The Defender of Ponyville
The Defender of Ponyville
The sun cast the last of its yellow rays down upon the cobblestoned streets of Ponyville. It was sunset, the end of Celestia’s day, the start of Luna’s night, almost bedtime.
A lone figure made its steady way through the streets and back alleys of the gradually darkening town. With all the agility and grace of a slightly out of practice spider monkey, the lone figure make its way from cover to cover, from street corner to garbage can.
Ponyville, the lone figure thought to itself with well-practiced gravitas, was much like a school test. No matter how much you studied, no matter how much you practiced, not matter how much Miss Cheerilee helped you, they was always something you hadn’t prepared for.
Alternatively, Ponyville was like broccoli. Small and icky.
Few of the adults on Ponyville’s streets saw the agile pony of mystery. If they did, they ignored it. Either because they had better things to do and better places to be or, more likely, due to fear.
The pony of mystery went past Sugarcube Corner, a local dive filled to the brim with ponies you stuffed themselves so full of sugar they were surely leading themselves to an early bedtime.
The pony stopped, and double-taked.
There were many posters upon the exterior wall of Sugarcube Corner. They were advertising a party. A party that ran over bedtime and would certainly stop ponies from doing their homework.
One of the many posters upon the exterior wall of Sugarcube Corner was not straight. In fact, it was leaning slightly to the left.
Alternatively, it was leaning slightly to the right as the mysterious pony often had difficulty telling the difference between the two.
In either case, this would not do.
This would not do at all.
All the other posters were straight.
This one was not.
Either vandalism or shoddy poster pasting had caused this.
The mysterious pony sighed a weary sigh. This town.
This town.
The pony of mystery removed an arrow from the quiver on its back and, using the deadly weapon as a makeshift ruler, straightened the poster to its appropriate position.
They were rules about touching another pony’s property, of course.
But some rules were made to be broken.
Suddenly, one of the owners of Sugarcube Corner came out of a side door on the building. It was the deceptively cheerful Mrs. Cake. The earth pony was carrying a garbage bag in her mouth, likely disposing of some foul evidence of the activities that went on in her little speakeasy.
Likely pistachio ice cream.
Before Mrs. Cake could look up, the mystery pony had disappeared around the corner leaving only a blue cape as it whipped around the corner and a straightened poster in its wake.
Mere minutes after the Adventure of the Crooked Poster, the mysterious pony was up a tree in Ponyville’s park.
Most foals were afraid to climb trees.
Not this filly.
For she was indeed a filly, not an icky colt like that Pipsqueak whom the mysterious, agile and tree climbing filly did not have a crush on whatsoever.
Banishing the thoughts of Pipsqueak from her mind, the mysterious pony of mystery watched and waited.
Below her, two fillies were discussing a plan of great evil and cunning.
The two of them were repeat offenders. They had many offences on their rap sheets, including bullying, snobbery, late homework and generally being big stupid meanie heads.
Sensing that the time was right, the filly made her entrance.
She dropped down from the tree and landed with the grace of a slightly senile swan behind her targets.
The two fillies, shocked, turned around.
What they saw was strange.
What they saw was bizarre.
What they saw was blue.
Really blue.
Shockingly blue.
It was a good day for fans of blue.
The blue earth pony filly before them wore a blue cape long enough to trip over, a blue mask that covered her eyes and little else and a blue fedora that looked like it was in constant danger of engulfing her head. The blue figure carried a small bow over her shoulder (which appeared blue, but was actually a shade of cyan) and a quiver upon her back which held many arrows. The quiver and the arrows were, in case there was any doubt, also blue. Upon her flanks, another bow and an arrow were adorned.
The mish-mash of blue and her targets stared at each other for a brief moment.
“Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon,” the blue filly said under the rim of her hat, “You have been found guilty of conspiring to deliberately not return an overdue library book. How do you plea?”
Diamond Tiara and her friend exchanged brief glances before collapsing into laughter.
“What are you wearing?” said Silver Spoon between hysterical giggles.
“Who are you supposed to be?” Diamond Tiara said.
“And why don’t you mind your own business?” Silver Spoon said as she recovered from her giggle fit.
The blue filly smirked. The bullies had given her the perfect opportunity to give The Speech. She liked The Speech. She practiced The Speech in her bedroom mirror when her Dad wasn’t home. The Speech was good.
“I am vengeance. I am the dusk. I am the thing that goes bump in the night. I am the defender of Ponyville. I am the Masked Arrow!”
There was a silence.
“Don’t we know you from school?” Diamond Tiara said.
“No.”
“Yeah, we do. You’re that quiet filly who’s always hanging around in the background,” said Diamond Tiara.
“No, I’m not. I’m the Masked Arrow.”
“Wouldn’t ‘Blue Arrow’ be a better name?” Silver Spoon piped in. “You are wearing a ghastly amount of blue.”
“Enough of this!” declared the Masked Arrow. “Taste my arrows of justice!”
Before Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon could offer more criticism of the vigilante’s costume or name, the Masked Arrow had risen to her hind legs and the two fillies were hailed by a barrage of arrows.
Luckily for the scum of Ponyville, the Masked Arrow used only arrows with the sharp, deadly arrowheads replaced with suction cups. This was either because the Masked Arrow had vowed to never take a pony’s life or because real arrows were too “dangerous” and “not appropriate for a young filly.”
The two snobby fillies screamed as the bombardment of arrows caused them to topple over. The suction cup arrows stuck to their bodies made them look vaguely like a pair of fashion conscious porcupines.
Their manes and make-up ruined, the two earth ponies looked up at their attacker.
The setting sun cast her in shadows. She slowly leaned into Diamond Tiara’s face.
“Did I fire six arrows or only five? In all the excitement, I’ve forgotten myself. Now, will you return that book to Miss Twilight on time?”
Diamond Tiara gave a small nod.
“My work here is done.”
The Masked Arrow turned to walk away into the sunset but suddenly stopped.
She had forgotten something.
She had forgotten to use the catchphrase.
The blue filly turned back to Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon.
“Quiver before me.”
Cape flying behind her, the Masked Arrow ran off into the sunset.
The Masked Arrow opened the front door of her house. On the way home, she had spotted the Flim Flam Brothers robbing somepony. However, the sun had set by that time and she had to be home by eight thirty so there was nothing the Masked Arrow could really do to help. Maybe next time.
“Sweetheart,” a voice from the kitchen said, “It that you?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Have you been out playing superheroes with your friends again?”
“…..yes.”
“That’s nice.” Her Dad’s voice sounded distracted. Probably busy doing boring adult stuff in the kitchen like doing tax returns. Or eating broccoli. Or doing tax returns whilst eating broccoli.
“Sweetheart, by the way, have you seen my hat? I couldn’t find it anywhere. It wasn’t on the hook.”
“I haven’t seen it either,” said the Masked Arrow as she took the blue fedora off her head and placed it back on the clothes hook.
Her Dad said one more thing to her, something about one of her friends, but the Masked Arrow wasn’t listening. She was galloping up the stairs, cape whooshing behind her. She was itching to get to the Arrowcave and write in her diary (or journal, as she had started to recently call it).
She opened the door to the Arrowcave (previously known as ‘Archer’s room’) with anticipation. She had a great line about the town having seen her true face that she was itching to get down in her journal.
The Masked Arrow closed the door behind her to get some privacy and removed her mask and cape, throwing them on her bed next to the latest issue of the Power Ponies comic book and a dog-eared copy of The Big Naptime by R.C. Noire.
Suddenly, from out of the Arrowcave’s closet, stepped another earth pony filly. She was yellow with a red mane. Her flank was blank and she was wearing an eye patch over her left, or perhaps her right, eye.
“‘I am the Masked Arrow,’” said the yellow filly with a slight chuckle. “You think you’re the only superhero in Ponyville? Archer, you’ve become a part of a bigger world, you just don’t know it yet.”
There was a silence.
“Don’t I know you from school?” said Archer.
“No.”
“Yeah, I do. You’re that loud filly who’s always trying to get her cutie mark.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Who are you then?”
“Bloom Fury. Member of the Cutie Mark Crusaders. I’m here to talk to you about the Defenders Initiative.”
