Pinkamena Diane Pie. She was a nobody. There were only a select few people who actually knew her name. People had a number of things that they said to make a reference to her, though even those were small in amount.
The girl with the long pink hair that swung in front of her face. The girl that never talked. The girl with haunted, blue eyes. The girl that wore pink, light blue, or yellow long sleeved shirts, jeans, and a baby blue hoodie everyday, no matter the weather outside. The girl with the tall, dark blue boots that went up to her knees.
That's what people knew of her. But this is what people called her.
Retard. Slow. Stupid. Freaky.
That's just a sampling.
Pinkamena Diane Pie grabbed her books from her locker and stowed them in her dark blue book bag. One half of her face was concealed by her silky soft, pink hair that trailed down her back and shoulders. She shifted her backpack onto her shoulders and shut her locker softly, all the while looking at the floor. She took a deep breath and began walking forward slowly, hunched over as not to show anyone her face.
A girl with boyish looking hair came strolling down the hallway. A lock of long hair was swept across her forehead, slightly above her left eye. The hair was dyed red, orange, and yellow. The rest of her short hair was green, blue, and purple. She flashed her rose eyes across the pink haired girl and gave her a small smile. She was wearing a pair of sky blue basketball shorts and shoes, along with a white team jersey that had the number 3 on the front and back, with 'Dash', written across the back near her shoulders. "Colts" was the team name, written in yellow letters, right above the number, which was red. 'Dash' was in blue. A basketball was tucked under her arm.
Her eyes sparkled as she saw Pinkamena. "Hi, Pinkie Pie," the sporty girl snickered. She held out her hand in a fist bumping gesture. Pinkamena stared at it blankly. The girl's smile turned into one of pity. "Not today, either, I guess. I'll get one out of you someday, Pinkie." She gave the pink haired girl a wink and entered the gym. That was Rainbow Dash. Best athlete at Equestria High. Talented in everything from basketball to track, she was the four year in a row winner of the 'Most Talented Athlete' trophy. She met with Pinkemena one time in freshman year, wanting an answer for a math problem she was struggling on, and had formed a somewhat one-sided relationship with her after she had given her the solution. Although she never spoke a word, Rainbow would always try to be pals. Even after four years, as they were seniors now, she was still determined to be friends. The sporty girl always tried to be nice to everyone she met, even if you wouldn't expect it.
Pinkie Pie was a nickname that Dash had also bestowed on her. She never said it to anyone else. It was her little secret. Although she didn't admit it, she actually liked it. It made her seem fun, even when she was not.
So after Rainbow Dash left, Pinkamena continued walking. She kept her hunched over position. She didn't look up, didn't acknowledge anyone else in the halls.
"Pinkamena! Can I talk to you for a second?" a small, possibly the smallest voice you've ever heard asked. Pinkamena stopped in her tracks. A taller girl with lengthy, light pink hair walked up to her shyly, clutching a biology book closely to her chest.
The girl was wearing a light yellow shirt with butterflies on the front. Her grass colored skirt went down to her blue sneaker-covered feet. Her teal eyes glanced around nervously.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt anything you might've been doing, but-but I wanted to know, if, maybe, I don't know, you'd like to-- I mean, wouldn't mind doing--" she squeaked, hiding in her hair. "Maybe, maybe. . . oh, never mind. I'm sorry I wasted your time, which you could totally be spending doing something else, but. . sorry," she whispered. With that, the tall girl snuck down, seemingly evaporating into the crowd of students leaving the high school.
Pinkamena blinked once and continued walking. That train wreck was Fluttershy, the school's shyest person, and also quite possibly the most apologetic one. That girl said sorry over almost everything, even something as simple as reading something wrong in class. She had a closer personality to Pinkamena, but she still didn't say a word.
And so with that gone, another person came into contact with the pink haired girl. A blonde chick with a cowboy hat on and hair pulled back in a ponytail glanced sideways for a second and ran straight into her.
"Oh! Ah'm so sorry about that, Pinkamena! Let me help ya," the girl said immediately. Pinkamena could recognize Applejack without even looking at her. She just had to hear her voice, as that was hint enough. The cowgirl was wearing her signature hat, which were allowed in school, oddly enough. She had a pair of jeans on, with dark brown cowboy boots and a checkered, orange, buttoned-up shirt that had a slight collar on it. Her shirt, as always, was tucked into her pants, all fixed together with a brown leather belt emblazoned with a shiny gold buckle.
Pinkamena shrugged, then turned away. She felt a grip on her arm and immediately broke away, a gasp escaping her lips. She locked eyes with Applejack, whose shining green ones gazed upon her with shock. Pinkamena growled threateningly and spun around once again, trying to hide her tears that started sliding down her face.
"Wait, sugar cube! Ah didn't mean to. . "
Applejack stood, dumbfounded. She was stricken. She would never forget those terrified, baby blue eyes.
Pinkamena wiped at her eyes with her sweatshirt, smearing mascara on the beautiful light blue fabric. She quickly hid it, hoping her mother wouldn't notice it. She stopped, chest heaving, against a locker. There was a light tap on her shoulder. Pinkamena gasped and pressed herself back to the locker.
The beautiful, violet haired teen standing in front of her looked at Pinkamena with a worried glimmer in her sapphire eyes. Oh, Rarity. She was dressed in a light purple tank top with a white overcoat covering the thin straps. A teal skirt was layered over a pair of black tights, which were under her purple high heels. There was a diamond hanging from a string around her neck, and a matching shiny wrist band looped around her arm. Her perfectly curled hair swirled dazzlingly around her back and shoulders. A long twist hung to one side of her face.
"Darling, are you okay? I saw what happened. Applejack didn't mean to hurt you," Rarity said.
Pinkamena opened and closed her mouth, no words forming as more tears flowed down her pale cheeks. She nodded her head quickly and slapped a sleeved hand over her mouth.
"Now, dear, why don't you tell me what's bothering you while I make you a new outfit? You've surely got to be sick of those same old clothes everyday," Rarity added, going for Pinkamena's small hand. The pink haired girl shook her head vigorously and pulled away, running down the hall.
"Pinkamena!"
Rarity's smooth voice faded out. Pinkamena ducked around other students, taking care not to bump into any of them. Her arm hurt badly, but it wasn't from Applejack.
She knew Rarity had been trying to be kind. But she couldn't let anybody know. And besides, there was still one more girl that she knew she would see before the day was over.
Twilight Sparkle. The smartest person in school, as well as the most awkwardly social person. She didn't really know how to talk to people, though she wasn't shy. Twilight was a shorter girl. . .well, okay, smallest girl in the grade (also, very curvy). But, she could pack a punch if you made fun of her height. Now she was hurrying towards Pinkamena as she started her walk home. Both of them lived on the same street, so the indigo haired girl would often accompany her journey.
"Heyah, Pinkamena. You okay?" Twilight asked, still slightly out of breath from her run. Pinkamena nodded. Her tears had dried already.
"Okay. If you say so." Twilight gave her a worried glance and said nothing more. The smarty was dressed in a collared purple button-up shirt, the cuffs rolled up to her elbows. She wore a pair of jeans and a pair of white Converse. An indigo tie hung from around her neck, matching her mane that was streaked with dark pink and purple.
They walked on in silence. Soon, Twilight turned, waving. "Well, seeyah. Bye, Pinkamena. Have a great day." She gave her a sweet smile and walked up her driveway. Pinkamena stared for a minute, then continued walking. She was nearly to her house. As she got to the top of her hill, she saw that her mother's car was gone.
Good. Now she could wash her sweatshirt before she saw it.
Pinkamena entered her house, the cooling systems on. She sighed slightly. The cool air felt nice. Pinkamena took off her sweatshirt and boots, setting the large blue footwear by the door on the small yellow "welcome" rug. She padded down towards the laundry room and began to prepare the washing machine. As soon as the soap and whatever else was added, she closed it and left the room. The sound of a door opening made her stop in her tracks. Pinkamena froze in terror, shoving the yellow sleeve of her shirt in her mouth to stop her frightened breathing.
"Pinkamena! I know you're home, so I'm just here to tell you that I'm leaving for a while! Don't get into any trouble!" a lady's voice shouted roughly. Within a second or two, the door shut and the engine of a car was heard.
Pinkamena sighed happily, sliding down the wall she had been leaning against. The few tears that had been gathering in her eyes rolled down her cheeks in relief. Her mother wouldn't find out. She wouldn't come home for hours. All she would have to do was lock the door to her room tonight, and she would be safe.
Pinkamena sat in bed; hair freshly washed and a pair of light blue pajamas on. She was currently reading a book. The house was silent, the moon rising in the background, shining in through the window, casting its soft glow on the carpet. A white lamp sat on the nightstand next to her, allowing her to read in the darkness.
A loud crash downstairs jerked Pinkamena out of her book. She cringed, sinking into the covers. Her mother was home. And drunk, most likely.
"Pinkamena! Get the fuck down here!" she heard her mother scream. The sound of a breaking beer bottle echoed in the small house. Pinkamena squeaked, hiding under the covers. Her door was locked; she was safe. She just needed to wait until morning. Her mother was always nicer on Saturdays.
"Get the fuck down here, you pathetic excuse for a child! Or I'll come up and get you!"
Pinkamena curled in her bed, tears dripping down her face. Her mother had no right to say those things. It wasn't her fault her dad died. It was an accident. She hadn't even been there, at the crash. She had been but twelve at the time.
It wasn't her fault-- was it?
"That's it!" her mother exclaimed drunkenly, "I'm getting the belt!"
She can't get you. She can't get you. She can't get you. You're safe. You're safe here.
There was a pounding at the door. Pinkamena shrunk down, sobbing quietly.
"Ha! Think that's gonna work anymore? I have a key! Just got it today for this very purpose!"
There were loud footsteps and then the doorknob jiggled. Pinkamena's pupils shrunk to the size of dots and she cowered. She was completely defenseless.
The door opened and in came the drunk woman. Her brown hair was in disarray, clothes ruffled, breath smelling of alcohol. She had in one hand the key to the room and in the other; a folded up belt.
"Get out of bed and get over here!" her mother shouted.
"Please! Mom, just go to bed, please! I didn't do anything wrong!" Pinkamena cried, trying to scoot farther back in her bed.
"That's what you always say! But what you did will forever be punishable!" Her mother stomped forward and lunged towards the pink haired girl trembling in her bed. Pinkamena dodged her mother's outstretched hand and threw the covers off her, running to the bathroom.
"Get fucking back here you disappointing retard!" the woman hollered, her voice slightly slurred.
"I'm not a disappointment! You are!" Pinkamena sobbed, glancing over her shoulder at her mother. That just made her angrier and she came after her quicker than ever. Unprepared, Pinkamena was grabbed by the wrist and shoved down the stairs. She tumbled down, hitting her head and lay crying at the bottom.
"You do not back talk! I'm the master of this household!" The woman stomped down the stairs and grabbed Pinkamena's hair, lifting her face up.
Her mother held the belt up behind her head and brought it down on her daughter's backside. After a few whacks there, she began hitting her back and shoulders.
"Ow! M-mom, p-please stop!" Pinkamena cried, wriggling in her mother's grasp. She curled in a ball, trying to stop the brunt of the pain. She sobbed hysterically as she was beaten. After a while, her mother did stop. She dropped the crying teen on the floor and came back with a lighter and knife in her hands.
"I'll cut your stupid little face!" her mother screamed. Pinkamena tried to get up, but was stopped as her guardian brought her foot down on her back. The teen cried and tried to shove off her mother's foot, but in return for her struggling, she was given a few smacks of the belt.
"Don't move or I'll put you over my knee!" her mother screeched, stomping down hard on her daughter's back. She glared harshly at her before resuming what she had been doing. The knife was held up and the lighter under it, the small blue flame burning the sharp metal. Soon, it was hot to the touch. The mother crouched down, taking her foot off Pinkamena's back and instead held the knife to her face.
"I'm going to enjoy this," she hissed in her quivering and crying daughter's ear. Then, without a beat, she pulled the hot blade across Pinkamena's forehead. The teen screeched in pain and sobbed more violently, twisting in her mother's grip. She then rolled up the poor girl's sleeves and ran the knife across the sensitive flesh. Red, hot blood from the wounds dropped onto the floor, staining Pinkamena's clothes and the normally grey carpet. After numerous cuts and stab wounds marked her daughter's arms, face, stomach, and chest, the adult stood up, disgusted. She wiped the blood off the knife with Pinkamena's pajamas and gave her a violent kick in the stomach. The teen was curled up on the floor, sobbing violently.
"You disgust me, you worthless piece of shit." Her mother spat on her. "You're the reason your father died. It will always be your fault. It's on your shoulders, you selfish brat. Fucking die in Hell." She gave her daughter one more look of utter disgust before turning and walking to her room, leaving the broken teen on the floor, bleeding.
Pinkamena sobbed for hours. She laid there at the bottom of the stairs. Finally, when some of the pain had gone, she hauled herself into a sitting position. Her whole body burned like crazy. From the belting to the cutting, this had been one of the worst nights yet. The teen coughed, blood spitting out from her cut lip. She began crawling up the stairs towards her room. Blood dripped onto the wooden stairs, but who cared. Her mother would leave for work tomorrow and she'd be gone all day. Then Pinkamena would clean it up when she left.
Upon reaching her room, she collapsed. Her whole body ached, and after a few minutes of horrible pain, she passed out on her light blue floor.
Pinkamena awoke around noon, her body clenched. She sat up. The dried and crusted blood from last night's ordeal cracked, flakes crumbling onto the carpet. She held her head. She stood up shakily and undressed, observing the wounds inflicted by her mom. The old bruises had just been starting to fade. Fresh bruises and cuts now marked her pale body. She set about bandaging herself.
After that, she just stayed in her underwear. Her chest was taped up to cover the horrible bruising and stabs. As for the ones on her face; well, she had makeup to cover those. Long, wide marks on her back and shoulders, including her backside, indicated where her mom had severely beaten her with the belt. The teen sat at her desk, head swimming. Being thrown down the stairs had probably taken a toll when she had hit her head.
Why did she stay with her mother? All the beatings, all the verbal abuse, all the horrible deeds. Why? Was it because she felt some pity for her mother, who had not only lost her husband, but the son she had given birth to? Her little brother, Lucky Seven, had been killed in that accident as well, not just her father, Cloud Nine.
No. It was because her mother was right. It was all Pinkamena's fault they were dead. She was needing to be picked up from musical rehearsal, and it was up to her father to do that. But on the way, they crashed. It was instantaneous. There was no saving them. So her family, in the blink of an eye, had been shattered. Pinkamena knew why her mother blamed her.
Her eye twitched. She'd known this information all her life, but had refused to just admit it was her fault. Being faced with outright cracking under the pressure and knowledge of what she'd done, even if unintentionally, was enough to make her break.
So Pinkamena did the only thing she could do. She thought of her "friends." The people that wanted to be closer, but her own wits and terrors kept them away. Her mind racing, Pinkamena plopped down in her chair, pulled herself up to her desk, and fished for some paper and a pencil in the drawers. Her hand flowed across the page.
She thought of Rainbow Dash, the loyal, determined, brash tomboy who wanted to become the fastest runner in all of the world, the girl who was the best athlete she'd ever known; even better than the professionals, in her mind. She thought of the rainbow hair, cut in a boy's hairstyle with a sweep of bangs across her forehead. She remembered the sky blue basketball shorts she was known for wearing. Her mind went over the colors on her team jersey, the one Dash herself had designed, just for her image. Always having some sort of ball or sport item in her hands. The way she'd hold out her fist for a bump even when she knew she'd never actually get one back; talk about devoted to a cause.
Pinkamena thought of Fluttershy, the sweet, quiet, shy, timid, and tall girl who was the nicest person she'd ever met in her life. The way she talks, the way she walks, the way she smiles and apologizes for every little thing. Her long, flowing hair, her love towards animals, her amazing eyes which with one look, would have you mesmerized. The way she squeaked incoherent answers when she was talking. When she got angry and lashed out, eyes huge and quivering, making even the toughest of bullies cower beneath her gaze.
Pinkamena thought of Applejack, the honest farm girl with the southern accent. The real cowgirl that actually rode bulls and attended rodeos. The way her hair was always in a ponytail, always underneath that dusty old hat. The shiny belt buckle from one of her rodeos, the one that she admitted to polishing everyday. The thump of her boots on the hard linoleum floor of the high school. Her tucked in checkered shirts. The spattering of freckles on her cheeks and nose.
Pinkamena thought of Rarity. She was the most absolutely beautiful girl at the school, maybe even in the state. Her dazzling smile, sapphire eyes, and royal purple hair that swung rhythmically behind her, curling and uncurling with every movement of her body. The way she did one flip of her hair and all the boys in the area would have their mouths on the floor, so in awe of her beauty. The click of her high heels and the occasional boot as she walked. The way she had every boy wrapped around her little finger. The light shining off her diamond necklace and matching bracelet, little rainbows flashing around as the sun's rays were reflected off the surface.
Pinkamena thought of Twilight, the book nerd and awkward socialist. The small bounce to her step as she walked. Her curving bangs flowing over her forehead, leaving a wide space underneath. The streaks of pink and purple that ran through the indigo color. The always present book under her arm. That sweet smile that seemed to beg "come over here and talk to me." Her violet eyes, always filled with caring and compassion. Her slightly darker skin and short stature. How she was always trying to learn something new. How she always walked with Pinkamena on her way home, even if she never talked.
Pinkamena thought of herself. How she wanted to be loved by her mother, how she wanted to not be abused, but happy, and how she wanted her family back. She wanted everyone to know her name and remember it, too.
Finally, the colored pencil in her hand dropped. The paper that had been sitting in front of her was now covered in figures. Six small ponies, in fact. Each one their own color and personality. Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy, Applejack, Rarity, Twilight Sparkle, and Pinkamena-- no, Pinkie Pie. But instead of a flat, boring hairstyle, on her head was now a mane full of bouncing pink hair that reminded her of cotton candy.
Pinkamena stared at the picture. Maybe in real life she was Pinkamena, but in her world, she was Pinkie Pie. She hugged the picture tight and proceeded to hang it up on her wall with a tack.
Then, she turned to her mirror. Her delusional, crazy mind was working on overdrive. The full length mirror held her reflection in it for a few moments longer before it changed. Now, instead of an unhappy, abused teen, she saw Pinkie Pie. The happy pony grinned, showing flashy teeth, and put her hooves on the glass.
Pinkamena giggled. Her eyes twitched, going in different directions. The pony in the mirror smiled larger and began pushing her way through it. Her head emerged, then the front of her body. She sat like that, grinning at the now crying teen. Pinkamena looked with teary eyes at the pony. She gripped her head, a smile on her face. Her left eye continued to twitch, but she ignored it. Pinkie Pie giggled. In Pinkamena's head, her mind was dying. There was now but one thing she could even think of:
Forget your reality.
Author's Note
. . . Don't murder me. I was just inspired when I saw that picture, AKA the coverart.
Rainbow Dash rolled over in bed, a loud snore emanating from her throat. Muttering something incoherently, she scratched at her neck with one hand unconsciously, a small line of drool dripping down her lip. In one second, her sleep was interrupted as a loud sound roared from beside her. She jumped up, eyes flying open.
“Gahh!” Rainbow snorted, half awake. The rainbow haired girl looked around. On the small nightstand next to her bed, her phone sat, the screen lit up. She picked up the iPhone, unplugging it from its charger. She nearly dropped it, as her fingers were still thick and unmoving from slumber. The blue-and-white cased phone was lifted in her hand. Dash quickly unlocked it, typing in her extremely short password of ‘20’ (her favorite number), and looked at the message that had woken her.
Hiyah Dashie! It’s Pinkie Pie! I’m having a little get together at my place today! It starts at seven. See you there?
-Pinkie Pie
“What?” Dash mumbled. She squinted her eyes at the bright screen, puzzled. Then she looked at the time.
3:07 P.M.
With a loud groan, Rainbow shoved her face back into her pillow, gripping it tightly. She could get up later.
“Oh, Angel, you’re so cute. Come on, mommy’s got a little surprise for you,” Fluttershy cooed. In her hands was a fluffy white bunny. Angel wiggled his nose as she sat him down on her desk. The pink haired girl dug in her schoolbag, searching for something. She pulled a small bag out.
“Tada!” she squeaked, smiling widely. The bunny sniffed. “Now, Angel, don’t be like that. Once you see what it is, you’ll like it. I’m sure of it.” She rummaged in the bag, retrieving a tiny ball. It wasn’t an ordinary ball, though, as it smelled sweet and was slightly sticky in her fingers. Fluttershy set the ball down in front of her pet.
“Here you go, Angel Bunny. It’s a ball of caramel popcorn. I know little bunnies aren’t supposed to have lots of sweets, but I couldn’t help myself.” She gave Angel a meek smile. The white bunny sniffed at the ball before starting to ravenously dig into it. There was only the sound of him nibbling on the popcorn softly until a ringing filled the room. Fluttershy jumped when she heard it, her hair bouncing around her head.
“Oh, I wonder who that could be,” Fluttershy said quietly, getting up from her green rolly chair to get her cell phone. It was an Android. As she lifted it up, you could see the case; a pink and teal cartoon butterfly sitting on a blue flower. Her eyes scanned the text. She smiled and replied,
Oh yes! I will definitely be there! I mean, if that’s okay with you. . .
Fluttershy
“Angel, guess what? I’m going to a get together!” Fluttershy squeed. She suddenly stopped, mouth open. She held both of her hands up to her chest. “Oh, I better get ready!”
A blonde head lifted up from the mud. The face was mostly hidden by the large amounts of wet dirt dripping off it, but who it belonged to was quite easy to recognize.
Spitting out mud, Applejack snapped, “Applebloom! Get back ‘ere!” She struggled to lift herself out of the thick mud, but collapsed as her hand got stuck. “This instant!”
There was giggling heard. “Come on, AB, let’s go!” Scootaloo whispered loudly.
“Um, see ya later sis! The Crusaders and Ah are goin’ to the park!” Applebloom responded cheekily. The three giggling children raced off, the pattering of their feet being the only thing Applejack heard as she lay in the pigpen.
“Gosh darnit,” the eldest Apple sister growled, pulling her hand free and sitting up. She wiped the mud from her cheeks, flicking her wrists to send it flying. The nearby pigs oinked and snuffled in the thick mud and other grossness, paying no mind to the teen struggling to sit up in the center of the pen.
A deep voice chuckled from behind her. Applejack twisted her head around and saw her older brother, Big Macintosh. He was wearing a green t-shirt and jeans with a thick brown belt with a shiny buckle holding his pants up. On his feet were brown cowboy boots similar to what his sister wore. His rusty colored eyebrows lifted when Applejack turned to look.
Big Mac held her Stetson on the edge of a finger, keeping it just out of reach as he leaned on the wooden fence. “Missin’ somethin’?” he asked, raising the hat up a bit more.
Applejack snorted, hauling herself out of the mud. “Watch yer snide comments.” She clambered over the fence, leaving a smear of mud everywhere she touched. Big Mac grinned at her, a piece of wheat sticking out of his mouth.
“Ah’m not bein’ snide, sis.” He watched as she angrily swiped her Stetson off his finger.
Not bothering to put it on because of no desire to get it even dirtier, Applejack spat a bit of dirt from her mouth and stormed off towards their house.
“No need to be like that,” her brother commented, following her. “It’s just Applebloom bein’ Applebloom.”
“Yeah, Ah know, but Ah got a text from Pinkamena earlier,” Applejack responded. Big Mac raised an eyebrow.
“That one girl that has really long pink hair?”
“Mac, there’s more than one person with that description.” Applejack grabbed the hose from beside the house and turned on the water. “But yeah, that’s the one.” She looked over at him. “Ya mind?” She waved the hose at him.
“No problem.” He accepted the hose and twisted the nozzle, then began spraying Applejack with water. The mud ran off her clothes and gathered on the grass, leaving a few out of place spots in the bright green. The farm girl slowly turned in a circle, arms extended, yet her face thoughtful.
“Ah mean, she’s never talked to anyone, an’ all of a sudden, she’s havin’ a shindig,” Applejack continued. “It’s mighty odd, but Ah do wanna be friends, make her feel more accepted, so Ah’m gonna go.”
Big Macintosh nodded. “Eeyup, Ah hear ya.” He reached down and turned the water off once she was clean.
“It starts at seven, so Ah’m gonna go upstairs and change.” Applejack wringed out her ponytail before swinging it around, letting it lay on her back per usual.
“Mmkay.”
Applejack headed inside the swinging door, letting it slam gently behind her.
“Oh, Rarity, you have very much outdone yourself,” the beautiful teen purred, admiring herself in the body length mirror. She twirled around, violet hair swinging. She was wearing her newest outfit. It had taken a month, but she’d managed to get it done just right.
The creation was a short red dress, the hem only going down a few inches on her thighs. The bottom was ruffled, a black strip of leather coming from the hip to just near where the ruffles started. Two stripes of leather went across the chest, the bottom connected to the large strip. Black dots speckled the fabric in between the stripes. A large design covered one half of the chest, a layer of black lace showing through. The straps that held the dress were a series of complicated designs, spreading out over the collarbone and shoulders. On Rarity’s head was a black headband, completed with four swirls with tiny red dots on them. Her shoes were red high heels, black straps traveling up her ankles to the very beginning of her tanned legs.
“Yes, thank you Mrs. President. And yes, I did make it myself!” Rarity said into the mirror, faking a sure to be situation where she met the President, Celestia, and her Vice President, Luna. Rarity put her hands on her hips, making duck faces at her reflection. She bent over, trying to get the best angle on the dress. Twirling in a circle, Rarity threw her hands over her head, watching the dress swirl out around her.
“Oh, yes, perfect. I think this is one of my best dresses for sure,” Rarity confirmed. She ran her hands through her violet hair and fluttered her eyelashes at the mirror. “You look simply amazing.” As the teen complimented herself in the mirror, the familiar song of ‘Dark Horse’ started playing, signifying that she’d gotten a message. Rarity glanced over with an ‘oh, look at that,’ and walked over to her white purse. She rummaged through it for a few moments before taking the item and tapping the screen.
“Oh, goodness!” Rarity stammered, sapphire eyes widening. “Opalescence, darling, read this message!” She looked towards the perfectly groomed, white Persian cat sunbathing on top of blankets on the windowsill. The cat had an opal-studded purple collar and a matching ribbon in the long hair on her head. She idly meowed and swished her tail, lifting her head up from between her paws. The iPhone was shoved in front of her nose, making her snort and get up, snootily padding off with her head held high.
“Don’t be like that, Opal.” Rarity put her hands on her hips, the diamond ring on her right ring finger glinting like her necklace. She then looked down at her outfit. “I think this dress will be perfect for a little party.” Rarity stopped, mouth opening. “Oh dear, my hair’s a mess! And just looking in the mirror tells me my makeup is in the same condition!”
Opal mewed from the bed this time, her green eyes glaring dully at her pampered teen owner.
“Thanks for your suggestion, Opal. I think my ruby bracelet would go rather well with this dress,” Rarity cooed. She eyed the silver watch she had on now. “Time to take this off, don’t you say?” She let out a giggle at her own joke as Opal rolled her eyes. The Persian licked her paw, watching Rarity head to the bathroom.
Twilight Sparkle was currently in her domain—the library. It was a huge expanse of wood and books, all the best and all the worst. So when her phone vibrated in her pocket (she would never let her own things disturb other readers), the purple-vest-wearing teen nearly jumped out of her skin, the tall stack of books tottering in her arms. Twilight very carefully brought an arm down, now skilled at the art of balancing books on one arm from all her years in the library. She checked her messages and blinked several times at the screen.
“Whoa, no way,” Twilight gaped quietly, reading the text for the tenth time in just as many seconds. As soon as she replied, saying she would indeed be there, her phone vibrated again. She raised a dark blue eyebrow, feeling the repeated buzzing of a phone call.
Clearing her throat, Twilight asked, “Yes?”
“Oh, hello Twilight. It’s Rarity,” came the fashionista’s voice.
“Hi, Rares. What’s up?” Twilight put her phone under her ear, lifting a shoulder to hold it in place. She kept her voice lowered, careful not to bother anyone that might’ve been in the area.
“Well, I’m sure you received Pinkamena’s text, did you not?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Are you going?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, good. I need some help.”
“With what?” Twilight raised an eyebrow.
“Since I absolutely think that girl needs some new outfits, I’m putting a few together. She always wears the same kind of thing. So boring,” Rarity said, seemingly preoccupied on her end of the line, “And what’s with you whispering?”
“Library,” Twilight responded. “And?”
“Oh, yes, I was wondering what you think would look better with this ‘Baby Chick Yellow’ tank top—a nice, relaxing baby blue skirt, or should I replace the yellow with a spring green and use pink? Like a watermelonish pink. Like watermelon Baby Bottle Pops.” At her house, Rarity was holding up fabrics—holding her phone in the same way Twilight was—trying to judge for herself what would look best. “The green is the color of the candy—not the pink, sorry.” She paused, while Twilight was completely lost. “Wait, is it spring green or is it sea green? A light teal?” Rarity’s voice faded out. “. . . No, definitely spring green.”
“Um. . .”
“You are so right. We’ll go with pink and blue. Cotton candy. Matches her hair.” The gorgeous teen paused. “Wait! I got it—I’ll use pink and blue, then make another with green and pink. Thanks so much Twilight; I knew I could count on you.” Without another word, the phone call was cut off. Twilight grabbed her cell from her shoulder and squinted at it, confused. After a moment, she simply shrugged, tucking her phone into its usual place in her right back pocket.
After all, Rarity was Rarity.
Pinkie Pie, formerly known as Pinkamena, scurried through her house. She had cleaned and did just a bit of decorating, trying to make the usually boring and stuffy house seem more inviting. Her mother would be home at six, but Pinkie had a plan to deal with her. Her mind was delusional—there was no way anyone else in the world would have thought knocking their mother unconscious and tying her up in the basement was a good idea. Totally whacked, the pink haired teen retrieved the bottle of sleeping pills from her bathroom cabinet. Occasionally, Pinkie would have insomnia, so she would take a pill to help her fall asleep.
“Everything is almost ready,” Pinkie said to no one in particular, tapping the tips of her fingers together. Doing a quick onceover of her looks, making sure she had the basement key also, she observed herself in the mirror.
Pinkie’s rosy hair was no longer straight—instead, the pink locks were now in soft curls, one giant, airy loop dangling just to the right of her face. It barely concealed one blue eye, but that was a major improvement. Carefully placed concealer had done exactly what she’d wanted it to do: hide the cuts across her forehead and cheeks.
Her clothes were also different, but still had to hide her bruises.
Good thing I went to the mall earlier, Pinkie Pie thought as she admired her new outfit. She was wearing dark blue tights, her pale legs barely seen through the fabric. A pair of jean capris were covering her thighs, the pants being held up by a pair of white suspenders. Her yellow short sleeved shirt was covered up by a light pink overcoat that was striped with streaks of white and black. She wore a small pair of pale yellow flats. A silver charm bracelet with several golden balloons on it hung on her wrist.
“I’m all ready!” Pinkie Pie cheered, her hands flying over her head. She skipped downstairs. It was about ten after six in the evening, so her mother would be home soon. Even though the woman was a bit nicer on Saturdays, Pinkie couldn’t take the chance. Her friends would never know.
Just minutes after Pinkie went downstairs, a car engine sounded from the driveway. The teen looked over at the baseball bat propped up against the wall, hidden behind the bench by the front door. If her mother was thirsty or demanded a drink (as she often did when she returned home), then Pinkie would drug her. If she tried to attack her, then the teen would fight back.
“Pinkamena! I’m ho—” her mother stopped when she barged in the door. She eyed her daughter. “What’s with the getup?”
“I’m just . . . trying a new style,” Pinkie Pie responded carefully, hands slightly sweaty as she held the medicine behind her back.
The woman narrowed her eyes. “Fine.” Stomping off, she yelled back, “Get me a beer!”
“Yes, mother!” Pinkie called, a smile on her face in light of the circumstances. She went onto her tiptoes as she replied to her parent. A crooked grin making its way across her face, the teen scurried off to the kitchen. The sleeping pills were set on the counter as she opened the fridge, swiping a beer. She placed it beside the pills and then fetched the bottle opener. Pinkie quickly popped the top off and watched as it went flinging across the kitchen. She grabbed it and chucked it in the trash located under the sink, then unscrewed the medicine bottle. The pink haired girl chuckled a bit as she took four pills and crushed them with a nearby jar, grinding them into powder. After that, the remnants were brushed into the open beer bottle, dissolving with a few gentle movements from Pinkie.
Losing her smile as she traversed the short halls of her house, Pinkie delivered the beverage to her mother, who was in her room watching tv.
“Here it is,” she said, handing the bottle to the woman.
“Took you long enough. Now get out,” Pinkie’s mom commanded gruffly, jabbing a thumb back towards the door.
Not saying anything more, Pinkie inched out, watching with satisfaction as her mother took a long swig. It wouldn’t take her long to finish, and by then, she’d be knocked out for hours. And better yet, when she woke up, she wouldn’t remember anything (a side effect of a larger dose was short term memory loss). The minutes passed slowly, and then there was a crash from the other room. Pinkie leaped into action and threw the door open. Her mother was out cold on the bed, the bottle broken in little bits on the carpet, a bit of beer splattered also.
“Perfect,” formerly-Pinkamena said deviously, a smile on her face. She avoided the glass and then grabbed her parent under the arms, hauling her off the bed. Without another thought, Pinkie dragged the unconscious woman down the stairs to the basement. There, she had some rope and tape.
Setting her mother down on the cold floor, Pinkie retrieved the rope and tied her up. She laid her against an exposed pipe that extended from the white walls, then attached her to it. After that came the duct tape, which went across her mother’s mouth. Pinkie certainly didn’t need her waking up and yelling, alerting her guests that there was someone in the basement. When all that was done, the teen hiked back up the steps, turning off the light and locking the door behind her.
Pinkie went through her supplies after she hid the key under her mattress and cleaned up the glass.
“Alright, I have plenty of drinks, snacks, games, chairs. . .” She checked them off on her fingers, slowly turning in a circle to see each thing she was listing. Twilight would almost be proud.
“Ooh, nearly forgot!” Pinkie chirped, running swiftly up to her room. She grabbed her stereo and iPod, then staggered down the steps. She hooked them up in the living room. Hopefully her friends would like her music. She mostly listened to Pop and Rock. She hated country. It was something she’d just never been able to listen to without wincing and feeling like her ears were going to bleed.
Glancing at the clock, Pinkie saw it read 6:54. Her friends would be here soon.
As if on cue, the doorbell rang with a resounding ding.
“Coming~” Pinkie Pie sang, skipping towards the door, hair bouncing. She threw open the door and was faced with Twilight. Well, not faced, per say, as the indigo haired teen was a good half foot shorter than she was.
“Hi, Pinkamena!” Twilight chirruped.
“Oh please, Twilight, call me Pinkie Pie!” She stepped to the side, allowing Twilight entrance to her abode.
Twilight—wearing a purple sweater vest over a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to her elbows (as usual), a dark purple tie, jeans, and today a pair of light grey Converse—stepped inside, a smile on her face.
“You know, Pinkie Pie, I never thought you’d open up. It’s so sudden. What made you change your mind?” Twilight asked, facing the pink haired girl.
“I just got tired of being lonely, and I didn’t want to shut anybody out anymore,” Pinkie replied, a smile on her face. “Ya know, I would’ve thought people wouldn’t get here until after seven.”
Twilight grinned. “As the band teachers always say: ‘Early is good, on time is late, and late is unacceptable!’”
“Oh right, I forgot you’re in band.” Pinkie thought for a moment. “You’re a . . . clarinet, right?”
“Yep, and Fluttershy is a percussionist.”
“Wow, Fluttershy is a percussionist? Who would’ve thought?” The two shared a laugh before the doorbell rang once again.
Pinkie hopped to the door, a cry of “Hello!” ready as soon as the door opened.
“Hello, Pinkamena, il est bon de vous revoir,” Rarity said, her French sounding smooth and exotic.
“I have no idea what that means, but come in! And call me Pinkie Pie!” the host greeted, ushering the fashionista inside.
In Rarity’s hands were several bags, as if she’d just gone shopping. “What a lovely home you have, dear.”
“Thanks! I love your dress! Did you make it yourself?”
“Oh, yes, thank you. I just finished it today, and I thought this would be the perfect opportunity for showing it off.”
Pinkie smiled. “It looks very nice. What’s in the bags?”
“A little something for you, darling,” Rarity purred, setting said bags on the island in the kitchen.
“But it’s not my birthday,” Pinkie said, confused.
"Oh, I know, but I knew I just had to make you some more outfits. When everyone else gets here, promise you’ll try them on?”
Pinkie Pie stopped. If the others saw her bruises and cuts, they’d ask questions. But . . . she couldn’t disappoint Rarity. She’d find a way to hide it.
“Of course I will! I bet they’re beautiful.”
Flashing Pinkie a smile, Rarity turned on one heel to face Twilight. “Why hello, Twilight. How was the library?”
Twilight gave a small smile. “It was fine, Rarity,” she assured.
Ding
Pinkie glanced over at the door. “I’ll get that; you two can make yourselves comfortable in the living room. There are drinks in the fridge and some snacks in the cardboard box on the counter. Help yourselves,” she said, already heading towards the target area. She swung it open and saw Applejack. “Hi AJ!”
“Howdy, Pinka—”
“Pinkie Pie—you can call me Pinkie Pie,” the teen quickly interrupted. Applejack looked a bit surprised but tipped her hat as she was led inside.
The cowgirl was wearing a green checkered shirt, only this one had no sleeves, showing off the farm girl’s muscular, well-tanned arms. She had on a pair of jeans, the usual belt and boots, and the hat finishing it all off.
“Twilight and Rarity are over in the living room,” Pinkie informed. Applejack smiled and trotted to the other room. Pinkie stayed by the window for about five minutes before frowning and meeting back with the others. “Hey, do you guys know where Dash and Fluttershy are?”
Applejack checked her watch. “Uh, it’s only 7:08. They’ll be here. Though it’s not like Fluttershy to be this late.”
Rarity took a sip of her iced tea. “I recall Fluttershy messaging me that she would be riding with Rainbow Dash.”
“Well, it’s no wonder they’re so late,” AJ muttered.
“Yeah. Rainbow’s driving is like a death sentence,” Twilight chuckled.
“Ah remember one time her and Ah were goin’ to the movies. Ah counted six cars in total that we nearly hit.” They all laughed at that.
“I’m worried with that girl at the wheel. I would’ve thought her car would be totaled by now,” Rarity agreed with a smirk.
As soon as the fashionista finished her sentence, a loud growling echoed from outside. Applejack raised an eyebrow.
“Whelp, speak ‘a the devil,” the farm girl cracked.
“I’ll let them in,” Pinkie Pie said. She walked over and opened the door. She saw the red Mustang swing around into a parking spot along the street, taking its place by Rarity’s white convertible and Applejack’s grey pickup.
Once the engines switched off, a terrified Fluttershy practically fell out of the passengers’ side. Her teal eyes were wide, while Rainbow Dash opened her car door and gave a loud whoop whoop, swinging her arm in the air.
The two friends approached the house. Fluttershy was dressed in a dark green winter vest covering a white long sleeve shirt, and a pair of jeans with her blue sneakers.
Rainbow Dash had on a sky blue tank top with a matching sports jacket that only went to just below her ribs. Two white stripes went across the back of it. Jean shorts went from her waist to the middle of her thighs. On her feet were white athletic sneakers.
“Wassup, Pinkie Pie?” Rainbow asked lazily, putting her fist out. And for the first time ever, Pinkie returned the gesture. Dash’s jaw dropped. “Oh my Celestia! She did it! She did it!” The rainbow haired girl grabbed onto Fluttershy and shook her. As soon as Rainbow released her, she hid behind her hair and whispered a quick “hi” to Pinkie.
“We’re gonna have a great party! I can just tell!” Pinkie cheered, leading them both inside. In the living room, Twilight had a water, Rarity her ice tea, and Applejack a Mountain Dew. “So, what should we do first?” The pink haired girl rummaged in a nearby closet for some games. She deposited them on the table. “I have these, or we can make something up.”
Twilight eyed the games. “How about Scattergories?”
The group glanced around, Rainbow Dash having gotten a Vault and Fluttershy a water. Pinkie quickly grabbed a Pepsi. They all exchanged nods and then settled around the coffee table.
Pinkie Pie set up the game. “Alright, here are your cards and pencils. Who wants to roll the dice? I can work the timer.”
“Fluttershy can roll!” Rainbow announced, swiping the dice off the table and depositing it in the small hands of the person who sat next to her.
“Oh, my, I don’t know. . .” Fluttershy whimpered.
“Come on, ‘shy! It’s just a die!” Pinkie declared.
“O-okay. . .” She gently rolled it and the letter L was first.
“Starting the timer!” Pinkie reached forward and clicked the small button. The timer began its way down. They all started writing.
A boy’s name
A river
An animal
Things that are cold
Insects
TV Shows
Things that grow
Fruits
Things that are black
School subjects
Movie titles
Musical Instruments
As the timer ticked down, they all worked. Within a few minutes, the buzzing rang out. They all stopped writing and looked over their answers.
“Alright,” Pinkie said, “A boy’s name?”
“Larry.”
“Aw man, Dash, you took mine.”
“Lenny.” No one said anything to Fluttershy.
“Alright, Flutters, that’s a point for you!”
The whole room collectively groaned—all but Twilight, that is.
“Really, Twilight?” Dash moaned, throwing her head back. They were on list four. At the bottom of the list was parts of the body. Their letter was Z.
“What?” the accused teen scoffed, “The zoster immune globulin works!”
“Well, yeah, but you haven’t even missed a single answer!”
“Ah don’t know how much Ah like this ‘ere game,” Applejack grumbled, seeing her low score.
“How many points do you have anyways?” Rainbow asked, trying to lean over and see.
“Uh. . . 32,” Twilight answered.
“And the only reason you didn’t get those points was ‘cuz someone else had it, too.” The rainbow haired teen let her head fall onto the table. “I give up.”
“All in favor of playing another game, say I,” Pinkie Pie stated, raising her hand in the air.
“I,” came the reply from three other people.
“Psshh, you guys are just jealous,” Twilight muttered, rolling her eyes.
“I know the perfect game,” came Dash’s voice, “Twister!”
A wail of anguish was heard from the book smart teen.
“Left foot green, Fluttershy,” Rarity read. Said girl, Pinkie Pie, and Rainbow Dash were the only ones left in. Rarity had volunteered to be the spinner, as she preferred not to get dirty. That and her dress was short.
“Oh, okay. . .” Fluttershy said, moving her foot from blue. The three players were twisted all over the place, with Dash going under Fluttershy’s stomach and Pinkie Pie curved around them, one leg over the top of the shy teen.
“Rainbow, right hand yellow.”
Obediently, Dash moved it from green.
“Pinkie, dear, you have left hand blue.” Another shift.
“Right foot red, Fluttershy.” Now, one of her legs was way forward and one back, trapping Rainbow effectually—and awkwardly—beneath her.
“Rainbow, left hand red.”
“Aw, shoot!” Dash growled as she strained to get her hand back. With a grunt, both she and Fluttershy came tumbling down.
“Yay! I win!” Pinkie cheered, hopping up.
As the group finished playing Telestrations, Rarity went up to Pinkie Pie, the two bags from earlier in her hands. She wiggled them in front of her face.
“Darling, you must!” Rarity urged, her deep blue eyes widening.
“Of course!” Pinkie agreed, taking the bags and skipping off to her room. Once she got there, she frowned. How was she going to hide the injuries? “I’ll see what’s in here first. . .”
In the black bag was a blue and pink outfit. There was a bright pink shirt with a blue strip that went from the shoulder to the hip. The matching skirt had a pink stripe from the hip to the hem and was blue. A white headband with a cotton candy cone decal was also in there, along with a matching pair of pumps.
In the second bag, a pair of spring green skinny jeans and a pink turtleneck with no sleeves. There was a soft yellow scarf, speckled with the two other colors. The shoes to match were a pair of pink and green flats.
Deciding to put on the first one, Pinkie Pie quickly stripped and changed. Her legs and arms were covered in bruises—only her arms had cuts. She frowned. Maybe they’d buy that she’d fallen down the stairs. There wasn’t exactly much she could do about it.
Pinkie went downstairs. Immediately, the others looked. Rarity clapped her hands together.
“Ooh, it looks wonderful!” the fashionista squealed. “Wait, honey, how’d you get all those horrible bruises?”
“Oh, those? I, uh, fell down the stairs. It was dark and I accidently missed a step,” Pinkie Pie lied.
Rarity looked doubtful for a few moments before smiling again. “Spin around for me! I need to see it all!” Pinkie complied. “Yes, simply wonderful!”
“It is mighty pretty,” Applejack agreed, smiling.
“Lovely,” Fluttershy complimented. The others nodded in agreement.
“Alright, next outfit!” Rarity declared. She waved her hands at Pinkie in a shooing motion. In a few minutes, the host came back downstairs. “That really shows off your figure.” She looked around. “Doesn’t it?”
“Yep, Ah would say,” AJ said.
“You make the most amazing things, Rarity,” Twilight added, eyeing Pinkie.
“Fashion-smashion,” Rainbow Dash grumbled.
“I’d watch your tone, darling, I might stick you in something pink,” Rarity threatened playfully. That shut her up.
After more games and food, at around midnight, the six teens sat it a circle in the living room, deciding to tell scary stories. The lights were flicked off.
“I’ll go first,” Rainbow decided automatically. She grinned maliciously. “There was once a man and his wife, who had a golden arm. But one day, she died. After burying her, the man decided to get the golden arm from his wife’s grave.” She paused, eyes flicking from side to side. “So he went and dug up his wife, then stole the arm.”
“I’d say that’s not a very nice thing to do,” Rarity commented shakily.
“Later that night, the man could’ve sworn he heard something as he laid in bed. There was the softest of whispers, but he decided it was nothing and went to bed . . . but later that very night, he was awoken by a louder sound. He started to get scared. Then, even later, he heard it again. And again. All through the night.”
“Oh no,” Fluttershy murmured.
“Oh yes!” Rainbow grinned at them, an evil glint in her eyes. “Then, when he heard it for the sixth time, even louder, he heard the squeaky stair on the steps. He shook in his skin. He could now understand what the voice was saying.” She glanced around. “’Who took my golden arm?’” Dash’s voice gained a small singsong tone to it. “’Who took my golden arm?’ The man hid in his bed. Then, even louder, right in his ear. He dared not turn around . . . after that, it said it louder: ‘Who took my golden arm?’”
The five teens waited, listening.
“YOU DID!” Rainbow screeched suddenly, flying right into their faces. There was a small squeal from Fluttershy and Rarity, but the rest just gasped and let their mouths form into grimaces. Dash fell onto her back, laughing.
“I don’t like ghost stories. . .” Fluttershy whimpered.
“Thanks for having us,” Twilight said with a wave. Everyone was leaving. Although it was about three in the morning.
“It’s been lovely,” Fluttershy agreed.
“I hope to have another soiree with you soon,” Rarity cooed. “Don’t be afraid to ask if you need any more outfits~”
“It was pretty awesome,” Rainbow Dash declared, fist bumping Pinkie Pie on her way out.
“Ah enjoyed mahself immensely,” Applejack said, tipping her Stetson at their host.
“Bye girls! See you on Monday!” Pinkie Pie called, waving them off. She heard car engines roaring and waited until they were all gone. With a small yawn, the teen started cleaning up. There wasn’t much mess, so it went quickly. She retrieved her mother from the basement, making sure to set her back in bed as gently as possible. As soon as everything was done, Pinkie went up to her room. A quick change into ducky pajamas later, she was laying in her cozy bed. Her eyes roamed her room, settling on the ponies. She heard them giggling and laughing in her head, imagining what it would be like with no worries, just like in their world. Even though she couldn’t be there. . .
Maybe being Pinkie Pie would work after all.
Author's Note
Did you get the French?
Hope this was satisfying. . . for now. . .
Because guess what! I might make an entire spinoff on this!
