The streets of Ponyville were usually serene, but it was three o’clock, and the rush hour had arrived. Carts busily tore from work-places to homes, their drivers waving angry hooves at anyone who dared cross their path. All amongst the brightly-coloured establishments and restaurants the streets were packed with ponies rushing hither and thither, caught up in the fragments of big city life.
Down on the sidewalk, a bright pink earth mare with a wild and frizzy mane babbled incoherently. Next to her trotted a lilac unicorn, who listened with vague interest. Her name was Twilight Sparkle, and she was a comedian.
“…You know, I wouldn’t walk over there!” Said the earth mare, pointing a hoof at her friend’s half of the pavement.
“Why not?” Replied the unicorn, puzzled.
“It’s the most dangerous part of the sidewalk!” the pink pony exclaimed, her frazzled, rose-coloured mane shaking a little. “Cab hops the curve, and WHAP!” She punched one hoof into the other, emulating the noise. “You’ve had your last hay sandwich!”
“Well, what about over there?” The unicorn said, nodding at where her friend stood. “Air conditioners fall out of windows all the time.”
The pink pony peered skywards for a second, but scoffed all the same.
“I’d much rather get hit by an 80-pound air conditioner than a two-ton cab!”
The unicorn thought for a second.
“No, no… See, the cab’s coming in right here,” She said, pausing in her stride and gesturing to one of her forelegs with a hoof. “A set of plastic hips, prosthetic legs, and a monkey to answer the door, and I’m back in business!”
They resumed their stroll down the main drag of Ponyville.
“I’d much rather take one to the head,” The pink mare replied. “Like I did in ’79.”
The unicorn frowned at her friend.
“You were living in Canterlot then, right?”
Now it was the earth pony’s turn to think for a second. A vacant expression passed over her face.
“…I don’t really remember.”
The conversation came to a halt, for the duo had arrived at their destination: Cake’s. Once a thriving corner-market, Mr. and Mrs. Cake had bought out the owner, setting up their own restaurant that served breakfast till three, and dinner till ten. ‘CAKE’S R STAURANT’, the large neon sign above the doorway read. One of the letters had obviously blown a fuse, but they’d get around to fixing that.
…Maybe.
The lilac unicorn came here every day. She even made a habit of dragging her friends here, and, as she pushed her way past the door and into café, she saw them, tucked into two red leather settees.
One of them was an alabaster white unicorn called Rarity, who was admiring her hooves absent-mindedly and talking animatedly. The other was a dragon called Spike. Unlike the common illusion of dragons being tall and powerful, he was quite short and stocky, his glossy scales shimmering a little. He worked for the Canterlot Crusaders, the city’s major ball team, and she worked for the highly prestigious fashion label, P. Lunaman’s.
I might as well add that the pink earth pony’s name is Pinkie Pie. Don’t ask me what she does. I think she worked as a baker for a bagel company at one point several years ago. Where she keeps getting the money to pay her rent, I have no idea.
The two sat and traded casual greetings, and no sooner had she done so then Rarity leaned forward, dangling her hooves over the lavender unicorn’s freshly-poured glass of water. They were painted an utterly vile shade of green - somewhere between lime and khaki.
“Toxic waste green,” she said.
“That is disgusting,” Twilight muttered, with a frown.
“You know, revulsion has now become a valid form of attraction,” Rarity said, retreating her hooves and admiring them.
The lavender unicorn sipped at her water. “Well, then you’re driving me wild.”
Rarity giggled a little, turning them over once before returning to her pancakes.
“I had them done for the big Canterlot party I’m throwing.”
Spike, who had been ordering, returned to the table, and Twilight shuffled over a little to grant him entry.
“Oh,” the unicorn exclaimed. “You’re having a party?”
“Well!” The fashionista said, tossing her purple mane, “It’s just a little social thing for work. I drive my people hard, and then I reward them.”
“Like with dogs,” Twilight said dryly.
“Exactly.”
Spike, whose attention had been distracted by Rarity’s pancakes up until now, glanced up.
“Party?” he said.
The reply was short.
“Yeah.”
Spike paused.
“Food?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Bar?”
“Yeah...” by this time, Rarity knew what was coming. The little dragon smiled.
“…Spike?”
She let out a great sigh, and flopped back into the red leather couch.
“He’s just gonna show up anyway,” Twilight said pre-emptively, but Rarity was already objecting.
“Spike, I just don’t want you interfering,” she said, trying to be kind.
The little dragon smiled, making a plaintive gesture with his claws.
“How could I possibly interfere?”
Twilight cast him a quizzical look.
“Isn’t that what Princess Luna said before she got exiled?”
Spike ignored her, turning away and hailing down a waiter. Rarity was still slunk into her seat, her forelegs folded to hide the green tips of her hooves, a petulant look on her face.
* * *
The function was strictly work-related, but common social graces like that had rarely stopped Spike before. Least of all when there was free food involved. As other ponies milled around tables, chatting with their co-workers, he was standing next to a bored-looking waiter pony carrying a tray of Quesadillas, wolfing them down.
“Oh yeah,” he said emphatically. “These are fantastic – simply fantastic!”
The server, who was slightly bemused by his enthusiasm for food, smiled and trotted away. A claw followed her, taking one more for the road. And a second one, just to be sure. And a third. And a fourth.
“You know,” the dragon said to the waiter, “I’d love to get a jump on the next batch – where do you come out?”
The auburn unicorn rolled her eyes and left, leaving Spike standing rather stupidly with a handful of quesadillas piled onto a napkin. Shrugging, he turned to the bar, where he noticed that a cream-coloured earth pony with a long, scarlet mane was watching him curiously.
“She’s been ignoring this section all night,” Spike said, smiling and trying his best to be amiable. “Quesadilla?” He stuck a claw out, offering one of the snacks to her.
“No thanks,” The pony replied.
“Oh.” The little dragon seemed slightly put out. Quickly, he brushed his claw on his rump before offering it to her. “Er, Hi. My name’s Spike.”
“Rose,” The mare replied, giving him an uncertain glance as she met his greeting with her hoof. “I don’t recall seeing you around the office. Do you work in the mail-room?”
Spike laughed a little to himself.
“Not quite, er, I’m a friend of Rarity’s.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” she said, picking up her glass as Spike sat down next to her. “Excuse me…”
The earth pony trotted off, leaving him leaning against the bar.
“So…” he mumbled to nopony.
* * *
Rarity, on the other hand, was enjoying much more social success. She was just enjoying another sip of her drink when a small tinkling noise caught her attention. She peered over her glass to see what it was, and saw a bearded stallion (his name was Frank, for reference) tapping his glass with a fork.
“Rarity! How about leading us in a toast?”
“Oh!” Rarity replied, looking a little uncertain of herself. “Er, sure!”
She quickly got off her chair, raising her voice so all around could hear her.
“Hey guys! I want to make a toast!”
There were several hushes around the room, and everypony peered around curiously to see who was talking.
“Um…” she began tentatively. “Here’s to us who wish us well… And those who don’t can go to hell!”
A bout of hearty laughs in response lifted her spirits. No sooner had the toast finished, than the electric-blue maned DJ began to play a certain song.
Stupid Twilight - this comedian thing isn’t so hard! A voice in her head said, and she grinned to herself. Wait a moment. You love this song!
“Mmm!” Rarity said, holding up a hoof and swallowing a mouthful of champagne. “Alright, who’s dancing?”
She glanced around at her employees, all of whom gazed at eachother with the same uncertainty she had experienced a few moments before.
“Come on! Who’s dancin’?” She repeated. “What, you want me to get it started?”
Immediately, there were a few positive responses, and a small round of clapping gave way to applause as Rarity put her glass down and made her way out onto the floor, giving a small whoop and clapping her forehooves.
She then proceeded to get down in the nastiest way possible.
Her limbs flew in all directions as she didn’t so much as dance but contort herself, in-time to another unheard beat. Evidently, she was not hearing the music everypony else was hearing.
(Whether or not she was even on the same planet is yet to be determined.)
The smiles on the faces of everypony in the room fell like lead weights. Rarity, completely unaware of her destruction of an entire genre of art, clapped her hooves together again and gave another cheer.
“Woo! C’mon, guys, what’s the hold-up?!”
Spike, who had been helping himself to the next batch of quesadillas, had not been paying attention up until this point, and he turned his head from the bar to see what all the ruckus was about.
He smiled, observing the lone mare in the centre of the room before turning back to the server.
Just Rarity dancing.
His head snapped back as he did double-take, quesadilla still in claw, his eyes narrowing and a disgusted expression curling over his face.
“Sweet Fancy Moses!” he murmured to himself.
* * *
Twilight Sparkle’s apartment was a simple affair. The building itself was red brick and quite old, though the interior was a bit closer to modern, with pictures adorning the simple, grey walls. A large blue sofa occupied the centre of the room, as well as a small, polished circular table with matching chairs. Other furnishings included a small black cabinet with some old records in it, and in the kitchen adjacent to the living room, a large fridge dotted with notes and old magnets pinning various numbers and notes, set below wire-fronted cupboards filled with food. On top of a wooden kitchen counter there lay a fruit bowl brimming with bright bananas and apples. It acted as a ‘multi-purpose utility surface’ (that was Pinkie’s word for it), and it jutted out from the wall adjacent to the stove and dishwasher, as well as a small corner-space, where a breadbin was kept. Several blue-grey barstools were tucked neatly against the side of the counter, just in case she had extra visitors. She always did.
There was a bathroom and a shower, and enough space to hang her bike from the back wall (though she rarely used it). The home was, all in all, quite… homely.
One of several such apartments the building, she lived opposite Pinkie Pie (it was, in fact, how the two had become acquainted), and it served as a second meeting point for her and her friends.
She often grew tired of having ponies traipse in and out of her apartment, but it was her own fault, after all. When Twilight had moved out of her dusty old library years ago, bringing box after box of things into the apartment, she had literally bumped into the excitable, crazy mare.
She had then said to her new neighbour, ‘What’s mine is yours’.
…She never thought that Pinkie might take her so literally.
Twilight walked into her room, mail in hoof, throwing her keys down onto the counter-top and furrowing her brow as she sorted through it. The clatter of the metallic objects hitting the hard surface must have alerted the mare in question, for no sooner had she done so then she heard a small stampede of hooves from outside. Her door crashed open, and Pinkie Pie skidded in, looking excited.
“You get the tickets?” she said, throwing the door shut behind her with a spare hoof.
Twilight reached into an envelope and produced two short squares of paper.
“Who needs two?” she asked with a knowing grin, equally as gleeful.
“Oh, Mamma!” Pinkie Pie said, doing a thrilled little dance of her own on the spot. “Here, let me see them!”
She took the tickets from Twilight, holding them gingerly. Twilight, who had been just as anxious to get her hooves on the tickets, clopped her hooves together.
“Special sneak preview of Death Blow!” she said dramatically.
“Death!... Blow!” Pinkie repeated, her voice falling to a sensational, movie-announcer low. “When somepony tries to blow you up, not because of who you are, but because of different reasons al-to-gether!”
A sudden electronic buzz interrupted her re-eneactment of the film’s trailer, and Twilight brushed by her, pressing her hoof to a small, metallic box beside the door.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“Hey!” Spike’s familiar voice called back.
“Come on up!”
She pressed a small button that would unlock the door several floors below, and turned away from the intercom. Pinkie had in the meantime helped herself to the contents of Twilight’s fridge, and was rummaging in her drawers for a spoon. In front of her was a large tub of yoghurt ice-cream.
“Twilight,” Pinkie said, withdrawing a dessert spoon from her drawer, “Do you think you could get an extra ticket for my friend Cranky?”
Twilight blinked, astonished.
“Pinkie, do you know what I had to go through to get these?”
Pinkie crinkled her nose.
“Well, yeah, I know, but he’s a big fan of the genre!” She dunked the desert spoon into the ice-cream, withdrew a large scoop, and began to eat it straight out of the tub. “You know,” she said past a mouthful, “I’d consider it a personal favour to me.”
Twilight paused, unsure whether to be annoyed at her actions, or exasperated at her request. In the end, she chose neither.
“Yeah, I guess I do owe you,” she said honestly. Pinkie grinned, and, picking up the tub of icecream, walked on by, punching her lightly on the shoulder.
“Uh, listen,” she said, as she came to the door, opening it. “Do you want me to stay here until Spike gets up?”
The lavender unicorn shook her head.
“No, I’m okay.”
“Are you sure? ‘Cause there’s no problem, really…” she gave her a winning smile.
“I’m fine,” Twilight replied firmly. And with that, Pinkie slipped out the door, only to be replaced moments later by Spike.
“Hey!” the unicorn said, smiling. “How was the party?”
Spike cast a cursory glance around the room, a nonchalant expression on his face.
“Food was good,” he replied after a small pause, patting his stomach.
Twilight began to walk over to the small table that occupied the centre of the room, continuing to sort through her mail.
“Yeah? So I didn’t miss anything?” she called over her shoulder.
“…Well,” Spike replied after a moment of thought, “You did miss one little nugget of entertainment.”
There was a pause. Twilight frowned at a gas bill she’d been sent. It belonged to Pinkie Pie. She threw it on the table, reminding herself mentally to give it to her later.
“Have you ever seen Rarity dance?” Spike inquired.
Twilight froze. The rest of the mail clattered onto the floor.
She turned to Spike, mouth slightly ajar.
“Rarity danced?” she asked.
Spike, who had taken up leaning on the blue kitchen counter-top, folded his arms and considered the thought carefully.
“It was more like a full-body dry heave, set to music,” he said.
Twilight stooped and picked up the mail, tossing it onto the table where it lay unsorted.
“Did she do the little kicks, and the hooves?” she said, weakly miming a pony in their death throes.
Spike blinked, frowning.
“What, you mean you knew about this?”
Twilight nodded, taking a few steps toward Spike, a solemn expression on her face.
“For some time.”
* * *
Flashback, to a time gone by…
“It was about five years ago.”
Rarity and Twilight came upon a group of Peruvian street performers, busking for money. Immediately, Rarity clopped her hooves together, descending into what Twilight had initially mistaken for an epileptic seizure, but was in fact an attempt at dancing.
The flute-player of the group paused from his performance, allowing the rest of his band to continue unaccompanied. He raised a hoof and lowered his sunglasses so he could see better. Surely, this had to be some trick of the eye.
It was not. The pearl unicorn continued to wave her appendages frantically, while her purple friend took several steps back, clearly horrified and appalled.
* * *
“And I never knew what to say to her about it!” Twilight said, sitting down on the side of her couch and addressing Spike. “It was one of those problems I hoped would just go away!”
Spike shrugged, his cheeks puffing as he exhaled apathetically.
“Well, sometimes you can’t help these ponies ‘til they hit rock bottom,” he said.
“And by then you’ve lost interest,” said Twilight sadly.
Spike clapped his claws on his legs in a ‘what-can-you-do’ sort of way, letting the thought hang in the air for a moment.
“Oh, hey!” He said, with sudden enthusiasm, standing up and walking over to Twilight’s fridge. “You gotta take a ride with me later. I borrowed my father’s cart. ’68 GTO!”
“What made him get that thing?” Twilight inquired, putting her hooves on her hips.
The purple and green dragon twisted open the top of a bottle of water as he spoke. “Eh, during that period when my folks were separated, he went a little crazy.”
“Wasn’t a very long trip,” she observed dryly. Spike’s bottom lip curled in reflective agreement, and he nodded sagely.
The door slammed open again, and in skidded Pinkie Pie. She nodded a silent hello to Spike before looking over at Twilight.
“Cranky’s in,” she said, trotting briskly over to the kitchen countertop and stealing a few napkins from their holster.
“Wait, I don’t even have the extra ticket yet!” Twilight said indignantly.
“Well, you better get on the horn,” Pinkie replied, before walking out, leaving the dragon and the comedian staring blankly at the door.
* * *
Rarity’s office was on the upper floors of the Luna building. Named after the alicorn that founded the company in the first place, the building was immensely tall and grand – 40 floors of stonemasonry, steel and glass. It acted as an administrative centre for their national business, and her office (as temporary, unwilling president) was on the thirty-ninth.
“I’m tellin’ you, Twi’, I’m getting a vibe.”
Rarity was on the phone. She never chose to sit when she spoke unless she had to, and she strolled about her desk. The office was filled with relics of other countries and small pots, ornately carved armoires and even various plantlife from all over Equestria. None of it belonged to her, of course – it belonged to Luna, the real president of the company.
Two months ago, Luna had suddenly decided that she might like to visit Burma.
(And by ‘visit’, I mean, ‘abdicate her position as president and and force whoever she wanted to the spot of top dog’.)
(...Come to think of it, is it Burma, or Neigh-anmar these days?)
“…If I didn’t know better, I’d say the staff have completely lost respect for me.”
She had her back turned to the door. This was just as well – two passing employees peered in at their temporary boss. One of them nudged the other, and did his best impression of a pony with no limbs trying to climb a tree. The other howled with silent laughter, though they both quickly scattered as Rarity turned back to the doorway.
“Huh, how could that be?” Twilight’s confused voice said from down the line.
“Twilight, it’s like the feeling is palpable!”
She paused.
“Do you think it could have something to do with the party?”
“Nah,” Twilight replied doubtfully. “Spike was there, and he said he had a great time.”
Rarity scowled down the line. On her end, Twilight heard a small groan – a mixture of irritation and realization.
“Ah,” Rarity’s voice said. “It’s Spike. I bet you this is somehow Spike-related.”
“Oh, what are you talkin’ about?” Twilight said, a trace of disbelief in her voice.
“He’s like a virus!” Rarity replied emphatically. “He attaches himself to a healthy host company, and the next thing you know, the entire staff’s infected!”
Twilight snorted derisively. “Now you’re just being crazy!”
“Alright,” Rarity said, slapping her desk with a hoof. “If that’s not what it is, you tell me. What is it?”
“Err…”
Twilight paused, looking around for a reason to excuse herself. The only thing she could find, however, was the bottle of water she had been drinking in her hoof…
She held it up to the receiver, squeezing the plastic lightly.
Click-y-click-y!
“Oh, there’s my call waiting!” She said hurriedly. “I gotta get going.”
And with that, she hung up.
* * *
Back in Rarity’s office, she put her phone down, frowning. Rose was standing in the doorway, peering at her, holding some papers.
“You have a minute to sign some of these?” she said, waving the folder of documents.
“Oh, sure, sure…” Rarity beckoned her in, and Rose walked over, putting the dossier on her desk, before flipping it open.
“So… Did you have a good time at the party last night?” Rarity asked, trying to sound inconspicuous.
Rose nodded, her eyes still turned to the paperwork.
“It was a real… kick!” she said, stifling a smile.
There was a short pause while Rarity pretended to examine the forms.
“Hey, did you happen to speak to my friend Spike?” she inquired sweetly, turning her gaze back to Rose.
“As a matter of fact, I did,” the mare replied.
“A-ha. Well, listen,” Rarity said, removing her glasses with her horn. “You would be wise to keep your distance from him.”
Rose smiled, shrugging and laughing a little.
“Why? He seems harmless?”
“Oh he’s not,” Rarity said, totally serious. “He’s very harmful.”
Rose’s face turned to one of concern.
“Really?” she said in amazement.
Rarity’s eyes widened as she leaned forward slightly. “Oh, trust me. He’s a bad seed. He’s a horrible seed! He’s one of the worst seeds I’ve ever seen.”
“…And you two are friends?” Rose said confusedly, pointing at Rarity with a hoof.
“Yeah!” Rarity replied, smiling and nodding. “We’re good friends.”
* * *
Meanwhile, back at Cake’s R staurant…
Spike and Twilight were enjoying breakfast at the same booth they had sat in the day before, talking idly. Twilight was eating some French toast and sipping coffee.
“…So this Rose just calls me out of the blue,” he said.
“Really? I thought you were rebuffed.” Twilight replied, a curious frown on her face.
“With extreme prejudice!” Spike added vigorously.
“Well, maybe Rarity put in a good word for you.”
“No, no, no,” Spike said, waving both claws. “See, that’s just the thing. Rose told me that Rarity said that I was one of the worst seeds she’d ever seen.”
Twilight swallowed a piece of the toast.
“Interesting,” she murmured. “…She doesn’t care for you, then a stern warning, suddenly a phone call. Seems Rarity’s made you the bad boy, and Rose digs the bad boy.”
This final conclusion she made with satisfaction, picking up her coffee and nodding at Spike, a huge grin on her face. Spike took a moment to ponder the idea, his cheeks meeting his eyebrows in a thoughtful squint.
“I’m the bad boy,” he repeated. “I’ve never been the bad boy.”
“You’ve been the bad employee, the bad son, the bad friend…”
“Yes, yes…” Spike said, waving a claw.
“The bad fiancée, the bad dinner guest, the bad credit risk…”
“Okay, the point is made!”
“The bad date, the bad sport, the bad citizen…”
Spike quickly slid out of his chair, grabbing his coat as he did so. As he left, Twilight peered at the table, where a paltry amount of money had been lain down.
“The bad tipper!” She yelled after him as, he walked out the door.
* * *
The Guild Theatre on 50th street was a popular destination for Twilight. It was also a popular destination for many other ponies, and as expected, it was packed.
The empty seat next to Twilight sat unfilled as she peered around at the faces sitting in the audience.
“Man, half of showbusiness must be here!” she muttered.
“Hey! Here he is,” said pinkie, gesturing to where she wasn’t looking.
She turned left, and caught sight of a donkey. Suffice it to say, that was Cranky. Big, grey, and droopy (he looked quite pleased, now that I mention him). In his arms he carried a huge bag of popcorn.
“Hey, Pinkie,” he mumbled flatly, nodding at his friend. “And you must be Twilight… thanks for the ticket.”
He then sat, without a further word.
The unicorn grinned politely and tried to break the ice.
“That’s quite a feedbag you’re workin’ on, there!”
The mule blinked at her, unamused.
“It’s for all of us. Is there a problem?”
“Woah, Cranky…” Pinkie said, leaning over to the two of them. “Cranky, come on. He’s just kidding.” She nudged Twilight gently in the ribs. “He’s a joke maker. Tell him, Twilight.”
Twilight’s grin faltered, but she tried to maintain it all the same, looking from her friend to the grumpy stranger and back again.
“I’m a joke maker.” She deadpanned.
Luckily for Twilight, the movie lights dimmed, and the main presentation began to roll.
“Alright!” Pinkie said, settling back into her seat. “Here we go… Death Blow!”
Ignoring the initial tension, Twilight rubbed her hooves together, looking eagerly up at the screen. A rustling from her left, however, caught her attention, and she glanced back at Cranky.
He was crouched, peering into a handheld camera. Twilight nudged Pinkie Pie anxiously, leaning closer to her ear.
“Hey… What the hay is he doing?”
Pinkie Pie appeared unphased, continuing to eat some of her own popcorn.
“Oh, relax, he does that all the time.”
Twilight was stunned for a second, before turning to her friend fully.
“Does what?”
“He’s making a copy of the movie for sale on the street,” Pinkie replied matter-of-factly, the motion picture mirrored in her wide eyes.
“May I see you outside for a moment, please?” Twilight asked quietly.
“But I want to watch—”
“OUTSIDE!” The unicorn hissed, jabbing her friend savagely. Pinkie protested, but got up all the same.
* * *
Rarity strolled down the aisle that led to her office, peering around curiously for somepony. It was Frank who she found first though (see, I told you his name would be useful), and she hailed him.
“Hey, have you seen Rose?”
Frank frowned a little.
“Uh, she just went to meet your friend Spike.”
“To meet Spike?” Rarity repeated, agitated. “I knew it! Where did they go?”
“The park,” Frank replied. “Why?”
Immediately, he regretted asking – his boss shot forward, quivering, inches away from him, jabbing at him with a hoof.
“Don’t you see!? Spike is in the bloodstream! You stay away from him, too!”
Frank nodded, fearful for his life.
* * *
The air in the foyer got a little sharper as Pinkie Pie was shoved roughly out of the double-doors, followed by Twilight.
“What do you mean, he’s bootlegging the movie?”
Pinkie Pie glared back at her friend.
“It’s a perfectly legitimate business!’
“It’s not legitimate!” Twilight snapped back.
“It’s a business…” she replied meekly.
“Where did you meet this guy?”
“He’s a friend of a friend. You know Bob Sacamano up on 94th street? Well, one day, he and I are playing Pachinko—”
“Pinkie!” Twilight groaned angrily.
From deep within the theatre, there was a colossal booming sound, followed by machine-gun fire.
“Man, we’re missing the Death Blow!” Pinkie said, bouncing on her hooves anxiously.
The unicorn looked about, flustered. “I don’t believe this!” she said, as she ran back into the theatre. Pinkie followed swiftly after.
* * *
Central Park is a nice place if you don’t mind the occasional jogger or rat. And if you do mind, then tough. Go and move to San Francisco, see if I care.
Full of trees and life, the park looked like a picturesque emerald glade, with soft patches of orange where the trees had began to fade in the late autumn weather - a glorious blend of fallen yellows and reds still hanging among the evergreens.
Of course, nothing in the park was greener than the shine of his scales.
Or the colour of his ’68 GTO.
Spike stood, leaning against his car, pretending not to watch Rose approach, and turning a pack of gum over in his dextrous claws.
“You know,” Rose said, as she got within earshot. Spike turned to her, and she continued to speak in a cautious way, “I’m not supposed to be talking to you.”
Spike smirked, doing his best devil-may-care impression.
“No-one’s putting a gun to your head.”
Rose looked down at her hooves, shifting nervously.
“Do I… Scare you?” Spike inquired, casually unwrapping some gum and putting it in his mouth.
“No!” Rose replied with a small grin. Spike rolled up the paper and flicked it away, giving her a blank stare while chewing.
“…A little,” she admitted breathlessly. They stayed like that for a helpless second, before she turned to the car they had been both leaning on.
“Nice car,” she said, running a hoof over the windows.
“Yeah, she’s a sweet ride,” Spike said, putting his hands in the pockets of his college football jacket.
Rose continued to admire the car, before something in the backseat caught her eye.
“…Is that your orthopaedic back pillow?”
Spike’s eyebrows rose, but he forcibly put them back down again.
“…Maybe.”
“Well, is it or isn’t it?” Rose asked, tilting her head, curious.
The dragon gave a small grin of his own.
“Guess not.”
Fortunately, he was saved any further embarrassment by the arrival of Rarity in a cab. She looked fairly flustered. Her hair was fairly out of shape, and, as she jumped out of the cab and ran up to the pair of them, she pointed an accusing hoof at Spike.
“Stay away from her!”
“I didn’t do nothin’,” Spike replied.
Ignoring him, Rarity turned to Rose.
“Get in the car.”
“But…” Rose began to say.
“You heard me young lady, get in the car!”
Rose obliged, chided into submission.
“And you!” the unicorn said, rounding on the little dragon in a rage, “You should know better! I don’t want you infecting my staff!”
She turned away, and Spike smirked.
“Lighten up.”
Rarity spun around once again, her horn glowing, ready to do battle.
Spike flinched and held up a claw for peace. Mercifully, she backed off. It would have been a bloody end to the dragon then and there if she had proceeded.
As Rarity marched into the cab, Rose peered out of the window. Spike shot her a wink.
She craned her head for as long as she could, just to catch a glimpse of the dangerous dragon.
* * *
In the dark confines of the theatre, Twilight and Pinkie had swapped seats. This was just as well, for Twilight did not want anything to do with Cranky, and sat, with her head in her hooves, leaning as far away as she possibly could without disturbing the pony next to her.
Cranky moaned.
Pinkie peered over.
“You okay?”
“Uh… I got a cramp,” the donkey replied.
“Well, it’s no wonder,” Pinkie said, bemused. “You ate that entire bag of popcorn!”
The donkey flinched and groaned at the mention of the buttered snack.
“Unngh… There it goes again. Pinkie, you gotta drive me home.”
Twilight, who had had just enough, peered over at the two angrily.
“Hey, what is going on over there?”
“Twilight!” Cranky said, holding the handy-cam out to her. “Finish shooting the movie for me.”
Twilight baulked.
“Are you nuts? There’s no way I’m holding that thing!”
Pinkie Pie, ever the pleasant mediator, tried to intervene.
“Twi, if the pony’s in pain…”
“Yeah, well, maybe if he didn’t lick his hooves before he reached in the bag, we would’ve eaten some!” the fastidious unicorn replied matter-of-factly. “Serves him right!”
Cranky’s usual frown turned to a scowl. He withdrew the camera for a moment, pulling open his coat to reveal a gun hanging from a hidden holster.
“What, are you some kind of tough guy?” He said, sneering. Twilight was frozen into shocked silence.
“O-kay,” Pinkie Pie said calmly, “Let’s everybody just relax. Twi’, take the camera.”
“All right!” The unicorn whispered, barely audible. “I’m taking the camera.”
She prised the strap off of the donkey’s hoof, and no sooner had she done so, then Pinkie hustled Cranky out of his seat.
“C’mon, let’s go!” she said.
And go they did. Leaving Twilight all alone in the depths of the cinema, bootlegging a film.
* * *
Twilight sat at the table, attempting to read the newspaper and drink her morning cup of tea. It had not been a pleasant night, and deep rivets of black ran underneath her eyes.
As though in response to her anxiety, Pinkie Pie skidded through the doorway.
“Hey!” she said enthusiastically. “How was the rest of Death Blow?”
Twilight stared at her friend for a moment, the very portrait of calm. Then, the calm was shattered. She dropped the cup from a small height, causing coffee to slop over onto the saucer. The paper fell onto the desk, and she folded her forehooves, leering angrily at the Pink Mare.
“How was the rest of Death Blow?” she repeated, fuming.
“Yeah! Who got the final Death Blow? – ‘cause I thought that Hawaiian guy had it comin’ to him.”
“Pinkie, you make me get a ticket for this friend of yours, and then the guy forces me to bootleg the movie at gunpoint!’
Pinkie grinned and winked at her.
“He’s quite a character, isn’t he?”
Twilight got to her hooves. “You know, he came by here at 3 o’clock in the morning to pick up the tape?! I was scared out of my mind!”
Pinkie popped a cherry into her mouth thoughtfully.
Bzzzt! The buzzer’s cry granted them some reprieve.
“I got it,” Pinkie said, running to the door and answering it.
“Nyeello?”
“Cranky.”
“Come on up!”
She turned back to Twilight, as though she had not heard.
“It’s Cranky.”
Twilight, who was levitating her half-drunk coffee to the sink, looked around, startled.
“What, are you crazy!? I don’t want to see this guy again!”
“Oh, Twilight, you did him a favour. He probably wants to come up and thank you!”
The unicorn wrang her hooves anxiously.
“But what if I didn’t do it right?”
“Well, it was your first time!” Pinkie shrugged casually, slumping onto the couch. “He’ll understand.”
“Ponies with guns don’t understand,” Twilight said worriedly. “That’s why they get guns – too many misunderstandings!”
Before she could utter another word, Cranky entered the room.
“Hey, Cranky!” Pinkie Pie cried cheerfully from the couch.
“Hi,” Twilight murmured nervously.
Cranky did not appear to acknowledge Pinkie’s existence. He hadn’t on their first meeting, either, and Twilight started to wonder if he saw anypony at all.
“Twilight, I have to talk to you about the tape,” he said gruffly.
She gulped.
“Y-yeah?”
He took a step closer.
“…I’ve never seen such beautiful work,” he gushed.
“What?”
“You’re a genius! The zoom-ins, the framing… I was enchanted!”
The unicorn stared at him as though he’d suggested a filthy weekend in Bermuda.
“Well… I did the best I could,” she murmured, turning a slight shade of mauve.
“I got another project for you,” Cranky said, before she could object. “It’s a movie called Cry Cry Again. I was gonna give it to one of my other guys, but it’s an arty movie.”
He paused, making a pensive expression.
“…And quite frankly, they don’t have the sensibility.”
Twilight was saved from a reply by the soft beep of Cranky’s pager, that was strapped to one hoof. He glanced at it, before looking back up at Pinkie Pie, who was watching the proceedings happily.
“May I use your phone?” he inquired politely. Pinkie nodded, and Cranky left, going across the way and into Pinkie’s apartment.
The bubblegum-coloured earth pony clopped her hooves and grinned at Twilight.
“Look at you! You’ve got another gig!”
Twilight hurried over to the door, throwing it shut before turning and facing her friend.
“I don’t want another gig! She said angrily. I’m not doin’ this!’
“But you have a gift!” Pinkie said, getting up and trotting over to her. “Listen, Twi, this is not your little comedy act. We’re talkin’ feature films here!”
She poked a hoof in her chest, but Twilight batted it away.
“We’re talkin’ federal crime here!” The unicorn said, gritting her teeth and speaking firmly.
The door swung opened once more, and Cranky stuck his head through, peering at the two where they stood. He had a baseball bat slung over his shoulder.
“Twilight, I’ll expect that tape by three o’clock tomorrow.” His gaze shifted to Pinkie Pie. “May I borrow this?” he said, gesturing to the blunt instrument.
“Sure!” Pinkie said happily. “…Do you need a glove?”
Cranky’s face contorted as he smiled a bit, shaking his head.
“Nah.”
* * *
Rarity’s (or rather, Luna’s) office was the focal point of many minds. Often, the sessions held within it were little more than creative writing seminars, where her writers would bounce ideas off of her for the upcoming catalogue for whatever season was coming.
Right now, they were designing the spring catalogue. And hot weather was on the agenda. It was Frank’s turn first.
“…I pressed through the rushes,” he said slowly, “And there, the native dancers whirled before me: limbs flailing, arms akimbo… hooves kicking up dust!”
The entire room (with the exception of Rarity) burst into uncontrollable giggles.
Rarity glared about the room at her helpless employees.
“What? What is so funny?”
Her attention was distracted by the arrival of Rose. She was wearing a fairly obtuse green and white jacket that she knew she had seen before...
“Sorry!” the mare apologised from the doorway, rushing to take her seat. “I got hung up.”
Rarity squinted at her attire.
“…At the Canterlot Crusaders stadium?”
Rose, evidently aware she had been caught out, tried to play it off.
“This?... It’s mine,” she said defensively.
“Oh, really?” Rarity said, slightly dangerously, pacing round the edge of her desk. “’Cause it looks a little big for you. It looks like something a short, stocky, slow-witted, bald dragon might wear.”
“He’s not stocky!” said Rose in a matter-of-fact tone.
Rarity ignored her, snorting and turning back to her chair. Almost immediately, a paper aeroplane bounced off of her head. She turned around in a rage, her cheek twitching.
“Who did that? Who did that!?” she demanded, glaring at the ponies in the room. All of them managed to look inconspicuous (save Rose, who was still wearing the sweater two sizes too big for her, but, whatever).
* * *
In the theatre, Pinkie Pie was rolling around on the floor, snorting. The camera strapped to her hoof was rolling with her.
“Oh man, the French guy fell off the bike! Oh, that’s precious!” she wheezed out the last of her laughter, and ate another handful of popcorn noisily.
* * *
Back in Twilight’s apartment, Pinkie Pie sat on the couch. Twilight stood behind her, pacing back and forth. Together, they were attempting to dissect whatever Pinkie had filmed.
“No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” Twilight said slowly, shaking her head with each repetition. “What were you thinking when you shot this?”
Pinkie looked slightly upset at the remark, but gestured at the television all the same.
“That’s fine!”
“Do you even know what this scene is about?” Twilight asked, irritated.
“Well, yeah, it’s about a guy buyin’ a loaf of broad!”
“No,” Twilight said softly, her eyes narrowing as she leered at her incompetent cameramare. “Bread is his soul. He’s trying to buy back a loaf…” She mimed picking up a loaf. “…Of his soul.”
Pinkie frowned and peered at the television.
“Wha? Where?”
They paused for a moment, allowing Pinkie to survey the screen.
“Pinkie, there is no way you’re giving this tape to Cranky and telling him I shot it!” Twilight said indignantly.
Pinkie snorted.
“Nah, he’s not gonna know the difference!”
Again, Twilight shook her head, coming to sit beside her friend on the blue sofa couch.
“I don’t care about Cranky,” she began softly. “I was up on 96th street today. There was a kid with a brown spot on his face and a red bandanna on who couldn’t have been more than ten years old. He was asking a street vendor if he had any other bootlegs as good as Death Blow.”
For a moment, the two locked gazes.
“That’s who I care about,” the lilac unicorn said. “The little kid who needs bootlegs, because his parent or guardian won’t let him see the excessive violence and strong sexual content you and I take for granted!”
Pinkie nodded humbly – but her expression soon gave way to a glimmer of optimism.
“So, you’ll do the movie?”
“I have to!” Twilight said. “But, I’m going to need to storyboard this whole thing!” She got to all fours, trotting over to her kitchen and looking around. “Where are my magic markers?”
Pinkie leaned over to the television, taking a small box of the markers from it.
“Right here!” She replied happily, trotting over to the kitchen to begin planning.
The door behind the two swung open, and in trotted Rarity, looking dejected and distraught. Her hair appeared untidy and mussed by days of stress.
“Well, I have lost complete control of my staff!”
Pinkie and Twilight looked over from behind the kitchen counter.
“Why did I let Spike go to that party!?” Rarity continued, throwing her forehooves in the air in desperation. “I mean, we were having so much fun! We were wining, we were dining, we were… dancing.”
She did a little fragment of her routine.
Pinkie Pie immediately took a step forward, raising an unsure hoof, as though she was about to seize her. Instead, she caught herself just before impact, instead opting to stare unabatedly, eyes wide open in shock. Rarity halted.
“What?” Rarity asked innocuously.
Pinkie tried to mimic what she’d seen, but it was too much. She just kind of shook vigorously for a moment, before running a hoof through her mane distractedly.
“This… thing!” she said, twitching in her best attempt to repeat the action.
“It’s dancing!” Rarity replied, smiling. Pinkie shook her head vigorously, her eyebrows raised.
“No, no. That ain’t dancing, Sally.”
The fashion boss peered down her nose at the clearly shocked earth pony. Twilight looked on with a neutral expression.
“I dance fine!” she said, defensively.
Pinkie Pie blinked once or twice.
“You stink!” she said, before quickly hurrying to the door and slipping out of it.
As soon as she had gone, Rarity turned to Twilight, waving a hoof indifferently.
“She-hee doesn’t know what he’s talking about!” she said, giggling a little. Twilight replied with a forced smile, and a totally unconvincing laugh, directing her gaze to the magic marker in her hooves.
Rarity paused.
“…Twi?”
The purple unicorn continued to pretend to ignore her, vaguely turning to her stove for something to look at. She twiddled with the knobs that allowed the gas to flow.
“…Twilight?”
She turned, trying to exit her kitchen, but Rarity sidestepped, blocking her path and trying to catch her gaze. Twilight tried desperately not to lock eyes with her.
“…I’m a good dancer, right?”
“I forgot to make my bed,” Twilight said absent-mindedly, attempting to push past her. Rarity responded with a small shove, pushing her back into the kitchen.
“Twilight,” she said, her voice rising to a small squeak, “Do I stink?”
Twilight’s expression twitched, and then gave way to a wretched look.
“All right!” she cried, waving her hooves over her head. “You’re beyond stink!”
Rarity’s gave a silent gasp, and adopted a look of hurt indignation.
“…But I really enjoy dancing!” she stammered.
“And that’s not helping either!” Twilight said, shaking her head. “That’s why you’re having trouble with your staff, not because of Spike!’
Rarity looked at her hooves.
“It’s that bad?” she whispered, peering as though the polished floorboards might give her a kind answer.
“Have you ever seen yourself?” Twilight replied sternly. Rarity, still disbelieving, attempted to perform the dance once again, but Twilight rushed forward, putting a hoof on her shoulder.
“Ah! Please, please. Not in my home.”
She then walked to the door, taking a few jackets off the back of it.
“Now, I have to go put this stuff in the laundry. I’ll be right back.”
And with that, she sidled out of the room, leaving the hurt Rarity on her own.
Well, almost on her own.
The fashion designer’s eyes fell on the video camera that sat so innocently in front of her.
* * *
“I have Spike the dragon still holding,” said the secretary’s voice from the phone’s loudspeaker.
Rarity was back in her office. Rose was sitting in a chair opposite her desk. Between them was placed the black phone that she used to make all her business calls; except that now she was using it for a little personal business.
She pressed a button, bringing Spike into the conversation.
“Spike! Hi,” she began rather sheepishly. “I have Rose here. There’s something I wanna say to both of you.”
Spike’s voice immediately became sultry.
“Yo, Rose.”
Rose grinned and responded in a similiarly saucy manner.
“Hi, Spike. What’re you up to?”
Spike laughed into the phone, and pressed the steaming iron a little harder over the leg of his trousers.
“You don’t wanna know,” he said mysteriously.
Rose giggled. Rarity rolled her eyes, and took a deep breath.
“Uh, well, listen. I feel really horrible about trying to keep you two apart, and I just wanted to apologize.”
There was a small pause.
“Wh-what’re you talkin’ about?” Spike replied.
“Well, Spike,” Rarity said clearly, “I just want you to hear me say to Rose that you’re a good and decent person.”
“Pick up the phone, Rarity,” Spike’s voice said, a little more frantically. “Pick it up!”
“And I never should have given Anna the impression—”
“Pick it up, pick it up!”
“—that you’re a bad seed! I mean, you’re a fine seed.”
“Rarity, GET OFF THE SPEAKER!”
Rarity frowned. What was wrong with him now? She slung a hoof over the plastic phone, and raised it to her ear.
“What?”
“You’re ruining everything!”
“I’m trying to help! Why are you being so difficult?”
“Yeah yeah yeah! That’s it. More of that, difficult. I’m a difficult seed!”
Rarity closed her eyes.
“Look, Spike, I don’t have time for this.” She peered away from the phone, lowering it away from her lips. “Uh, Rose, do you wanna talk to Spike?”
Rose tapped her chin thoughtfully.
“Um, no. I don’t think so.”
Rarity raised the phone again.
“No, she doesn’t want to. Okay, bye Spike. We’ll see ya.”
“I’m a bad dragon!” Spike’s voice was audible as she put the receiver down with a soft clank.
* * *
The theatre crowd slowly milled out, animatedly chatting about the movie they had just seen. In the foyer there sat an extremely sulky-looking donkey. He was waiting for Pinkie Pie and Twilight, and as they saw him, he stood, trotting over.
“So where’s the tape?”
Twilight glanced at him from over the top of her glasses.
“Oh, no, I didn’t shoot this one. I’m just scouting the location.”
Cranky blinked, repeating his command as though he hadn’t been clear.
“I need the tape.”
“You’ll get your tape,” Twilight replied in the manner of a schoolteacher. “But here’s what I’m gonna need. I’m gonna need three cameras, two on the floor, one in the balcony. And I want headsets for the guys running them. I wanna be able to talk to them.”
Cranky simply stared incredulously.
“Are you out of your mind?
Twilight gave a small sigh and turned to Pinkie, her forehooves raised in surrender.
“Pinkie, I…”
The excitable earth pony quickly soothed her friend.
“Oh, I know, Twilight. It’s okay.”
Twilight took a few steps away, and Pinkie came a little closer to Cranky.
“Yeah, look, Cranky. Uh, Twilight wants to do the bootleg. She’s dyin’ to do it! But if you don’t make her happy, the work suffers.” She gave a simpering grin. “And then nobody’s happy.”
Cranky lost his temper.
“Just shoot the damn thing so I can get it out on the street!”
Twilight, who had been standing and rubbing her temples, arched her back and groaned.
“All right, that’s it! I can’t work like this!”
Pinkie gasped.
“Twilight!”
“I’m off the project!” her friend shouted, and she stormed off.
“Wait, Twilight!”
She took a few steps to chase after her, but she knew it was hopeless. She turned back with a weary sigh, almost bumping into Cranky, who had now scooted very close indeed.
“I want,” he said very menacingly, “the tape.”
* * *
The next morning at Cake’s Restaurant (they had gotten around to fixing the ‘e’) proceeded, with business as usual. Twilight and Spike sat discussing the day’s events over the usual cup of coffee.
“Well! I’m the good boy again!” Spike said, slapping the table. “Can you believe that?’
Twilight was more tied up in her own problems.
“They think they can get anyone to shoot these bootlegs!”
“Rose actually has respect for me now. It’s all over!”
“Eh, the whole business has changed,” Twilight said, waving a dismissive hoof. “It’s all about money now.” She shook her head for a moment, before catching the dragon’s eye. “The sad thing is, it’s the kids that suffer.”
It was at that moment Pinkie Pie entered, looking slightly haggard. She quickly came over to the usual booth, and Twilight glanced up to see her – just in time to be bunted out of the way as she sat down quickly.
“Listen, sister,” Pinkamena said, jabbing her in the chest, “You gotta shoot this movie for me. Cranky, he’s a reasonable guy, but he’s insane!” This last word she gave special emphasis to, her hoof shooting to her head and making tiny circles.
“Pinkie, I’m not doing it anymore. I don’t even know what I was thinking!” She began ticking off the problems on her hoof. “It’s illegal, it’s dangerous…”
Spike, who had been morosely contemplating his lukewarm coffee, glanced up.
“…Did you say dangerous?”
* * *
Spike’s borrowed 68 GTO roared as he pushed it harder down the main road. His football jacket was on. One of his claws was off (the steering wheel).
“I’m a bootlegger!” he said, turning his gaze to Rose, who sat with a somewhat bemused expression on her face.
She peered at him.
“You’re a what?”
“I’m bootleggin’ a movie, baby!”
“Isn’t that illegal?”
“Yeah, I can do hard time for this one. And community service!”
Rose leaned down, producing a small box from the floor.
“Is this your FiberCon?”
Spike gave the box a sideways glance before angrily snatching it and throwing it out of the window.
“Get outta my way!”
* * *
Twilight was sitting on her couch, attempting to watch the news. As always, the reception was fuzzy. She wondered if Pinkie Pie had been fiddling with her antenna again.
When, speak of the devil (or rather, think of her), she burst through the door in a hurried skid.
“Twilight! Spike got arrested!”
Twilight snapped around on her couch.
“What!?”
“Yeah!” Pinkie said, a worried expression on her face. “He went at the Beekman, he tried to land, but they cheesed him!”
Twilight peered up at her friend.
“Oh, now I see,” she said dryly.
Bzzzt!
The buzzer sounding provided a momentary distraction, and she leaned over the back of the couch to answer it.
“Yeah?”
“It’s Cranky. I’m comin’ up.”
The unicorn turned away from the box, eyes wide with panic. Suddenly, Spike’s problems seemed pretty mellow by comparison.
“What’re we gonna do!?”
Pinkie bit her hooves and looked around. “Well, I gotta give him something! Come on, where’s that tape I shot?”
Twilight pointed at the top of the TV, where Pinkie’s last disastrous recording lay.
“I think that’s it.”
Pinkie rushed over to the black box, quickly taking it and slotting it into the VCR.
A tranquil scene from Paris displayed on the screen. The Neighfel tower was clearly visible in the background, and slowly, the image panned to the ground, where two ponies were walking in a park.
Crrrrrk!
Suddenly, the picture on the screen flickered and changed.
Instead of Paris, there was only an alabaster-white Unicorn.
And she was, for the second time that week, attempting to get down in the nastiest way possible.
A dismayed, disgusted expression crawled over Twilight’s face.
“Sweet… Fancy Moses!” she cried.
Pinkie pie sat watching the proceedings, distraught.
“Twilight, she taped over the whole ending!” the earth pony said, looking horrified.
The door clicked open behind them. Pinkie quickly slammed her hoof on the ‘eject’ button, and stopped the movie.
“Okay,” Cranky said, as he entered the room. “Where’s the tape?”
“Uh,” Twilight stammered in reply. “Well. It, uh…”
Cranky’s eyes fell upon Pinkie taking the tape out of the VCR.
“Is that it?”
“Uh, yeah, yeah,” Pinkie replied feebly. “Here it is, Cranky. One copy of Cry Cry Again!”
The donkey accepted the tape from the pink mare, glancing sideways at Twilight.
“How’d it turn out?”
“Great!” both of them said in unison.
“Although the whole story kinda comes apart at the end there…” Pinkie added.
“Yeah, out of nowhere, there’s this lone dancer…” Twilight tacked on. “…Who appears to be injured.”
Pinkie nodded vigorously at her words.
“Yeah! It’s a disturbing image,” she said, grinning at Cranky.
“Yeah, so… you cry, and then when you see the dancer… you cry again,” the purple unicorn finished lamely.
* * *
The Ponyville police station was not the place to be. A long queue stretched away from a desk guarded by a large stallion in uniform, and Spike sat in a chair, waiting to be processed, crying. Rose sat next to him, occasionally rubbing her hoof on his shoulder and offering a kind word.
“Oh it’s all-right, Spike. You’ll just pay a fine and that’ll be it.”
Spike lifted his head out of his hand, snivelling.
“Why did the policeman have to yell at me like that?”
It was at that point that Rarity strolled into the police station. She spotted the would-be criminal and his marefriend on the two chairs in the centre of the room.
“Rose,” she said, as she came alongside them.
“Oh, Rarity, thank you for coming to pick me up,” Rose began, standing and hurriedly excusing herself. “I can explain everything!”
“Well, we’ll talk about it tomorrow at the office.”
“Okay, WHERE’S MY BOY!?” bellowed an extremely loud and familiar voice from the doorway.
Spike’s head rose a little out of his claws, allowing them to fall into his lap.
“Oh my god,” he groaned.
His father saw him from across the room, and strode over.
If you could imagine a pony with a bright pink and purple mane, and an attitude like a savaged cat, then that would be Spike’s mother. Her name was Bonbon, and she was a very angry pony. His father was much the same. Except that his name was Caramel. And that he was auburn-coated, and from Queens.
(In retrospect, all ponies from Queens are very angry. I’d be a bit angry if I lived in Neigh York too, but that’s beside the point.)
True to his style, he did not so much as yell but speak in an agitated, tense voice.
“I’m sittin’ at home, reading a periodical, and this is the call I get?! My son is a bootlegger?!” He whacked his disobedient son over the head with a hoof.
“Ow! Dad…” Spike complained.
“Who put you up to this?” Caramel demanded furiously. “Was it her?” He pointed the same hoof at Rose.
Rarity jumped to the defence of her employee.
“Alright, wait a minute. I think you’ve got it backwards,” she said, tumbling both forehooves over one another as a visual aid.
“My Spike isn’t clever enough to hatch a scheme like this,” Caramel replied, raising his own forehooves to hover just off of his face. With his last word, he shook them a little.
Rarity smirked. “You got that right.”
Immediately, Caramel’s hooves fell away.
“What. The. Hell, does that mean?” he asked, in his usual, disjointed way.
“It means,” Rarity replied snarkily, raising her own forehooves in imitation of him, “what-ever the hell you want it to mean.”
“You sayin… You wanna piece of me?” Caramel said, gesturing to himself with both hooves and cocking his head forward.
Rose looked with alarm from her boss to the angry pony. Spike put his head in his claws again. Rarity stood defiantly, meeting Caramel’s gaze with equal intensity.
“I could drop you like a bag of dirt.”
The words appeared to take a moment to sink into Caramel, for he made no reaction.
“You want a piece of me?...” He repeated slowly, eyes wide as dinner-plates. Then, suddenly, he reared onto his hooves and charged at Rarity, SHOUTING.
“YOU GOT IIIIT!”
Rarity did the same.
* * *
Our story ends as it began – with two ponies walking down the street. Though this time, it was two unicorns, and the three o’clock traffic wasn’t so bad.
“…But he’s an old pony, Rarity!” one said irately.
The snow-white Unicorn shrugged and tossed her hair a little.
“Well, he wrote the check, and I cashed it.”
They strolled past a street vendor, and Twilight peered at his wares.
“Hey! It’s the bootlegged Death Blow that I shot.”
Rarity peered over her shoulder.
“Ooh, Cry Cry Again, I want to see that.”
Immediately, all of Twilight’s ambition to be a director vanished, and she straightened up, taking Rarity with her.
“No, you don’t.”
The street vendor leaned forward, smiling at Twilight. “You shot Death Blow?”
The lavender unicorn grinned perkily back, nodding.
“Yeah!”
“That was brilliant,” the merchant said.
“Thank you!” she replied, before setting off again.
Rarity shook her head, putting a comforting hoof on the back of Twilight’s shoulder.
“You were big.”
“I’m still big,” the comedian replied. “It’s just the bootlegs that got small. So how are things at the office? Back to normal?’
Rarity shrugged and tipped a hoof left and right in a ‘so-so’ fashion. She was still looking straight ahead, and it was just as well, else she would have seen two young ponies behind her trying to hide their laughter.
“Yeah, pretty much. Although I still get the vibe every once in a while.”
“Ah, I wouldn’t worry about it,” Twilight said, leading her up the steps into her apartment.
As the door closed behind them, the street erupted into a silent fit. Everypony began to writhe – no, dance – to their own beat. It was a simple manoeuvre. It just involved a few little kicks…
~ ~ ~
(NB: I have no idea what the fuck I just wrote, but I laughed and laughed so much throughout it that I just might transcribe more.)
As a footnote, Only Caramel and Bonbon would do for Frank and Estelle. I had to take the two angriest ponies ever, and there's nopony angrier. Seriously, look closely. All they do is bitch about stuff.
Ponies with a dragon kid? Just take a seat up the back there, science. Nobody cares. Speaking of genetics, what's the deal with Mr. and Mrs. Cake's kids?...
