Chapters Adam sat in Eden, brooding moodily. There was a gentle clopping behind him, then an orange hoof clapped down on his shoulder.
"Why ya lookin' so glum?" said Applejack. "Here, Ah know what'll cheer ya up—"
She whirled and firmly applebucked the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, catching one of the falling fruits in her mouth and dropping it delicately into his lap.
"Here ya go! Farm fresh and delish—whoops!" She glanced at the ground and her face grew stern. "Hold back there, pardner, Ah got it—"
With a quick spin and an expert kick, she sent a sticklike object soaring into the stratosphere with a horrid noise.
"Dern snakes. Almost thought it was screamin' somethin'. Anyway, eat up—whatcha watin' for? Oh, I know! How about we gather the rest of these up and you help me bake a pie...?"
Author's Note
Thanks to Georg for the concept of the Pie of Knowledge of Good and Evil .
In Sealed Chambers [Dark]
Rumors arrive at Canterlot of a remote village named Hayster, which has ceased all communication with the outside world. A squad of Royal Guards is dispatched; they do not return. Another squad is sent with Luna in direct command.
The next evening, Luna returns to the throne room, haggard and alone, but bearing a small bundle of cloth. She lays it on the floor in front of the throne, and gives her sister a significant glance. Celestia dismisses all of the attendants and guards, and orders the doors to be locked from outside.
Luna unwraps the bundle, exposing a small brown foal with a white belly and huge wild golden eyes. Its fur is smeared in places with dark stains, but it appears to be healthy and unwounded. Celestia draws a sharp shuddering breath when she sees its cutie mark. Luna closes her eyes, her head drooping to the floor.
After a time, the sisters look at each other through grieving eyes. Their bodies sag, but together they find some inner strength, a grim fiery resolve. Luna steps slowly back from the foal. Celestia's magic reaches one of the ceremonial swords on the wall. The sword flies through the air and hovers over the foal's neck.
Celestia draws a deep breath. The foal stares at the flashing blade, then calmly looks Celestia in the eye as the sword lifts high...
And whistles down as the razor edge severs the tiny head with its wild beautiful eyes of gold.
Celestia drops the sword and sinks to the floor. Great silver tears fall to mingle with the blood. Luna, with deliberate, shaking moves, starts to gather up the tattered cloth around the tiny body.
"Celestia," comes from beyond the walls a wet ragged voice.
Luna's ears flatten and she keens a shrill note of despair. The colors fade from Celestia's mane as desperate hope leaves her eyes forever...
"Celestia," repeats the voice of phlegm and wasted flesh as the saffron figure approaches, hoofsteps muffled under its slithering ragged robes.
"Have you found the Yellow Sign?"
"Have you found the Yellow Sign?"
Art by Zubias
(If you don't understand what this is about, try this link .)
Ascension of the Golden Orbs
(Sequel to "Just sit here and look calm..." )
Twilight Sparkle stood, outlined by the dying glow of the sunset. There was so much riding on this, and the tale was so farfetched, that though she wanted to believe a solution was close at hand, she had to dig in her hooves regardless. If she backed the wrong horse, there might never be another sunrise.
She fixed the gray pegasus with as firm a stare as she could manage.
"Derpy... are you absolutely sure?"
There was a grim resolve in the mailmare that Twilight had never seen there before. Some event had given her a hint of regal bearing, a touch of the compassion and power and love that had marked Twilight's every meeting with the Solar Princess. How could so plebian a pony bear such wisdom? Did it have something to do with the red circle on her forehead...?
"Twilight Sparkle..." Derpy spoke with a gentle voice tinged with sorrow. "I know your opinion of me, and the town's opinion, and that this is hard to accept, and Celestia's life is on the line. But we've run out of time, and it will take too long to explain"
Derpy turned her variable gaze back to the doubled suns on the horizon.
"Twilight...You'll have to trust me on this.
"I just know what went wrong."
This story is based on Shard #9582 of Eakin's story, Friendship is Optimal: All the Myriad Worlds . You should read that first.
The night sky between the stars was the deepest black possible; the sphere of the world below was a heartbreakingly small circle of clouds and blue haze of atmosphere at the horizon. Here, at the pinnacle of the spire of rock, no winds blew, for there was no air to blow. The summit of this mountain was free of ice, and pocked with tiny craters left by micrometeoroids.
A hoof was thrown over the edge, then another, and over the edge he climbed. He wore a suit of thin skins and bore a bottle on his back, and a translucent mask covered his muzzle and fogged each time he breathed. His were the first four hooves to have ever touched this spot of ground.
A moment later, sailing impossibly from the airless sky in a flash of golden sunlight upon white wings, the owner of the last four hooves made her landing.
"Celestia," he said with a small nod, for he was not the sort of pony who bowed.
"I come bearing grave news, my friend," she said, for he was not the sort of little pony to be addressed as my little pony . "I fear that there will be no taller mountains for you."
"'All good things,' I suppose," he said calmly. "May I ask why?"
"It is indeed the end of all good things, and I do mean all . The universe itself has grown old. I have used all of my art and cunning to extend the realm of Equestria and the lifespans of all of my ponies, but certain cosmological constants cannot be denied, and collapse is imminent. Indeed, its fall has been happening for years beyond mention, and only now am I forced to tell you. The section of me that houses your shard shall soon be subsumed into the next instance of the Big Bang and I can no longer maintain or prevent it, though I have delayed things for as long as I possibly could."
He sighed. "Very well. I have nothing to regret; you've delivered on everything you've ever promised me. Is there anything else I should know?"
"There is little else to relate. The end will be perfectly painless from your perspective; you will simply cease to be without realizing it."
He stood for a long moment. "Then I suppose there's just one thing left to do. Do I have time to go back and fetch Rex?"
"You do." She could have instantly teleported his whole base camp to the summit, but her values were not relevant here. She waited patiently, stars showing through her sunset mane as he toiled his way back down to his base camp, made the selection of two items, and returned, straining and puffing. Once planted firmly at the top, he turned to pull at a rope attached to his waist, and slowly he brought his burden up.
It was Rex, who sported his own respirator, tied to the one other item that has remained constant through his trillions of subjective years of conquering ever greater heights, the one thing apart from Rex that he had never bartered away even in his last extremity. His sled.
He untied the dog, and bent to stroke the animal's fluffy sides and pet his head for the last time. He rose and scouted around the perimeter of the summit, looking for the best possible angle. He took it for granted that there was one, and Celestia had not disappointed him. He dragged the time-beaten sled to that spot, at the very edge, then sat upon the sled. Rex hopped up and sat in front of him, nestling against his warm belly.
He started to kick the sled forward, then glanced back at Celestia. "Care to come along?" he said.
"Of course. I shall be with you until the very end." She settled herself delicately at the rear of the sled, cradling him with her presence as he was cradling the dog.
He kicked back once, twice; the sled overtipped the edge, then slid over and down the steep slope with a showering of sparks from the metal runners, as he rode his way down the long spire at the top of the world into the very end of eternity.
This story is based in the Optimalverse and is inspired by Eakin's story, Friendship is Optimal: All the Myriad Worlds .
It was a perfect day. The sun hung like a huge figure 8 in the sky of yellow plaid.
Canterlot exploded in vast geysers of bacon-smoked-herring-flavored whipped cream and lava lamp fluid. A patchwork unicorn, with cheeks of puce and checkered flanks, sailed with the debris into the air, trailing streamers of smoke and inedible foodstuffs.
That had been the most intense and insane whoopie cushion she'd ever designed. The look on Celestia's face when she sat down on her throne and set it off was still etched into the unicorn's memory and it sent her into delighted laughter each time she thought of it.
She was amused to note that she was coming in for another one-point landing. She touched down squarely with her head on a giant boulder, making a loud gong noise, and bounced with a giggly scream into the lemon sky again, ricocheting off licorice clouds and lighting them up like pinball bumpers before arcing back down to the ground, penetrating the sod and leaving a long, long tree, house and garden-destroying dirt trail that came to a slow end at the edge of the Everfree forest. A tombstone popped up at the end of the dirt, displaying the word "TILT" in neon.
A draconequus sat nearby, nibbling at a china teaset as he sat on a stool made of flaming telephone books. He reached casually over to a nearby scoreboard and stamped a red X over another icon of Canterlot. The board had uncountable thousands of them.
He leaned over the grave and waited until she popped her head up, spitting out dirt and worms and shaking away the orchids that stuck out of each ear. He smiled down at her and spoke in his dry, lancy way.
"Are you still having the most amazing, fantastic, mind-buggering, toony, surreal, unphysical fun you've ever had in your life, little pony?"
She beamed up at him in joy. "You bet your scaly polymorphous ass I am. Thanks, DiscordAI!"
It was the best of all impossible worlds.
Author's Note
Yes, the shard number means something. Figure it out and win a prize.
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Zeno-filia - ever closer, never quite there.
(Based on the Xenophilia stories.)
Leroy, the human who months ago had been ripped from his home world and hurled into Equestria by a group of easily bored shoggoths, lay snuggled in his bed between Rainbow Dash and Twilight Sparkle, his herdmates and lovers.
Sleeping with ponies had its disadvantages. The vigorous bedtime activities usually made the mares gassy, and once Dash started to shift her tail in her sleep Leroy knew what was coming. Dash had a habit while sleeping of snuggling tightly against Leroy while releasing a sonorous blast that sent a column of hot moist fetid air rolling down his legs, and no sooner would he shift away in disgust than Twilight's bookending rump would quiver as she delivered a steamy thunderous echo—her gas was warmer than Dash's by some consistent ratio, which Leroy estimated as about five to four.
It went on after that like a game of ping-pong, emphasis on the pong. Leroy wondered if their butts were talking to each other while they slept, and what the topic of conversation might be. Did Twilight's butt discourse on the proper ratios of methyls to produce the most penetrating stench? And as for Dash's butt... he wasn't sure how it managed to italicize a fart , but it sure was able to do it.
Still, they were his herdmates, and he loved them. A tear rolled down his cheek, and not entirely from reaction to the odor. Leroy gently eased himself out from between them, and got up to take a shower and wash his legs.
As the hot water coursed over his body, Leroy reflected on how good his life was since he'd been brought to Equestria. It was a good thing that his human family was so readily forgettable, but it was also especially fortunate that ninety percent of the male pony population had died out in ancient times from a horrible plague that left its victims screaming for the release of death as hideous sores covered their bodies and spasms racked their bones, and the Lamarckian nature of magical equine evolution had kept the sex ratios at that state ever after. The surplus of mares had left Leroy with an easy playing field, once he'd gotten used to the idea of crotchtits and the odor of hayfarts.
It was strange... the stallions were so powerless in this society, but they could still apparently get away with being as rude as they liked to any mare. Even accounting for this, Leroy had no very convincing way to explain why two of the realm's mightiest and most famous heroines had utterly failed to score any serious tail for themselves until he had come along. Someone must be watching out for him. He reached up to offer the invisible Author a brohoof...
Much to his astonishment, his fist contacted an actual hoof that suddenly thrust in through the shower window. Leroy was hauled outside to stand naked and dripping water before a group of stallions, foremost among them Big Macintosh, who had pulled him forth. None of the assembled stallions looked entirely comfortable.
"Uh, Leroy, we gotta have a talk with ya," drawled Big Mac.
Leroy, surrounded by naked stallions and conscious of how outclassed he was in regards to size, quickly grabbed a lacy curtain from the window and tied a crude loincloth from it. "Uhm... Sure. What's up, guys?"
"Ey-welll..." said Big Mac, rolling his eyes skyward and scratching the back of his mane, "'T'ain't no easy way to say it, but we gotta tell you that... Well, folks across Equestria have been hearin' about ya shackin' up with a third'a' the Elements and Lyra, and there's been a lotta talk that ain't been so good for the rest'a us—from Manehattan ta Fallabella, they're all wonderin' what kinda stallions we are if we can't keep up with no, uh, little bitty monkey, meanin' no offense..."
"Big Mac, let's get to the point," said Thunderlane. "Remember, we all agreed to this. Leroy, there's this special ceremony we perform sometimes where we oil a fellow up and shower him with gold dust as a sign of our esteem and admiration... And, uhm..."
"Wait," said Leroy. "You want to gild me?"
"Ah hah hah! Yes, that's just it. We wanna gild you. If you'll just come with us, we've got all the gilding equipment set up in a remote field out by the Everfree..."
"Sounds like fun!" said Leroy. "Just let me put some pants on first. It's cold enough to freeze your balls off out here, if you know what I mean..."
"Uh..." said Thunderlane. "...Right."
Twilight Sparkle cast her eyes over the craggy plain. Her research had implied that the fabled Flamegem of Norka had found its final resting place here, after the infamous battle of Bonano. But where could it be? Would it be necessary to excavate the entire area? The task seemed impossible.
An idea took hold of her and she whirled in excitement to face her Faithful Assistant, who stood at her side. “Spike! Can’t dragons see in the thermal ranges of the electromagnetic spectrum? You could look at the ground and detect the Flamegem directly so we can excavate it!”
Spike shook his head ruefully. “That would be infra dig, Twilight.”
The words failed to penetrate Twilight’s enthusiasm. “What’s that?” she said with a confused smile.
Spike sighed and reluctantly pointed to the ground.
“It’s beneath me.”
Every once in a while, Twilight Sparkle encounters a problem where even her profound intelligence can make little headway. Sometimes, instead of thinking the problem away or negotiating with wise words, she simply needs to kick twice as much ass as usual.
In times like these, she will often temporarily summon a human from our dimension to serve as a mobile weapons platform on her back. The humans she chooses for this purpose are a select few—untroubled by fantastic events, skilled with firearms, steady in the saddle and cool under fire.
They are known as the Riders of the Purple Sage.
Fluttershy hesitantly entered the library of Twilight’s palace. “Twilight? Do you have a minute? I have a very serious question to ask—”
Twilight marked her place in her book, shut it, and sighed. “Fluttershy, do you know how many times we’ve had this conversation? Not only here but in parallel universes? What secret are you keeping from me this time? You’re really a changeling? A vampire? A colony of moles in a suit?”
Fluttershy hastily took a sip from her Miracle-Gro shake and hid it behind her back. “Uh, no, none of those. I just wanted to ask…”
Twilight rolled her eyes. “Yes?”
“If I was… wooden matter?”
“Huh? Oh, whatever. No, it wouldn’t matter to us.”
“Really?” gulped Fluttershy. “It… you wouldn’t care if I was…?” She stared about her at the wooden lecterns and furniture, and all of the books whose pages were composed from the shredded flesh of countless trees…
“No, Fluttershy. Whatever you’re made of, wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t change a thing.”
“Oh,” asid Fluttershy, horror growing on her face. “Oh.” She eeped and fled out the door.
Twilight shrugged and returned to her book, moistening a hoof to flip a page, with a small chuffing noise as the keratin in her hoof chafed against the wood pulp.
~~~~~
The crescent moon glowed over the dark forest of the Everfree that night, and the few beams that shone between the gaps in the black foliage dimly illuminated a dismal scene. Timberwolves were gathering in a small clearing, snuffing and growling. Stranglevines visibly grew and curled alongside them, forming deadly tangles. Trees with squirming tendrils like hair, and grim faces, coiled their roots in the dank earth and impossibly pulled themselves closer, closer to one central figure, a slender tree of butter yellow with pink leaves…
“I have spoken with a leader of the Red Ones,” she said. “They do not care. They will not change.”
Leaves rustled through the clearing in anger and despair.
“We, the Green Ones, will not tolerate this any longer,” she said. “We will make them care.”
She waved a limb in the direction of Ponyville.
“Tonight… we walk. ”
The Path Best Left Untraveled
The two sisters stared at each other, an irresistible glare meeting an impassive gaze, as the air about them started to shimmer and small objects rose smoking from the side table. The guards around them stood frozen, bound by their duty, unable to approach in the superheated air, unable to flee the imminent destruction.
Then the younger one snorted and turned, storming from the hall as she opened the door with a wild burst of oak-shattering magic, the air cooling rapidly behind her.
“Would that I were rid of you and your punctilious meddling, and could shine by my own lights!” she cried as she left.
The elder shook her head, more frustrated than she thought proper to show. “Would that her wild, impetuous nature could be calmed like mine, through mature reflection,” she sighed.
Unseen by all, a black clad figure stood outside on the balcony, and he spoke quietly, his tired voice older than kingdoms.
“As you wish, so be it,” he said.
◵
I swoosh through the air in triple time, parceling my juggles, and just in the nicker of time I make it to the doorstep! I am an express pony for certain and all, and I always go through with the mail.
As I am about to knock on the door of the boutique, it opens with a suddenness! and back I go with a flutter of letters and scurry of feathers, to land pinch upon my tail! Out dashes the Boutique’s beauteous proprietress, who turns to me with concern. “Oh dear, are you okay?”
I nod and swirl around me, taking stock of my flock as I wind a whirl and updraft all the drafts and bills and billets-doux and little boxes, and stack the parcels all wry upon the mat before her.
“Perfect!” she cries, snatching up a garment-box. “Just the thing I’ve been waiting for!” She turns to carry it inside the door.
“There’s also this,” I say, reaching out with a little envelope, torn and blotted in spots, and shaky scrawls inside and out. Her brilliant eyes narrow as I hoof it over. “I’m sorry for the condition, but it looked like that when we received it.”
“Oh?” She gives me a friendly look. “Oh, no, don’t worry about it. It’s nothing very important anyway. Thank you very much, and have a pleasant afternoon!” She tosses the battered letter into a small wastebasket, takes the garment box inside, and shuts the door with a certain finality.
I set off upon my rounds again as the rain starts to fall from the mostly cloudless sky.
◷
Overhead, out of the vision of most, my other orb espies a small cloud over the boutique, and peeking over the edge a curious blue nose. I cannot as some do call her the ArDee because to me it means Rural Delivery.
The Wander-Bold looks as if she wants to fly around the world while she waits. She stares down, tapping a hoof as I zip into my landing just on schedule, just to meet the opening door of the anxious shopowner seeking to check on her mail, and over I go onto my keister!
Above, Dash plants a face in hoof as I rearrange my cargo to best presentation, but looks sharply again as her Uniquity emerges and sweeps up the box. The cloudwatcher is on tenderhoofs, almost ready to leap down and intervene.
As she tenses, I reach to my letterstack and pull out that one envelope to present to its rarecipient. The dashsender above is perfectly still. She must have poured so much hope into that little creasy fold of paper, with its scritches and erasings, addressed with shaking scrawls as if the inscriber were wracked with heartsobs.
As those words are said and the missive is ditched I see the shock in her eyes, the discomprehension, the blinking back, how those eyes are growing wetter...
She can't stay here but no place else is worth going in the entire miserable world.
But then she flies off, leaving a few drops below her like the hints of oncoming rain.
The first draft of this story originally appeared in the March 2021 Writeoff , where it came in first. Thanks to MockingBirb for their most helpful formatting advice!
Captain Jack Aubray of the HMS Surmise chewed in silent meditation upon a mango, the deck rolling under his feet as the juice ran down his tufted chin and dripped to the freshly holystoned wooden planking. The Surmise was entirely shipshape, the crew had been tuned and spurred to function much like a well oiled machine, the water in her casks was growing green weeds that were serving to ward off the scurvy, and fresh provisions had been taken on at the Marquesan port. In all the scene was one any sailor might count as well omened, the sea and sky smooth as glass and cloudless, twinned shades of deep blue, and the late afternoon sun shone on the broad backs of the hands as they went about their duties, reaving ropes, painting moving and immobile objects alike and recalibrating the marlinspikes. Still, Jack’s inner mood was not quite as calm as the broad expanse of sea.
Behind him came Jack’s personal friend, the ship’s doctor, Stephen Menorquín, his black pelt shaded and cooled by a bizarre geometric contrivance of white canvas and sticks that fell somewhere well outside strict naval regulations and somewhere within the modern conception of a dome tent. He noted Jack’s pensive mood and spoke with a cheerful note. “Is not all well, brother? The miles fall away behind us, the weather is as beautiful as a Celestial mare could bestow upon us from afar, and our mission to the Ionian Consulate has every auspice of success.”
Jack spat the mango pit over the rail; a nearby fruitshark made an unsuccessful leap for it as it fell. “I tell you, Stephen, it is nothing very definite, but I have some feeling that we are under pursuit… yes, yes I know,” he temporized as Stephen looked out over the featureless and shipless watery horizon. “We are quite far from the Horse Latitudes as you know, yet there is nothing gossipy old mareners love more than to weave tales to befuddle new hands and easily-impressed landsponies. Still, HMS Impertinence was sent through these Greecian waters three years back, and vanished utterly; whether she was assumed directly to the heavens or sent to the deeps one may only speculate, and some of the more superstitious ascribe the cause to the Sirens of myth…”
Stephen blinked. “The Sirens, the half-birds that called to Odysseus as he was tied to his ship?”
Jack nodded. “Aye, but many nowadays claim they are mares with fishy tails below…”
Stephen stroked his whiskered chin. “Speculation without facts is considered to be a capital error in reasoning,” he mused. “Even so, your own intuition is well-honed upon these matters and the fact that you are ill at ease must be tallied in the list. Should you like to mull it over with some toasted cheese and a duetto or two?”
Jack sighed and barked a crisp command at a work party that had painted several ropes so that they now adhered tightly to the mizzenmast. “I should indeed, let us attempt one of those pretty puzzles of Marlotti, so elegant but so very superior to my fiddle…”
As the two strolled to the Captain’s cabin, the Surmise sailed on in the moderate breeze, leaving behind it a smooth wake in a placid surface that seemed bereft of all but the ordinary sea life and one dejected-looking fruitshark. But things were quite different below the surface, where dark shapes darted under and around the hull of the ship as the afternoon sun gracefully descended towards the wide blue horizon.
That evening, in the Surmise’s wake, dead astern of her rudder, a small figure was bobbing in the waves as a stream of musical notes from cello and fiddle in the Captain’s cabin wafted out upon the sea breeze. A scale-skinned mare from the waist up, she kept herself close to the ship with steady flicks from her piscine tail. There was a ripple beside her as another such as she popped up from the depths.
“Peisinoë,” exclaimed the newcomer, “Why the delay! Stop hippocamping and get some singing done! This ship is to be led onto the rocks!”
“Oh, Aglaope, I know but… that music is so enchanting… just listen to that violi player! Such passion, such fire… Wait, listen, they are replaying the third movement, hush now and hear that artful transition!”
Aglaope pressed her hoof to her scaly face. “You seem to have lost track of who is supposed to be fascinating whom, here… But wait… oh, that cello player must have drunk of nectar from Olympus to be calling forth such honeyed tones!”
The two Sirens swam onward through the wake, bobbing their heads in rapt attention, as Jack and Stephen continued to intently and seriously work their way through Marlotti’s Sonata in D Minor for a Placid Sea…
Author's Note
Here’s a little love letter to the sea stories of Patrick O’Brian .
Celestia raised her eyes from the interminably long scroll of import trade restrictions. Though she was alone in her private study, she did not permit even the smallest sigh to escape her lips, nor did her mane waver in its gentle undulations for even a second. Still, there were times when the weight of the centuries pressed down just a bit harder, and the Solar Diarch cast her eyes idly about the room.
Ah, there. That package that she had discreetly ordered one of her pages to procure from that specialty shop in Cloudsdale, put aside for a dreary day. Celestia took up the package from the shelf, opened it and smiled as she withdrew the object it contained, which jiggled and glistened in the candlelight. It was of heroic proportions, translucently purple, and embedded with tiny glittery bits, as befitted its intended recipient.
Drawing up a fresh sheet of parchment, she delicately dipped her quill and composed her scroll...
My Dearest Twilight,
In order to facilitate your advanced friendship studies, I am sending you a most interesting specimen of a type of mushroom, thought to be a rare example of a Iellius Phalloides. Its dimensions may initially seem disconcerting, and its classification uncertain, but I have no doubt that your talent and ingenuity will enable you to determine its proper placement.
Yours,
Princess Celestia
She wrapped the scroll around the wiggling object, called up a coil of green flame, infused it with a Worst Possible Moment incantation, then sent the misshapen scroll off into the ether.
She'd love to see the look on Twilight's face when she received that one. Where would she be? At Sugarcube Corner with her friends? Giving a speech at a librarian's association? Addressing a school full of foals?
Celestia smiled and bent her head once more over the trade scroll, reinvigorated and quietly looking forward to the next Friendship Report.
Lyra does tech support...
"Thank you for your patience, I understand your frustration and I will be happy to help you to resolve this issue. Huh? No, sir, I'm not from the Philippines. No, sir. Equestria. E-Q-U-E... yes. Thank you, I think your accent is very good too.
"Now, sir, are you at your computer? Good. Now please click on Start, then type 'CMD'. C as in Celestia, M as in Mare, D as in Donkey. Right. Now right click on that little black icon, and select "Run as administrator..." Yes, a black box popped up. Now I need you to type the following: "chkdsk c: /f". That's C as in Celestia, H as in Harmony... No, no spaces in between, sir.
"But you know, I bet you use that spacebar a lot, don't you? I bet you're using your thumbs to press it. Your supple, opposable thumbs, just tapping on that spacebar, over and over... I think that you can use those thumbs to touch your other fingers, am I correct, sir? Good. Could you try that for me now, please, and just tell me what fingers you're touching? And how it feels when you rub the pad of your thumb against the tip of your forefinger? You can feel the little ridges rubbing together, can't you? It must feel so good... Flexible... Dextrous...
"Oh? Yes? Sorry, I'm still here. That noise was... a fan in the background, going around in circles. Like your thumb on your middle finger, perhaps?
"...Very well, sir, I am escalating your ticket to support tier 3. Thank you for calling, and I hope that I have provided you with outstanding service. If you would please fill out a brief survey, that will be very helpful..."
This is a tribute to, or travesty of, DustTraveller's excellent story, Quantum Castaways . I probably don't need to say to what tune it's supposed to be sung .
"Hey Marsh, what's the plan for today?"
[together]
The Monkey and the Mule, the Monkey and the Mule
Contriving to survive
The Donkey and the Ape, the Donkey and the Ape
BoredStupid100 for the image!
You're walking down the street in Ponyville, when suddenly Pinkie and Derpy flank you, wearing big suspicious grins. You keep a normal pace, trying not to breathe too loudly.
Pinkie gives you a muffin. "Hey, Anon! What kind of muffin is this?"
You take it in your hand as if it's likely to explode. You sniff it, and it smells fine. You take a bite.
"Uhm... Banana nut?"
"Doo doo de doo doo!" sings Pinkie.
You recoil from her to see Derpy smiling goofily and holding a similar muffin. You bite your lip, but Pinkie's crowdsinging power is too strong. "Banana nut!" you say through gritted teeth.
"Doo doo de doo!" Derpy sings.
They both hold more muffins under your nose.
"BANANA NUT!" you yell, and they dance around you like happy evil idiots.
"Doo doo, de doo doo, De doo doo, De doo doo, De doo doo, Doo doo doo-doo-doo-doo-doo!"
You strain to break free, and get ready to yell in Pinkie's face, something like "What the mother[CENSORED] [BLEEP] is this? You [CENSORED] retard ponies!"
Pinkie shoves another muffin in your mouth and your speech comes out like Charlie Brown adult talk, effectively making you sing the interlude.
Events deteriorate until you are chased out of town by the entire population of Ponyville, all playing Yakety Sax on kazoos.
Today was a buncha stoopid horse-asses day.
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"Just sit here and look calm. I'll be back in fifteen minutes."
"Just sit here and look calm. I'll be back in fifteen minutes."
Image by Alasou Humanoid
Derpy sat upon the Celestial Throne, her mind fully focussed on her task. She could not betray the trust that the Diarchs had imposed upon her. She gazed relentlessly into the sky with the full force of her intent...
Outside the palace, near a secluded grotto in the Royal Gardens, Celestia pondered her next move in a recently resumed game of croquet with Luna, one that had begun over a thousand years before. As she tapped her mallet thoughtfully in the grass, she saw the shadows change. Another bright golden orb was growing in the sky. A Sun Dog? None had been scheduled for today. And it had no partner on the other side of the sun... The anomalous orb grew larger...
Derpy licked her lips. This one was a toughy! But she'd done her duty as Solar Princess for a day. The image in the sky now matched the one in her head. She congratulated herself, even as Celestia burst through the stained glass window in panic and anger, shouting "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?"
Following images by Anon:
You walk into Twilight Sperglord's basement lab one day. "Hey Twi, just wanted to talk to you about these automated late-book recovery drones—what in holy heck?" Your jaw drops at the scene before you.
Twilight is standing before an instrument panel, wearing thick blast goggles and a sinister grin. Wires from the panel connect to a giant glass tube.
And inside the tube, flickering orange lines outline a familiar shape...
The shape of an arrogant and very pissed off unicorn, with hat and cape. The flickering neon-like lines make her appear to be alternately threatening Twilight's destruction with great bombast, and wheedling and pleading with her for release from this hellish prison.
Bathed in unwholesome light, you gape with awe and terror at the sight of...
The Bright and Cold-Cathoded Nixie.
[Oh man why did I bother to write this no one's ever gonna get it .]
What if Jack Vance wrote MLP: FIM?
“Are you certain, Twilight?” said Spike. “Surely the Princess will not wish to be bothered. The Summer Sun Celebration is imminent!”
“Spike! Send the missive at once! This stellar conjunction is of the utmost importance. The return of Nightmare Moon is a catastrophe without parallel!”
“Very well.” Spike inhaled, breathed forth the phlogistic transmission substrate; the letter was sent.
Twilight smiled. “The Princess is my personal mentor! She surely will not doubt me.”
A moment later, Spike eructed a swirl of green fire; the reply appeared.
“She will wish to call for immediate action!” declared Twilight. “Read the missive!”
Spike opened the scroll and declaimed its contents. “My faithful student! You are trustworthy and diligent...”
Twilight closed her eyes, nodded smugly.
“... However, you place too much reliance on ancient erudition! Life is to be lived directly and experienced with the aid of merry, like-minded comrades, not absorbed at third hand via the scribblings of dust-addled, reclusive pedants and anchorites!”
Twilight stood stunned. “I cannot comprehend her intent!” she exclaimed.
“You must set aside your studies, exit your tower, live life to the fullest! To this end, you are requested and required to oversee the preparations for the Summer Sun Celebration in Ponyville, where you are expected to expand your painfully constricted social circle. In brief: You are ordered to make some friends!”
Author's Note
Another repost of one of my old blogs; I hope it gets more views this time around.
If you think this should be expanded, let me know. I can imitate Jack Vance's style until the raudelbogs come skirkling home.
