, like Miss Twilight?”
Sweetie stumbles slightly and when she recovers her balance she looks uncomfortable at this suggestion.
“Sweetie?”
“I, uhm, really don’t think so...” she looks away from the pair.
“Come to think about it, Ah’m not sure when Ah last saw you use some magic...” Apple Bloom thinks for a second before continuing. “Actually Ah’m not sure Ah’ve ever seen you use magic!”
“Oh... well...”
“Have you seen Sweetie use any magic, Scoots?”
“...”
“Ah’m pressing on a sore subject aren’t Ah? Oh, Sweetie, Ah’m sorry. And after you’ve been so understanding about mah fixation too...”
“It’s... it’s all right, really.”
Sweetie Belle stops walking just before the trio reach the boundary of the forest and smiles at an apologetic-faced Apple Bloom. Then she turns back to face the deeper shade they’ve just left behind.
“I do have magic. It’s just a little...” she bites on her lip and her eyes unfocus and drift slightly upward; the universal ‘Give me a minute, I’m trying to pick the right word’ expression.
“Unpredictable?” Scootaloo offers.
“No, that’s not it,” distracted from her thought process she shakes her head. “Tell you what, you see that rock over there, by that dead tree?” Sweetie points.
“The one with all those dry leaves around it?”
“Yeah, and near that pile of twigs that would make pretty nice kindling. Keep an eye on it...”
They do. Sweetie takes a second to calm and centre herself. The few birds within earshot fall silent. The gentle spring breeze ceases to blow. If earthworms had lungs, the ones nearby would be holding their breath. Sweetie Belle’s horn begins to glow a pale orange. The rock is enveloped in a matching aura, and then it unsteadily raises itself a few inches off the ground.
The rock bursts into flame.
“How didja?”
The intensity of the shock on Apple Bloom’s face is mirrored in the intensity of the awe on Scootaloo’s.
“Most unicorns have a natural aptitude for levitation,” Sweetie explains, “I... don’t.”
“But... it’s a rock,” the yellow pony states the obvious. “Rocks don’t burn!”
“Magic.” Sweetie responds.
“You...” Scootaloo finally catches up to the conversation, “you can set things on fire. With your mind? You can set things on fire with your mind! That’s so, so, so awesome!” And she tackles Sweetie in a hug.
Sweetie has the good graces to look embarrassed by this treatment, but still smiles when Apple Bloom joins them in a three way hug.
“Uh, what’s that crackling noise?”
“Do I smell smoke?”
The three turn to look in the direction of Sweetie’s hornwork.
“Oh, yeah, I guess I didn’t think that through...”
“Bored.”
“Really, Dash?”
“Bored.”
The cyan pegasus is slumped in her seat, glumly staring at the carriage ceiling.
“How about, if you look out the window?” suggests the other pegasus in the carriage, “it’s very pretty out there.”
A quick sideways glance.
“Pretty boring.”
“We could play a board game!”
“Don’t try to force me to pun, Pinkie.”
“Aaaw. Spoilsport.”
“You could read?” Twilight looks up from the crossword she is working on, “I leant you that new ‘Mareison Fjord’ book only the other day; did you not bring it?”
“Finished it.”
Confusion and doubt collide on Twilight’s face.
“Uhm, Rainbow, that book was more than six hundred pages long...”
“Hey, if something’s worth reading, it’s worth reading quickly.”
Silence, if you ignore the clickety-clack of wheels on rails, briefly descends inside the carriage. Rainbow Dash once again opens her mouth.
“Don’t you dare say that you’re bored or Celestia help me I will find some fabric and stitch you into a balaclava with no mouth hole for the rest of the journey.”
Rainbow Dash slowly closes her mouth. Applejack tips up her hat from where it’s covering her face.
“You alright there, Rarity?”
“Yes, dear, I’m fine.”
“You don’t think that was, if you don’t mind my saying so, perhaps a tiny bit...” Fluttershy changes her mind about finishing that comment when Rarity makes eye contact with her. “Nevermind.”
Rarity sighs, “Of course, you’re right. Sorry Fluttershy. And you too Rainbow. I’m just getting worried about Sweetie Belle.”
“Already? Sugar, we’ve been gone less than an hour.”
“You plainly have not seen what she is capable of doing with an entire hour Applejack,” the unicorn scoffs.
“Ah recall earlier on you were sayin’ you trusted her to stay out of trouble...” Applejack replies, pointedly.
“Yes, but I was clearly delusional at the time.”
“Well we’re not going back. I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Twilight reassures her fellow unicorn.
Rainbow Dash tempts fate.
“Less than excited.”
“Seriously?” in chorus her friends turn to stare at her.
“I just know when I’m missing something good!” the pegasus responds, throwing her hooves in the air in exasperation, “I have a sense for these things...”
“Well, at least the fire is out...”
Three, probably insufficiently chastised, fillies stand watching the last drizzle of a heavy-duty fire-fighting cloud turn to mist and sink languidly to the ground. Several pegasi flitter overhead, double checking for errant thunderclouds like the one they’ve been told caused the fire.
“Good thing you girls were nearby really,” the chief fire-pegasus comments, almost casually. “A half dozen trees might seem bad but if this had spread, and it’s been very dry recently so it easily would have, we could have had a real problem on our hooves.”
Two fillies look down sheepishly. Scootaloo is otherwise occupied watching the overhead pegasi work, and if you could lip read you could see exactly what she is thinking.
“I said,” the chief tries again, slightly louder this time, “this could have been really bad.” And because he is a knowledgeable, responsible pony and knows his audience, follows up with, “Are you listening, Scootaloo?”
“Hmm? Yes dad...”
“And it’s never going to happen again. Am I right?”
“Yes dad.”
“And if this was intentional, you’re grounded for a month.”
That registered.
“No, honestly, it wasn’t!”
Scootaloo is saved from further parental interrogation when the airborne pegasi come in to land and report that all the nearby clouds have been dispersed as a precaution. Managed weather over Everfree is however a short-lived thing, quickly reshaped by the strange forces at work therein. Still, satisfied with their work, the fire-ponies soon return to base. Scootaloo’s father takes a second to tussle his daughter’s hair and remind her once more to ‘Stay out of trouble, as best you can’ before departing too.
“I’m actually surprised we don’t see your dad more often,” Apple Bloom thinks out loud.
“Hey, I’m careful when it comes to inflammables!” Scootaloo bristles at the perceived insult.
“I think that’s definitely enough crusading for one day...”
Sweetie Belle casts her gaze into the scorched and soaked patch of ex-forest. She sighs, turns and begins plodding back into town, closely followed by her fellow Crusaders-on-hiatus.
“Actually, I think it’s probably enough for a whole week,” Apple Bloom can’t help but smirk. “How about we just hang out together for a bit instead?”
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
“Also, I guess we should have said sooner, but you’ve got some... stuff... in your mane Sweetie.”
“Mmm?” the unicorn distractedly sweeps a hoof through her hair, dislodging the twigs and tulip. She gives the tulip a look of petty disdain. “Meh, I prefer lillies.”
“Breep!”
“What’s that Scoot?”
“I didn’t say anything...”
“Bre-eeep!”
“It’s coming from Sweetie Belle.”
“Well, it’s not me!” the unicorn gives her mane another shake, and a small yellow fuzzy ball falls out.
“What’s that?” Apple Bloom approaches the ball and gives it a cautious tap with a hoof. It slowly uncurls four translucent wings and opens two bright green eyes.
“Breep?”
“D’aaw!” Sweetie scrunches down to bring her eye level to as near to the creature’s as she can get. “It’s adoooorable!”
“Heh, yeah it is pretty cute,” admits Apple Bloom.
“Achoo!” Scootaloo sneezes.
“I wonder what it is? Doesn’t look like a butterfly...”
“Breep?” the thing looks over towards the fallen and unwanted tulip.
“I don’t recognise it. Does it sound hungry to you though?” Sweetie looks to Apple Bloom for a second opinion. Her other friend responds first.
“Achoo! Eurgh. Maybe?”
Apple Bloom gently pushes the tulip closer to the fuzz ball. It smiles at her and proceeds to gulp down the flower in one go.
“Eyup,” she giggles, “And bless you, Scootaloo”
“Achoo! I- Achoo! I think I’m allergic to it...”
“Aw. Hey, maybe we could go ask Zecora what it is? And she’s bound to have some sort of potion that stops ponies being allergic to things!” Sweetie carefully pats it and it responds with a contented chitter.
“Maybe...”
“Well, if it was that hungry it must need looking after,” Sweetie reasons, “and I’ve been wanting a pet,” she addresses the small furry globe, “how about that little guy? Would you like to come home with me?”
“Breep!” it flaps its way airborne and then nestles itself back into Sweetie’s mane, when it goes back to chittering softly.
“Achoo!”
“Ah think it likes you Sweetie,” Apple Bloom smiles for her friend, happy that something is going right for her today.
“Great. Achoo! Ok, why don’t you guys go show it off or get it some more food or something and – Achoo! - I’ll go ask Zecora if she can make something to unallergify me. Achoo!”
“Breep!”
The other Crusaders offer Scootaloo their sympathy, ask her to pass their greetings and good will to their zebra friend and the three part ways.
“Hey there Miss Roseluck!” Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle stand tall, front hooves pressed to the front of a well loaded flower cart for balance.
“Hello girls. Staying out of trouble today?” the cream pony looks between the two fillies. “And where’s the third member of your mischief crew?”
“Miss Roseluck!” Apple Bloom dials her ‘poor wounded filly’ voice up to maximum, “We aren’t always in some kind of trouble! Ah’m saddened that you think of us like that...” just a touch of lip quiver, not too much, don’t want to over-sell it.
Roseluck looks to Sweetie Belle and simply asks, “Out of ten, how much trouble are you in, right now?”
“About four,” Sweetie doesn’t hesitate to answer, and her smile doesn’t waver.
“Oh, well actually it could be-”
“Breep?”
“Aaaaaaaaaah!”
“What’s wrong?”
“Aaaaaah! Aaaaaah! Get it away! Aaaaah!”
Ponies are naturally flighty creatures. Quite often when one panics an ages-old herd instinct kicks in for those nearby and they readily join the screaming and hollering and general rushing around in circles without even really knowing why. The ponies of Ponyville are however, by this point, relatively jaded about these kinds of things; only a few of the inhabitants look up and pay attention to the cries of the flower vendor, and nopony even breaks into a gallop.
“Parasprite!”
Until that word hits their ears.
Practice makes perfect, and very shortly afterwards the contents of the marketplace are exactly two ignorant fillies, three carts deemed too heavy and not valuable enough to have been worth saving, one - no, honestly, there’s more than one by now – some parasprites, one stuffed animal (probably a bear) dropped in the commotion by a small child (and mourned openly as the child is pulled away by a parent) and one Berry Punch slumped awkwardly across a park bench, snoring soundly.
“Well, I guess that makes it an eight,” Sweetie Belle cheerfully pronounces. Apple Bloom can only raise an eyebrow at her companion.
“Breep?”
“Bre-eep.”
“Breep!”
“Who is that knocking? Let me put down my broom. It’s lovely to see you again-”
“Hiya Miss Zecora!”
“… Not-Apple Bloom.”
Zecora pauses at the open door to her hut, looking down in confusion at the orange pegasus filly beaming up at her.
“Well, if I recall, you’re Scootaloo. I must confess, I did not expect you,” Zecora smiles kindly, even though her guest is not who she imagined.
“That’s me! I’m sorry to bother you, and Apple Bloom does send her regards, so does Sweetie Belle, but I was just wondering if you could help me, us, identify a critter? And maybe see if you know something that would stop me sneezing when I’m near it...”
“That is a skill I’m known to possess. But first let me ask, how bad is the mess?”
“What mess?”
But the reputation of the Cutie Mark Crusaders extends even into the wilds of Everfree. Zecora therefore treats this answer with the contempt it deserves, and answers only with a stare.
“Two out of five?” Scootaloo hazards.
Zecora nods in acceptance and motions for Scootaloo to enter her abode fully.
“I take it this creature is not now with you for I have not yet heard you exclaim ‘Achoo’.”
“Uhm, no.”
Zecora stands patiently, waiting to hear details of the animal. Scootaloo stands less patiently and more distractedly, looking about the hut at the masks, jars and flasks decorating the place. Eventually, Zecora clears her throat.
“Oh, you need to hear what it looks like or something I suppose.”
Zecora nods politely. Applying a little patience with the young has become second nature to her. And this one hasn’t broken anything in her hut, at least not yet.
“Well, it was about this big,” orange hooves describe an apple-sized object, “it was yellow, kinda fuzzy, round, with little see-through wings. Green eyes, some legs. Kinda cute, if you’re into that sort of thing I guess, I think a snake would be cooler personally. Little guy seemed rather hungry too...” Zecora looks more and more troubled as the description continues and by the end even Scootaloo has noticed the change.
“I hoped I’d seen the end of the blight caused by this thing. Parasprite!” Zecora announces.
“So... How bad?”
“Where once was one there’ll soon be plenty. I’d rate them sixteen out of twenty.”
Scootaloo takes a second to cancel the fraction down before looking suitably worried.
“Your town may soon be in grave peril once more. I do know that Pinkie Pie expelled them before; though I confess I do not know the how. Tell me if you know where the ‘sprites are now.”
“Well, there was only one, but Sweetie was taking it to the market. To get it something to eat, I think.”
Zecora winces when she hears this.
“When I find myself in a dire situation, in slowly increasing desperation, a tale from the wise I wish to quote; a simple one I know by rote.”
Scootaloo stands ready and waiting to receive the, no doubt considerable, learnings that the zebra is about to impart. Thoughts of glory swim through her mind as she envisions herself standing before crowds, a hero, receiving awards and adulation for saving the town from such great danger, much like her idol Rainbow Dash has done. Her foremost concern is, of course, deciding what colour cape she should start wearing. She snaps out of her reverie just in time to hear Zecora begin.
“Oh, bugger.”
When no more words are forthcoming, Scootaloo briefly ponders the two she did get and makes her decision.
“Not what I was expecting, but it’s pithy. I like it.”
“Ah sure hope Scoots found out something about yer new pet...s from Zecora.”
Apple Bloom waves a hoof in front of Sweetie Belle’s face. Her friend’s eyes are fixed forwards, unfocused and unseeing, and she’s standing rigid in catatonic shock.
“Like, why everypony is so afraid of it. Them. Ok they seem to breed pretty quick, but we’ll just take the, uh, dozen?” she does a rough count of the colourful balls peeking out of Sweetie’s mane before continuing, “Fourteen... We have here back to where we found them and let them back into the woods.”
Slowly, Sweetie’s eyes spin to face Apple Bloom and her reassuring smile.
“They’re disobeying thermodynamics Apple Bloom. And they’re doing it in my hair!”
“Breep!”
“And...?” Apple Bloom prompts, confused.
“Terrifying...”
“Oh, snap out of it!” she gives her friend a gentle nudge, dislodging a few of the parasprites which take to the air. Sweetie gasps and looks at them.
“Noo! Don’t give them kinetic energy! Who knows what they’ll do with it!”
“Not me, and Ah ain’t sure if Ah care. Lets just take them away... Oh, see, they’re leaving on their own now.”
One of the flying sprites sniffs at the air and begins to drift off. Several more detatch themselves from their pony host and begin to follow. They float over to a basket, overturned in the recent evacuation, and work together to tip it onto its side.
“Look, they’re even fixing up some of the mess...”
A lone pineapple is exposed and the swarm descends on it.
Scootaloo buzzes her way back into town on her scooter, grumbling under her breath about the parking ticket she found tucked between two padlocks and the tiny wheel-clamp on her wagon. She takes out her frustration with society by misusing more street furniture than she normally does. And paying so little attention to her other surroundings that she doesn’t notice the lack of ponies in the streets.
In fact she doesn’t even really notice her friends at first, except as something to jump over from the top railing of a fence she’s riding, and she has to arc around a street-light and come back to them.
“Nice moves, Scoot!”
“Oh, thanks ‘Bloom.”
“Breep!”
“Achoo! Oh, that reminds me, Zecora says that thing... Wait, wasn’t it yellow before? And why does Sweetie seem even more spaced out than normal?”
A trio of parasprites descend from the cloud above to settle on a helmeted orange head. A sneeze startles them back up to the sky, and Scootaloo’s eyes follow them upwards.
“Wow, they’ve been busy.”
Sweetie Belle squeaks and looks embarrassed, her cheeks flushing. Apple Bloom sighs and points in the direction she and Sweetie were travelling before Scootaloo rejoined them, towards Sweet Apple Acres; indicating that the they should be walking and talking.
“They’re eating all the flowers and fruit they can find too. Anyways, we were gonna to see if my granny or brother might have any ideas what to do with them. Sorting out pesky critters is one of the farming chores they say Ah’m still too young for.”
“Zecora says they’re called ‘Parasprites’,” Scootaloo relays as they head off, “and that Pinkie Pie got rid of them before.”
Apple Bloom pauses mid-nod and gives Scootaloo a disbelieving stare.
“Don’t whip the messenger! Achoo! I swear that’s what she said.”
“If one of Twilight’s friends,” Sweetie enters the conversation, “did something about them before, then maybe she wrote a letter to the Princess about it afterwards? We should ask Spike. The library is on they way to your farm, Apple Bloom.”
“Sounds good. Ah guess we should go there first.”
And so the three take a right turn onto their slight detour, occasionally having to dodge a screaming pony who’s worked up just enough courage to venture back outside before succumbing to the hysteria again.
“Ever wonder why there’s so much hollerin’ in this town?”
“Not really,” Sweetie admits. “Last Thursday it was our fault and I suppose it’s technically our fault again today.”
They reach the giant tree housing the local library. Aerial combat is being waged between a swarm of parasprites and the swarm of bees that makes its hive and home in the upper branches.
“Hey! Spike!” Apple Bloom knocks loudly on the door, “you in there?”
“It’s a public library, you know?” Sweetie says, pushing the door open and walking in.
Inside, the dragon sits at a small table, facing Owloysius. Square lettered yellow tiles trace intersecting paths across the table. He look up at the visitors.
“Hi, girls.”
“Spike!” Words pour from Apple Bloom. “The town’s being invaded by weird bugs!”
“I know, and I’ve already-”
“They’re eating all the food!”
“I know-”
“They’re called parasprites and they make me sneeze!”
“I-”
“That’s not how you spell ‘hypnotic’!”
“... What?”
Sweetie Belle points out a row of tiles on the table. The other Crusaders stare at her. “Oh, sorry, carry on.”
“I was trying to say that I’ve already sent a letter to the Princess. See, Twilight left me a list of things to do in case of an emergency while she’s away.”
He flourishes a piece of paper and shows it to the girls. Ticked off (force of habit) is ‘Step one: Contact Princess Celestia’. There is no step two.
“So, everything is under control. Relatively speaking.”
“That seems... just a might too convenient?”
The library walls shake.
“CITIZENS OF PONYVILLE!”
“Isn’t that... uncomfortable, Pinkie?”
The aforementioned pink pony is twisted up in a spiral. The tension suddenly releases and she snaps back to shape.
“A little bit, yeah. Not my favourite pinkie-sense, that one.”
“What does it mean?”
“Oh, some hack writer is trying to write an unexpected ending to something.”
The Crusaders, and Spike, rush to the town square and quickly prostrate themselves before their night princess.
“Greetings, young ones,” she motions for them to stand back up, “ceremony is unnecessary. Your call has been answered, we are here to assist thee.”
“Hi again, princess,” Spike speaks for all the non-royalty present. Which is just him, the Crusaders and a still unconscious Berry Punch. “So, what’s the plan?”
“Plan?” Luna blinks in surprise. “Thou hast a parasprite epidemic...”
“Yeah, so, we called you.”
“Achoo!”
“Bless thou, Our little pony.”
“Thanks.”
The dark alicorn casts her gaze about, assessing the number of parasprites, the condition of the town, and the ponies she has to work with.
“Dost thou not have a town piper?” she asks. “We had been informed that Pinkie Pie performed the function admirably only recently.”
“She’s not here. On holiday. They all are.”
“Regrettable,” Luna shakes her head sadly. “We had hoped to spend some more time with our saviours.”
Spike rocks back and forth, nervously. “So, uhm, what do we do?”
Luna smiles softly and looks towards Canterlot in the distance, “I do not know whether to be overjoyed or appalled that you all have no idea,” she speaks quietly, as though to herself.
The dragon and Crusaders look between themselves, unsettled. Scootaloo sneezes again.
“Very well!” the princess returns from whatever thoughts she was lost in. “Do any of you four have any skill with a musical instrument?”
“I can play the piano.” Spike offers cautiously. Luna looks unsure.
“We are afraid that is not a word we recognise. What manner does it take?”
“Uh. What’s it like? Big? Lots of keys?”
“As a harpsichord? Too unwieldy. A pity too, for we enjoy the harpsichord.”
“Sweetie here can sing!” Scootaloo pushes her friend forward, where she tries to hide behind her hooves.
“Not in public!” the unicorn complains.
“Your nerves may be soothed,” Luna pats Sweetie gently on the head, “for although the gift of song is a wonderful one, today we require instrumental music specifically.”
“Achoo!”
“Bless thou. Dost thou have some manner of affliction?”
“What? I think I’m allergic to the parasprites.”
“Ooh!” Apple Bloom pipes up, “what about that green unicorn who sits funny? She’s got one of those curly golden string instruments for a cutie mark,” she traces a ‘U’-shape in the air for the princess.
“A lyre?”
“No, she’s telling the truth!” Sweetie exclaims and grins.
Luna gives her a flat stare. “Yes, very droll.”
“Aaw, you’ve heard it?” the grin turns to disappointment.
“Still, if this pony does have some skill with the lyre that should be sufficient. Tell us where we may find her abode?”
“Her what?” Apple Bloom looks puzzled, as do Spike and Scootaloo.
“Domicile?”
No improvement. Sweetie shares the princess’s exasperated look.
“I understand about Apple Bloom and Scootaloo,” she says, “but Spike, you live surrounded by books. How do you not know any words?”
“I just shelve them, I don’t read them!”
“Where does she live?” Sweetie translates, to a grateful nod from Luna.
“Oh. I have no idea.”
“She could be anywhere in all this panic,” Scootaloo points out before sneezing yet again.
One custom that has survived her thousand-year banishment unchanged is the face-hoof and Luna performs a royal one now.
“Tell us there is a vendor of instruments in this town, at least?” she asks hopefully.
The fillies nod and point towards the market.
Soon thereafter we find a princess and two filles strolling down the main street of Ponyville, with another filly and a dragon balanced on the princess’s back. The music accompanying them can best be described as ‘rudimentary’.
Apple Bloom is plucking some basic chords on a banjo. Spike has managed to find a portable magic-keyboard (a small marvel in Luna’s eyes) which unfortunately produces only reedy thin notes. Sweetie Belle is levitating a triangle alongside herself, tapping it rhythmically and trying to avoid looking at it because it’s wreathed in small flames. Scootaloo is banned from playing anything because the result was more disruptive than helpful, and only partly due to her continual sneezing. Luna is levitating a flute to her lips and although not incompetent with it, makes frequent mistakes.
But the effect is pronounced. Lines of parasprites have fallen into formation behind the unusual travelling band. They hop and bounce to the beat, some occasionally colliding when Luna plays an out-of-place note.
The crew makes one last pass through the market to ensure they’ve collected every last one of the invading flying-stomachs. Berry Punch snorts in her sleep and rolls over at the sound of the passing parade, but doesn’t awaken. Luna then leads the procession out of town, in the direction of Ghastly Gorge.
The town ponies watch from inside their houses during all of this, huddled together for protection and staring in amazement and admiration as the dark form of their lesser-known princess strides through their streets playing the most bizzare rendition of ‘Greensleeves’ they are ever likely to hear.
Some time after she and her escort have left, and the final lines of parasprites have vanished over the horizon, ponies start to leave the safety of their homes and strike up conversation.
A green unicorn with a lyre for a cutie mark looks wistfully into the distance in the direction in which the princess departed. She sighs heavily, before unceremoniously shoving Berry Punch off her favourite bench. The fall startles the plum coloured mare into consciousness, and she stares up at her attacker, then at the mess left by the parasprites.
“What’d I miss?”
“And, that’s all there is to it?” Sweetie Belle asks as the town’s saviours stand to one side to let the streams of parasprites funnel into a crevice that leads down to the bottom of the gorge.
Luna takes the flute from her lips. At this stage the creatures are firmly enthralled and continue on without her part.
“Very nearly, yes.” She looks over her borrowed instrument and smiles to herself. “We have not had to play the piper in, well, we suppose you know how long.”
“You play really well,” Sweetie is quick to complement.
“It’s no dubstep,” mumbles Scootaloo, but Apple Bloom hushes her.
“Flatterer,” Luna says, softly (having missed Scootaloo’s comment). “But a thousand years of vacuum does make it hard to stay in practice.”
“That’s the last of them!” Spike stops playing as the last few fuzzballs flitter out of sight. “I hope they like it down there.”
Luna smiles sweetly, “Oh, yes, we are sure they will.”
“Doesn’t seem like there’s much food for them out here, but I suppose they don’t need much after all.”
“Unlikely.”
“So,” Apple Bloom hops down from Luna’s back, “thankyou so much Luna! Ah don’t know how we would have coped without ya!”
“Oh, think nothing of it,” the alicorn waves a hoof in dismissal. “I am your princess and I take my responsibilities seriously,” she looks towards Canterlot again, “all of them.”
“Uh...”
“And We believe that today, one such responsibility is the celebration and reward owed to three filles and one dragon,” Luna smiles at her assistants.
“Well, that’s mighty kind of you, but-”
“We believe the appropriate custom in these times is ‘ice-cream’,” Luna handles the word strangely as though unsure what it entails.
“You... don’t know what ice-cream is, do you princess?” asks Spike.
“I do not,” she answers softly.
“Then you’re in for a treat yourself!” Scootaloo bounces up and down. “There’s chocolate, and mint, and raspberry, and strawberry-”
“It is a dessert?”
The filles and dragon nod their head vigorously.
“We believe we shall approve of this custom. In fact, perhaps we ought to decree.” Luna turns to face towards the gorge.
“ICE-CREAM FOR EVERYPONY!”
There is a rumbling and sliding noise, a crash and a few softer thuds followed by the distinctive noise of gravel coming to rest.
“What was that?” Apple Bloom asks.
Sweetie Belle considers for a second. “Sounded an avalanche to me.”
“A big one?” Spike nervously looks towards the canyon.
“About a six,” Scootaloo and Sweetie answer in unison.
“Yes, well,” Luna turns the fillies and dragon back toward town, “We recall the promise of dessert.”
“We just sent the parasprites in there.”
“You mentioned raspberry?”
“I hope they’re all right”
“We can assure you that they are no longer in any danger,” Luna states confidently. “Trust us, We are a princess; We know these things.”
“Oh, well, that’s ok then!” Spike smiles happily. “Hey, Luna, if we’re getting ice-cream, can I have emerald flavour?”
“We shall see what can be arranged.”
A trail of smoke curls into the office of Princess Celestia, gathers into a ball and bursts, leaving behind a sealed scroll. The princess smiles as she catches the scroll in an aura of magic, breaks the seal and unravels it to read.
“So, how much trouble have you caused today, dear sister?” she says to herself as she begins to read. The smile fades slightly as she reads, which does not take long.
“Hmm,” she considers, “oh to be from simpler times. An effective response, if perhaps a little... brutal... for modern times.”
Perched on the shoulder of the princess, Philomena caws.
“I am aware that you believe ‘fire is always an appropriate response’ my dear, however that’s not how we do things in Equestria. Frankly, Luna should know better. But I can’t begrudge her some outlet for her urges. So long as she doesn’t make a habit of it.”
The princess places the scroll onto a stack of filing to be done and returns to her work.
The parchment reads:
Luna’s report. Incident #67 (PNMM)
Location: Ponyville. Problem: Invasion by parasprites (level 2)
No piper present in town, I strongly suggest one be assigned.
Temporary pipers successfully drafted. Paid in ice-cream. (Personal note: Stars above, why did you not tell me this existed before now Tia? I thought you loved me!)
Parasprites removed from town. Led to secluded location. Crushed beneath sedimentary landslide. Zero survivors.