Sunday Morning
There is one Equestria! If it splits in half, there'll be two! All ponykind is scum! And bee-yoo-tiful!
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The streets of Manehatten were slick with a slimy coat of wetness. Thunder boomed off in some distant mountains, whether they were the valley’s nearby or elsewhere could not be determined. Something to with a weird factor of the city’s design made it so. The furtive patrons of the city had all vanished into the safety of their metropolitan homes, and if lacking in that area, they fell back to places such as the seedy bar in the unofficial red light district of the city. Located on the northern front more or less, it was located somewhat under the town. Since ponies waste NOTHING, the sewers had been converted into a viable living area for even the poorest of ponies. Some buildings had to remain above the dirt, for smoke did not ventilate well down there.
The ponderous portions of liquid and solid water raining down upon the city did not deter anypony from going about their daily activities just yet. Nopony was frightened by the roaring shrieks those clouds gave off. They could shine with their menacing lightning all day an’ night, wherever there was a unicorn, there be soundproofing spells quick to follow. However, soundproofing a room does not stop the noises coming from within the room. So the sneaky not-so-little tosspots of the bar had to take up with the incessant sobbing and sniffling coming from underneath one of the tables as well as their near-constant filled pints.
A lone jug occupied the table not even the salt or pepper shakers present to accompany it. The numerous stains on the smoke-fused wood gave a table a paint-splattered appearance. They’d hardened already, so cleaning them was a hell of a task no one took up. In the seat, reclining to the best of his ability was Diamond Dog looking patron. Most expected he, with his ears more sensitive than most others there, would be the one to cease that irritable blubbering. It stopped for mere moments, only for subtle high-pitched whimpers to follow. He opened one eye to stare down into the murky shadows beneath the table. The canine straightened his posture, and whispered something into the shadows, his own voice peevishly strained:
“Why are you whining now?”
Lime-green eyes materialized, twin waterfalls staining them. The shadows held their tongue, until the being sitting up on the seat uttered a low growl. With a whimper, they replied, “I-i-it’s… it’s too hot, and salty.” The unseen tear puddle grew a bit following their answer.
The dog smiled. The way he said it brought up unwanted feelings of fervor to his mind in the worst way conceivable. He said, “If you didn’t want to have to do this, then you shouldn’t have botched up back there. That was only your fault. Otherwise we’d be doing it too, and not whining like a baby about it either.”
More bawling followed. “I-I’m sorry! May I please stop? It burns my throat and my tummy.” The canine didn’t really care, simply turning his attention over to whatever was showing on the TV
The kind of disgusting material on the channel was meant to entice drunken idiots of all three genders to purchase the services of the concubines outside. Neither rain nor hail nor apocalyptic fire would halt reality’s oldest profession. Such thoughts were at last far from the dog’s mind, as he was guzzling down a fresh pint of ale brought over by his bud, a crimson unicorn in a ringmaster’s outfit. He himself drank nothing, instead choosing to bend over to peer at the lime-green eyed shadows the table kept. “How’s your progress coming?” He poised the questioned in a friendly tone, because if he was being mean, it’d have been harder to hide his laughter.
A wee sniffle emerged then the eyes responded. “It’s salty and it burns and I hate it. I don’t ever want to see another one of these again in my life!”
No longer sulking, the undercover pony crawled up into the seat next to the costumed stallion, and set down the plate with enough to crack it and send the shards flying if Princess Luna’s signature Moonshine Syrup (with extra stickiness) didn’t hold it together ‘neath the stack of pancakes. Instead the couple top flapjacks jumped across the table over to the dog. It smacked his cup’s contents all over his face, after which he set it down and wiped himself clean with the rag of clothing he called a shirt. He couldn’t summon up anger once he lost his gaze to cute pouty face the black pegasus was making. It was a he, but the pony was an androgynous he, so every action seemed all the cuter because of this. He let out a thick chortle. “Fine, you don’t have to finish it. Just don’t mess up the next one, please. I almost lost my head to that guard back there.”
The unicorn threw a hoof the pegasus’ shoulders He laughed righteously, and pronounced, “Rudolph is right! You need all the practice you can get if you’re ever going to do it without us there to guide you. Now, the reason we’re here.” He leaned forward and lowered to a whisper. “We need a name if we’re going to continue massacring royalty like this. I’d propose something, but I don’t really have any ideas…”
Rudolph let out a huff. “Fine, we’ll call it…”
“Au-ssassination?” The youngest suggested.
“What?”
“Authoritive-“
“Assassination, I get it. I do not care. All in favor, raise a limb and let’s order some decent food already.”
One two three limbs ascended then fell off to their sides. The trio nodded in agreement, and went about spending the morning having casual discussions, able to abate the suggestive content around them from their heads for more than the average five seconds.
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Ponies, dragons, gryphons, griffins, minotaurs, whatever. Rich or poor, or middle-class, all of them were unreasonably cruel to her. Was it her complexion? It was a bit discordious, granted, but that was not at all a good reason to reject her safety from the flooding streets. She had seen one too many diamond dogs float by her already, and more debris than she had cared to avoid.
The city was built upon a slant that was either ignored or oblivious to everyone but her. She noticed this right after she entered an alley that wasn’t submerged. Soon following a long rectangular box caught her eye. She picked it up and set to rest on its short side. Inside the cardboard sanctum, the only noticeable difference was the rain did not keep her in a constant state of wetness. Now only her tail endured that.
She drew in a long breath and let it out in a slow hiss. Less than a week here and this was her fate, cowering in a box in the back alley of some seedy district of the city. And the grime upon which she sat, ugh! It reaped her of ponderous quantities of will to not use her magic in an attempt at organizing and cleaning up this disgusting diminutive hole. When the feelings subsided, she was hollow. What to do, the rain prevented. She’d have to wait it out… here… in the filth…
Splish-splash through the puddles cometh a common earth pony in a raincoat, his green color against its yellow announcing his existence. He waltzed about in front of her and ended with a spiral of stylish dance moves. At last a smile crept on to her face, and the pony bowed before speaking with just as much flourish as his dance steps contained. “Hi there! I’m Ferris Wheel. Who are you? What are you? You look like one of those chimera things I read about somewhere. Do you want to get out of this rain? My place isn’t far from here. You look like you need a place to stay. Whaddya say?”
“I say for starters, it is rude to approach a lady in such a manner, but you’re cute so I’ll let it go just this once. My name, dear Ferris, is Harmony, and that’s Miss Harmony to you for the time being! As for what I am, I… honestly have no idea. The word escapes me at the time.” She facepalmed herself and sighed before continuing. “And yes, I would most certainly love to accompany you to your place of accommodation.”
The pony clapped his hooves best he could with approval. He cheered, “Yay! C’mon, let’s go!” She stepped up n out the box and began to follow the unnecessarily stealth-like tracks leading off the way she came, when Ferris turned in a quick one eighty motion to say, "Oh, I should tell you that I am scared of the dark and there is only one bed at my place, so would you pretty please with a cherry on top sleep in the bed with me? Please?” He batted his eyelashes a bit too well for a male and it might’ve been working to her surprise.
An odd request, but a small one of it meant escaping the alley. She stood up on her legs, clapped, tilted her head, and shined her teeth. “Why of course, darling! I’ll gladly get in bed with you. If all we’re doing is sleeping, that is.”
Another “Yay!” sounded as he gave a big hug around her waist, effectively cutting blood flow despite the size difference between the two.
She dared ask, "Where exactly is your place, Ferris?"
He released her, and pointed up the street, opposite the water flow.
The two started off for his apartment as the clouds above turned darkening shades of green.
=
“Tell me this Ambrose. You say you hate ponies, and yet you’re going to save them, or, your version of saving. You say that there is a lot of stuff that does not work, yet you cheat by doing some of the same stuff too but say that’s completely within acceptable parameters. AND, you say that it’d be better for anyone in this world or the opposite one to know about the nature of their existence, that their ignorance is your missed bliss, and yet you plan on ruining that and reveling in the pleasure it brings you to have someone other than the supposed crazy voice in your head to talk to about this stuff. Tell me, am I right so far?”
Ambrose spoke a single word. “Eeyup.” He picked up the size small cup and took a sip his mocha.
The voice sighed. If it possessed hands they’d be running through its hair right now, if it also had hair. “Then tell me this too. Why?”
“Why not would be a better question. I’m just now feeling like screwing with every single little tiny detail of this place, and this feels like the best way to do just that.” He gulped a larger portion of his drink this time, and set it down more forceful.
“Oh, you mean by erasing and or rearranging major events in history, is that right?”
He cast his eyes upward, studying the café’s ceiling. “Yup, and by merging the past, present, and future at certain points, we can get results in mere weeks than instead of waiting thousands of years. Genius!”
“You amaze to this day, you foal.” There was a pause, then a shared thought popped up in Ambrose’s head, verbalized by the voice. “Oh, hey. It’s Sunday. Aren’t you expecting a call from Iron Will today?”
Ambrose jumped out his chair. It screeched backwards as he crossed the restaurant’s floor over to their payphone just in time to catch Iron Will’s voice hollering at him.
“HELLO?! IS ANYONE THERE?!”
The minotaur’s bellowing tone caught him straight in the ear. “Yes,” he said with difficult calm. “This is Ambrose speaking. How may I help you today, sir?”
“It’s about Fluttershy!”
“Yeah? Is there something wrong with her?”
“YEAH!!! SHE KILLED DISCORD!!”
“Very well, I’ll be over there soon to remedy the problem. Have a nice day.” He hung before the minotaur could yell at him anymore, and by the way he cut him off he wasn’t done yelling.. He eased about to glance at the waiter strolling past. He tapped his shoulder, and when the black-feathered griffin faced him, he whispered, “Keith, I’m a gonna need your help with the Amniomorphic Spell again.” With a nod, the bird went back to taking dinner orders and serving out dishes.
The voice preferred it that it rode along with whatever scheme was whipping up next and not take any real active role, if not for his piqued interest, and already occupied time. “What are you planning, foal?”
“Something even better than your stealing of their names in the prologue, ‘Prarft’. What a weird thing to form out of them.” A laugh echoed. Not his. “It begins with a death, follows up with the second dictionary definition of conception, ending with the arrival of more screwed up stuff, and all the while trudging through it all with only half an idea what the hell is going on, truly. Cliches, stupidity, and insanity will of course come standard with the package, but comedy and excellence cost extra.”
“With a bit of practice you be the next Billy Mays.”
“Nah. He had a certain style to his sells.”
“It was probably because he strained to use that weird voice he killed himself in the end.”
“Now, that’s a horrible thing to say.”
“I know, right! Aren’t I just the worst?”
Ambrose walked on over to one of the windows. He could see the flooded streets. What he was interested in the odd goings on with the sky’s clouds. All night black, only just now toning themselves towards a greener pigment. Now that wasn’t right. They were supposed to turn pink, not green. What the hell do green clouds rain?
~ Brought to you by Nighttime Antics ~
