Prompt-A-Day Collection V: Prompt Child

by Admiral Biscuit

Rating: teen
Tags: Adventure, Random, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Comedy
Length: 3525

A collection of even more stories from the Prompt-A-Day group's prompts

A random collection of prompt-driven one-shots. Each has been lovingly hand-crafted.
The subjects are as diverse and colorful as the ponies which they describe.

New stories will be added now and then, so be sure to check back frequently.

Published 2014-03-02 23:10:03 UTC
Last updated 2015-03-12 00:45:15 UTC

41. Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk

41. Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk

Admiral Biscuit

The fight ranged all over Ponyville.

It had started innocently enough. Rainbow Dash had stopped by Sugarcube Corner for a quick afternoon pick-me-up. She’d been up all morning training, and missed the weather supervisor from Cloudsdale issuing a change in the cloud order. Flitter had finally found her, napping on a tree branch in Sweet Apple Acres.

She’d responded to the crisis well: “Oh, ponyfeathers!”

She shot off the limb like a rocket, straight to the meteorological office. Paging through charts and schedules—never her strong suit—she’d finally wrangled enough pegasi by stripping one shift entirely, and calling in a couple of favors. Then she’d zoomed around the sky with all the rest of her team, swapping out rain clouds for shade clouds, and returning the old clouds back into receiving just before the Cloudsdale pegasi arrived to pick them up. Naturally, they hadn’t been impressed with her tale of heroism.

Her afternoon well and truly wrecked, and her flanks coated with sweat, she took a quick dip in the reservoir to clean herself off before heading into town for a bit of sugary goodness.

• • •

Pinkie listened to her tale, and nodded in all the right places, before bringing over a tray of cupcakes. As the town clock struck six, Pinkie took one of the cupcakes off the tray, lifted it triumphantly in the air, and smushed it against Rainbow’s muzzle, slowly and deliberately.

Before Dash could even react, Pinkie was gone, leaving nothing behind but a slowly swinging door and the faint smell of peppermint.

Rainbow licked the frosting off her nose and crouched down, her tail flicking in agitation. “I’ll get you, Pinkie,” she muttered.

She leapt off the floor, blazing through the door Pinkie had so recently vacated.

Her flight was brought up short by a wet impact to her side. She’d been ambushed by a hoof-thrown mud pie.

Shaking the slime off her coat, Rainbow took to air to seek her elusive pink quarry. In fairly short order, she spied her nemesis, happily pronking through Ponyville proper.

Rainbow took an aerial shortcut to the market, zooming down to Roma’s stall. “Hey, you got any overripe tomatoes?”

Roma gave her a quizzical look, but promptly hoofed over a small bag of plump tomatoes.

Rainbow shot back up in the air, her ammunition draped from one hoof. Before too long, she spotted her prey, cluelessly rummaging around in a tree.

Rainbow weighed her options. She could lob one tomato at Pinkie, or drop the whole bag at once. Really, it was no choice. Expertly judging for windage, Rainbow upended the bag, watching with smug satisfaction as the missiles fell toward their target.

Pinkie’s tail twitched, but it was too late—there were too many tomatoes for her to dodge them all. With a satisfying splat, the tomatoes burst all over her coat and mane.

Rainbow jumped on a convenient cloud to watch the proceedings as Pinkie glanced around her, hoof still stuck in the tree. She glared up, her icy eyes locking on Rainbow, and expertly winged a pineapple at the pegasus. It hit the center of the cloud, passed through, and smacked Rainbow right in the belly.

“Why you—” Rainbow made a grab at the pineapple but missed—her perch was disintegrating. “I’ll get you, Pinks!”

“Can’t catch me,” she taunted, and blew a raspberry.

She took off, Rainbow in hot pursuit. Normally, it would have been no contest, but the baker knew all the shortcuts through town, and took perverse pleasure at traversing every covered alley, culvert, and storm drain in town.

The pair finally wound up at the pond. Pinkie—now sporting a diving mask and snorkel—dove right in, and Rainbow lanced into the water behind her, hot on her hooves.

They splashed around for a while, washing their coats, before swimming to shore and drying themselves off. Pinkie and Rainbow bumped hooves, and the two of them went their separate ways.

Of course, it didn’t end there. Rainbow was too competitive to let it end that easily. But she was tired, and she knew that the pair couldn’t afford to wreck Ponyville in a full-scale fruit fight.

So, at precisely six o’clock the next evening, Rainbow Dash stood by the front door of Sugarcube Corner, a water pistol filled with ink in her hoof. She was going to settle this like the settler ponies did in those westerns that Twilight had recommended and which she totally didn’t read.

She got Pinkie right in the brisket as she walked out the door. What Rainbow had failed to anticipate was that Pinkie was also packing heat, or that the mare, among her other talents, had earned the title “Quick Draw Pinkamena.”

The retaliation was swift. Pinkie, naturally, had filled her water pistol with bright pink ink.

Rainbow looked down at her soaked fur in annoyance before looking at the maniac face of her friend. The duo stayed that way for what seemed like an eternity, magenta eyes staring in blue eyes. Then they both darted to opposite sides of the building.

Games like these have their own sets of rules, and both parties would play fair, even without having discussed the rules beforehand. Neither combatant could go where the other could not get her, there would be no back shots, no innocent bystanders were to be inked, and no quarter was to be given.

Rainbow made the first move, trying to flank Pinkie. The earth pony had anticipated the move, and had somehow scaled the wall. When Rainbow shouted and jumped around the corner, she found no foe, only a stream of ink headed in her direction. She lept back just in time, narrowly avoiding a shot between the eyes. Before she could bring her weapon to bear, Pinkie had flipped back up onto the roof.

Rainbow flattened herself against the building, pondering her options. She’d be an easy target in the air, especially since she didn’t know exactly where Pinkie was. Instead, she fired a shot up at the roof to keep the baker pinned and galloped across the street, sliding to cover inside an alleyway.

She watched in satisfaction as Pinkie Pie looked around in the air for her before dropping off the roof of the building into a small clump of bushes.

Rainbow took two shots, missing with both, before Pinkie located her. Her third shot nearly scored, but Pinkie ducked under it and rolled, returning fire mid-tumble.

Rainbow darted down the alleyway and towards the fountain. She splashed into the center, the sheets of water obscuring her—she hoped.

It seemed to be working. Pinkie bolted out of the alley and glanced around for her erstwhile foe. As she moved closer and closer, Rainbow grinned, the barrel of her gun unwavering. As soon as the pink pony was within easy range, she fired.

She’d made one miscalculation—squirt guns don’t fire through fountains, and her triumphant shout served only to warn Pinkie of her location. But the cover worked both ways: Pinkie’s shots also didn’t penetrate the columns of water.

The two began an epic game of cat-and-mouse. Rainbow couldn’t leave the fountain, and Pinkie couldn’t shoot through it. Each tried to squirt the other, and each failed. Finally, Rainbow’s gun gave off a half-squirt, and she knew the game was up. She could still bluff, though. Pinkie took a few more shots, which Rainbow easily evaded. The pegasus watched closely, biding her time until nothing but a weak spray came from Pinkie Pie’s gun.

Rainbow launched herself out of the fountain, rolling in the water until she was up against the edge of the pool. Pinkie didn’t give an inch, just stared over the marble parapet at Dash.

“Game’s over,” Rainbow said triumphantly, her gun pointed at Pinkie’s chest. “I’ve got you dead to rights.” She pulled the trigger, her grin fading as only a few drops of ink dribbled out of the barrel.

“Yes,” Pinkie hissed. “but mine isn’t empty.” With a malicious grin, she pulled the trigger.

Author's Note

Prompt: Yes, but mine isn’t empty.

Blog entry here!

43. Love In All The Wrong Places

43: Love In All The Wrong Places
Admiral Biscuit

"Ah ain't no country bumpkin, Rarity."

Those words floated through Applejack's mind as she pushed her hat back and looked up at the street sign, trying to get her bearings. She was on her way home from a weekend visit to the Oranges' Manehattan condo, and had been too thrifty to take a cab to the train station—a decision she now regretted. The landmarks she'd remembered as a filly were changed, and she'd taken a wrong turn a little ways back and was too stubborn to retrace her steps.

She knew that the streets mostly ran in a grid pattern, and she knew where the train station was, and she knew where the condo was, so all she needed to do was jog south a block or two—or maybe it was east.

Applejack squared her shoulders and made her decision. She was going to head one block south, and see if that looked more familiar.

She kept to the street edge of the sidewalk—she'd learned as a filly that unsavory ponies sometimes hid in dark alleys or against corners, waiting to accost the unwary. On the street side, as long as you kept your ears alert for runaway carts, there were no real threats.

Like many of her fillyhood experiences, this, too, had changed. Some of the unsavory had become emboldened, and no longer limited their skulking to the shadows.

She didn't think much of the shadowy figure leaning up against a lamppost at first. Applejack saw her half a block away. She was wearing a loose robe, much like the one Zecora often wore into town. While such a thing might have stood out in Ponyville, here in Manehattan many ponies went about dressed.

As she got closer, though, alarm bells began ringing in her mind. The shape wasn't quite right, and she was a mare who'd seen a lot. Applejack slowed down and sampled the air, hoping to tease out the strange pony's scent from the babel of city smells.

She glanced at the street for just a moment, to see if it was clear of traffic. The cabbies were maniacs, tartarus-bent on getting their fare to her location in the shortest possible time; between them and the omnibus teams, the streets were a dangerous place for a pony.

If the shadow-figure had noticed her attention wavering, she gave no sign. She was still lazily leaning against the lamppost, directly in the one spot its crystal didn't illuminate.

"It's jest nerves," Applejack muttered to herself, and marched resolutely onward.

The cloaked pony disengaged herself from the lamppost and moved to intercept. The instant her bent horn was touched by the light, Applejack tensed.

"Hey."

Applejack's eyes flicked to the street again, estimating the clearance between her and the omnibus bearing down. If she went right now, she'd make it, unless there were a cab in the outside lane.

"Hey—will you love me?"

Her hood had fallen down, revealing the dark chiten and the lumescent blue eyes of a changeling. "Stay back," Applejack warned, setting her hooves on the concrete. "Ah ain't scared of ya."

The changeling blinked. "Why would you be scared? All I want is some love."

"I ain't got no bits to spare."

"I'm not asking for bits. I don't want bits. What good do they do? All I want is a little bit of love, and then we can both go on our way."

"Are ya one of them streetwalkers?"

"I can be," the changeling said hopefully. "If that's what you want."

"Ah don't want nothin' to do with any of your kind. Ah ain't got nothin' for ya."

The changeling tilted her head and looked into Applejack's eyes. "All ponies have love to spare. You don't know how lucky you are." She lowered her head. "Just . . . maybe just a hug?"

"How come ya ain't disguised as somepony, but just out on the street in a cloak? Ain't ya afraid somepony's gonna report ya to a policepony?"

"This city?"

That's a fair point, Applejack admitted to herself. She moved slightly closer to the changeling, but still far enough away that she could gallop off if she needed to. She wasn't scared; she was just being prudent. Leaving her options open.

"Shoot." What would Rarity do? The changeling stood patiently, her head still submissively bowed. "If Ah say Ah'm gonna give ya a hug—and Ah ain't sayin' Ah am, mind—is that gonna be all? Ya ain't gonna bite me, or try to suck out all my love, or something like that, are ya?"

"No, not unless you want me to."

"What kinda pony—never mind. Don't answer that." Applejack looked around uncertainly. "Do ya happen to know which way it is to the train station?"

The changeling nodded.

"All right." Applejack took one more look up and down the street. "No funny business, or Ah'll buck ya into next week. And ya gotta tell me the way to the train station first, just so Ah know Ah can trust ya."

"Two blocks this way," the changeling said, a note of certainty in her voice. "Then turn left, and go for four blocks. You'll see the tracks curve in on your right; cross them at the first bridge, and then go back right to the entrance."

That was pretty close to what Applejack had figured, so the changeling wasn't sending her off on a wild-goose chase. "Alright. You done your part, so Ah guess it's my turn." With no hesitation in her step, Applejack met the changeling halfway and wrapped her in a tight hug.

It wasn't a close friend kind of hug, nor was it a lover's hug; instead, it was an honest-to-goodness Apple Family hug, chock full of emotion. The changeling drank it in, her ant-like body eagerly trembling between Applejack's forelegs.

After a brief time, the two broke apart, and the changeling gave Applejack an affectionate nuzzle on the cheek.

"Well, there ya go." She checked to make sure her hat was still on square. "Good luck to ya. Ah've gotta catch a train." Without waiting for a reply, Applejack trotted off, a faint blush on her cheek. Manehattan sure is strange, she thought.

Author's Note

Prompt: You meet a changeling who, unique to the species, is too lazy and good-natured to be particularly devious about how she feeds. Without even bothering with a disguise or being sneaky at all, she simply asks you for love. (Muse Scroll)

44. Yesteryear

Yesteryear
Admiral Biscuit

King Sombra was tired. All day long it had been one crisis after another. It seemed the Crystal Empire always had problems. His guards had caught a group of mares trying to find the Crystal Heart—that was how his day had begun.

They'd given him trouble before, and he’d spent a couple hours trying to figure out how they’d gotten out of their shackles, but none of the guards knew. He finally settled on picking a guard at random to throw into the dungeons, to serve as an inspiration to the rest. As for the mares, he chained them back together, and ordered them be put into the crystal mines.

Sure, he had his amulet, but that was no reason to be complacent. And who knew? His sages were always using crystals for new spells and enchantments as quickly as they could be mined; with the power he now grasped in his hooves, he could—he looked up at the sun—well, maybe not that. Not yet.

He covered a yawn as he looked over a report from his treasurer. It wasn’t great news, but it wasn’t terrible, either. He could just raise taxes a little bit, maybe a percent or two. Nothing too harsh. And if a pony couldn’t pay? Well, there was always room for more in the crystal mines.

Yes, things were moving along nicely. That upstart Celestia was ensconced in her southern country, too scared to leave the warmth of the southlands to challenge his empire; even if she did come north, her troops wouldn’t last in the cold.

Sombra picked up a mallet and brushed it against a crystal gong. Before the noise had faded from the giant hall, a pony was at his side.

“Yes, master?”

“I wish a draught of ambrosia, and for my carriage to be prepared. I shall be retiring to my vacation house for a little break.”

“Very good, sire.” The servant bowed, and scurried off to comply. Sombra watched her with a smirk. It was good to be king.

King Sombra settled into the feather bed at his vacation home. He pulled the covers up to his chin, rolled over onto his side, and embraced his favorite stuffie in his hooves, the silky push warm against his skin. As he drifted off to sleep, he thought again, it’s good to be king.

Unbeknownst to King Sombra, his alarm clock, while the finest example of crystal pony construction, suffered from a fatal flaw. Vain as he was, he’d ordered all the workings to be made of crystal—an impossible task—and dozens of clock-makers now labored in the crystal mines for failure to produce.

But one pony, smarter than all his predecessors, had realized that Sombra had no idea how a clock actually worked, and had simply assembled an ordinary clock, dusting each part with a fine crystal powder. As can be imagined, this was quite abrasive, and dramatically shortened the clock's life.

King Sombra knew none of this, and he drifted off to sleep with his alarm clock ticking reassuringly. He did not notice that the tics were slow and the tocs kind of gritty, and he was sound asleep when the mainspring gave one final spronk as the clock cast its withers.

He was a heavy sleeper—always had been—and the stress of ruling an empire and creating ever more powerful artifacts had taken their toll. He slept through the afternoon, and the night, and the day after that, and the next night, and so on.

It was not too long before his kingdom dissolved into chaos. Without their leader, the crystal ponies simply could not manage their own affairs—that was the consensus of Sombra’s advisors, who uneasily watched the gathering mobs below their great tower.

Since Sombra’s iron-shod rule had not permitted a second-in-command, a hasty conference was held in which Sombra’s successor was chosen, and therefore all responsibility of the whole empire fell into the hooves of the lowliest chambermare, who handled her promotion with a considerable degree of stoicism—she fainted.

When she came to, she did the only thing she could think of—summoned the court mages to find a solution posthaste.

Spellbooks were drawn forth, and presently a spell was discovered which would freeze everything in the empire until Sombra returned. Without even bothering to read the pages of disclaimers and warnings, the mages drew forth all their considerable powers and cast the spell.

With a quiet sproink—just the same noise that the clock’s mainspring had made, in fact—the entire Crystal Empire vanished.

King Sombra yawned, feeling the warm sunshine across his face. He felt amazing—it was by far the most refreshing nap he’d ever taken.

His whole body felt light. He bounced to his hooves, not noticing that he was smokier than he’d been when he went to bed. All his aches and pains were gone—a beneficial side-effect to being largely incorporeal.

He looked out the window at his glorious kingdom glittering off in the distance. Something seemed a little off—there was a faint blue glow around it where there hadn’t been before.

Now feeling the first twinges of unease, Sombra galloped into his lavish sitting room, shouting for his servants. Of course, they were all long gone, having fled south after he failed to wake.

His daughter had stayed for the longest, but she, too, had eventually given up, as the ice advanced and the food ran out. She went on to marry a nice stallion, forgot about the Crystal Empire, and many many many generations later, her great-great-great . . . grandfilly ascended to alicornhood when—but that’s a story for a different time.

It should not be surprising that this very grandfilly, in fact, was sitting on what had been Sombra’s crystal throne, but he knew none of this. All he knew was that his servants were all gone, and when he went to enter his lavish Crystal City, his way was blocked by a forcefield.

The rest of the story? Well, everypony knows that. There’s even a stained glass window in Canterlot with a picture of Spike the Dragon, boldly holding the Crystal Heart high above his head.

Author's Note

Prompt: You decide to lay down for a nap, setting an alarm so you don't oversleep. But you sleep right through it, and, ten years later ... (ok, so I stretched the ten years to a thousand)