Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy Have Words

Fluttershy huddled behind one of her animal hutches, fed fresh slugs into her shotgun and, gripping it by the forearm, cocked it. There was a satisfying click.

“Alright, fucker, let’s do this!” she said, whirling around to take aim.

There was nothing there.

She squinted and pivoted side-to-side, quickly, checking.

Again, there was nothing.

“Clever girl,” she said, settling back behind the hutch to consider her next move.

A rhythmic pricking, as of walking pins, crawled up a hind leg, and something stung her. Instantly her eyes snapped down to the source.

A scorpion watched her, impassively. Its venom burned as it spread.

Fluttershy grabbed it by the tail, bit off its face, flung the carcass away, and chewed, thinking. Down to the last box of ammunition already, and she was sure she had not come anywhere near to hitting Pinkie Pie. Damn, damn, damn.

“Helloooooo!” sang a voice right above her.

She looked up. It was Pinkie Pie, perched atop the hutch, grinning down at her like a very unstable person. Her fur was matted and dripping with blood.

Fluttershy glared and brought the shotgun around. Soft as a kiss, the open end of the barrel touched Pinkie Pie’s forehead.

“You killed Angel,” she said.

“Yup!” said Pinkie Pie.

“You took out his eyes and flayed him and butchered him and braised him, in a deliciously tart tomato sauce, with a humble mirepoix and a fine blend of fresh herbs, and then you ate him.”

“Uh huh!”

“With, I might add, mashed potatoes, you bitch.”

“That’s right!”

“With gravy! From, in case you didn’t think I’d noticed, a box!” spat Fluttershy. The shotgun weaved a figure-eight pattern against Pinkie Pie’s forehead as she shook with rage.

“Sure did!” said Pinkie Pie, beaming.

“Something as easy to make as gravy, and you got it out of a box!” shouted Fluttershy. Her bloodshot eyes ran with tears. “I bet you even buy your mayonnaise, you horrible, repulsive, despicable creature!”

For the first time, Pinkie Pie’s smile vanished, to be replaced with puzzlement.

“But I don’t like mayonnaise,” she said.

Fluttershy screamed. It started quietly, deep within her, and rose through the octaves as the volume grew, and grew, and grew until her voice was strained. When she next spoke, her voice was very wobbly and, well, horse.

“See you in Mayonnaise Hell!” she said. She didn’t know what it meant at the time, and still does not, to this day, but it felt right. It had oomph.

She pulled the trigger.

The kick knocked into her shoulder so hard she fell onto her back and dropped the gun, where she lay, panting, crying in the relief of a difficult job finished.

“Wow, that was a good one,” said Pinkie Pie.

Fluttershy’s eyes snapped open.

Pinkie Pie was above her, poking the remains of a cardboard figure that hung limply over the animal hutch.

“I mean, that would’ve got me, for sure,” she said. “Sheesh, Fluttershy!”

Fluttershy scrambled onto her hooves and, gun forgotten, launched herself at Pinkie Pie.

Down the hill they rolled, punching, kicking, biting. A cloud of dirt formed around them, obscuring the fight from view, apart from the occasional flailing limb.

As you read, the voice narrating in your head becomes that of Benedict Cumberbatch. The man is effing hot, whatever an “eff” is, so I apologize if this is in any way distracting, but it can’t be helped.

They splashed into the river downhill from Fluttershy’s cottage. This did nothing to stop the fight, but Pinkie Pie did try to hold Fluttershy’s head underwater, which was unpleasant.

After a bit of struggle, Fluttershy managed to roll on top, unfurl her wings, and rise up and out of Pinkie Pie’s reach. She waggled her fetlocks, as one posing for fisticuffs might do.

“You look like a pooped-out pinwheel!” she said.

“I will destroy you!” said Pinkie Pie.

“You betray me! You no good! You, you, you,” said Fluttershy, groping for the perfect insult, “you just a chicken!”

Pinkie Pie narrowed her eyes.

“Nobody references bad movies at me. You will be more creative when you insult me, missy; is that understood?” she said, climbing up into the air in her hover boots to directly confront Fluttershy.

Fluttershy glared at the hover boots.

“Now you’re fucking with the continuity!” she snarled. "Why?”

“I’m Pinkie Pie, bitch,” said Pinkie Pie, relishing in the lameness of the line, hit Fluttershy very hard in the mouth, turned, and ran. It should not be possible to prance in mid-air, but Pinkie Pie was doing it, the horrible show-off.

Fluttershy reached into the Vortex Of Plot Contrivances and retrieved a lightsaber. She armed it. The beam was blue like the eyes of Death. She raised it in an impressive arc over her withers, and went after Pinkie Pie, slashing and hacking. She obviously did not know how to use the weapon, but that was the good bit: this way, it would be messy and inefficient. It would take time. There would be more blood. Yes, she should have started with the lightsaber in the first place. The gun was too easy. Too neat. Too quick. The paragraph ran on and on and on as she thought of all the cruel things she could do to Pinkie Pie with a light saber. She would chop her up into bits, bit-by-bit, one bit at a time. Starting with those teeth. The teeth that tore the flesh of her bunny; those would have to come out, one-at-a-time, then she would give her a Glasgow smile, smile, smile. Still the paragraph continued. Was there no end to her sadism? Just how big of a meany-pants was she? Does the writer really think this joke is funny? How can he? It’s stupid! And it’s still going! This is ridiculous!

Oh, man, I don’t know about you, but I’m leaving him behind, because Pinkie Pie’s just found herself a weapon. It’s somewhat unconventional, but we we wouldn’t have Pinkie Pie any other way.

“Pinkie, what are you--is that blood?!” said Twilight Sparkle, as Pinkie Pie scooped her up and grabbed her tail.

Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie stood before the Ponyville Town Hall.

They faced one another.

The camera zooms in on Pinkie Pie’s eyes. She glowers.

It spins and zooms in on Fluttershy’s eyes. She, too, glowers.

After an appropriately dramatic pause, the ground began to shake.