Chapters Phillip Finder: Short stories
Phillip wasn't sure what exactly was pulling him towards Sweet Apple Acres one fall day as dusk started to set across Ponyville. But this instinct, this feeling he had, was proving irresistible.
He passed beneath the decorated wooden arch, taking in the scent of the flowers in the cool air. He noticed a rose bush that appeared to have had a small bouquet cut from it next to the path towards the barn and house, the reds and purples of the country home mixing with the sky.
He spotted Big Mac, carrying two baskets full of apples, walking towards the house from the trees. The farm pony paused and turned to him. Phillip noted the small cuts on his mouth, and the fact that his mane had been combed.
He touched the brim of his trilby in greeting. "G'day. I'm Phillip Finder. You must be Big Macintosh."
"Eeyup," was the reply.
"You need help with those apples?"
"Nope."
"Is Applejack here?"
"Eeyup." Big Mac pointed out towards the back of the house.
"Thanks." Phil started to walk off, then remembered that he'd seen a vase of new roses displayed on the windowsill of a certain school teacher.
"By the way, Miss Cheerilee liked the roses. But I think she prefers daisies."
Big Mac's mouth, cuts and all, dropped open comically and he stared wide eyed at Phillip, who briefly smirked once his back was turned.
Coming around to the back of the house, Phillip's ears, trained for years to be particularly acute, picked up Applejack's quiet voice. He headed down a well-trodden path leading away from the house to a hill. Without knowing why, he approached cautiously; even though she was too far away for him to understand what she was saying, something about the tone of Applejack's voice made him feel as though whatever was happening, it was sacred.
Climbing the hill, he paused to examine the scene before him. Applejack was sitting on the ground before two stone slabs planted in the ground, talking quietly, her stetson shielding her eyes from the setting sun.
Didn't take a detective.
Phillip waited until Applejack paused, then coughed quietly to announce his presence. Applejack jumped and noticed him. "Oh, it's you, Phil."
"G'day." Phillip approached, noting the names on the graves. He sat down next to her. The two were silent for a while.
"What was your father like?"
The question momentarily confused Phillip; it took him a moment to acknowledge the fact that Applejack had asked him a question.
"If y'all don't mind me asking..."
"My father was a very kind stallion," he said. "He believed that all life was precious, that nopony should be treated badly just cause they're different. He stuck up for others...me included. Never one to stand by when somepony else needed help. And he knew how to stretch a bit, I'll tell ya." He let out a small laugh. "Being a jazz musician doesn't pay very well."
"Yeah, Ah guess not," Applejack said.
"Y'know," Phillip said. "It's kinda funny. I see so much of him in myself."
"Ain't funny at all," Applejack said. "Ah lost Ma and Pa when I was about the same age that you lost your Pa. Heart condition. It hurt a lot. Still does...every day," she added, lowering her gaze.
"I feel the same, mate." At least it wasn't your fault that they died, Phillip thought but kept silent.
"But, over time, I realized that they'd never really left me," she said. "They taught me so much; honesty, being a friend to everypony, the joy of an honest day's work." She took her stetson off. "You see this?"
Phillip examined the hat. It was old and faded; covered in dust, a couple patches and stitches, some burns on the front of the brim (probably from her burning her apple tarts).
"It was my pa's," she said. "Ah wear it every day to remind me that I carry a bit of him with me. Whenever I'm in trouble and ah think ah can't make it, Ah just think about him, what he'd do. And then I do it."
Applejack placed the stetson back on her head. "Your father's never left you, Phil. Keep that in mind."
The two were silent for a bit more. The sun dipped a bit more beneath the horizon, the reds and oranges turning into purples.
"I knew that hat was your father's."
It was Applejack's turn to be momentarily bewildered, then she let out a little laugh. "Now how'd y'all figure that out? Was it the burns on the brim or the stitching on the back?"
"Cause of this," Phillip said, removing his trilby and holding it out for Applejack to examine. The charcoal gray and black band had faded with time and weather, been patched and stitched, but had the look of something that had been allowed to grow old, but was still cared for.
"We both know of things that are passed down from our fathers," Phillip said, replacing the trilby on his head and turning to leave. As he got to his hooves and turned to head down the hill, he glanced back at Applejack, still sitting before her parent's graves.
"Applejack. Thanks."
She smiled at him. "Any time."
Author's Note
This came to me one day when I was trying to think of new ideas for stories.
I don't think Applejack's parents will ever really be confirmed to be dead, but the idea that they are is just breeding ground for so many great stories about how much family impacts our lives. A lesson that Phillip has learned.
Like, fav and comment if you feel inclined.
Josiah
Phillip Finder: Short stories
He swirled his drink around in the glass. As soon as the liquid stilled, his reflection stared back at him. Still as old and tired as before.
He was sitting in the main room of his home, the only company the light of a lone lamp, his cider, and a photograph.
The photo was almost forty years old. In it, he was still a foal. He was standing on a beach, smiling (it'd been years since he'd smiled like that, he reflected), the sun sending crystalline reflections off the water. In the background, he saw the familiar, sail-like shape of the Sydneigh Opera House.
But his focus was on the stallion next to him in the photo. He was tall and skinny, with light brown fur and a long red mane and beard. His green eyes and wide smile sparkled even brighter than the seawater behind him. A black bowtie was around his neck. His cutie mark was of a trumpet, with a treble and bass clef on either side of it.
Another year, Phillip thought. Another year since I lost you.
I tell myself that it wasn't my fault...that I couldn't have done anything.
I lie to myself. It's my fault.
The stallion continued to smile back at his son. Phillip's eyes began to water.
One act of kindness could have saved you...but I couldn't find it in myself to stop that thief.
Is that all that I am? Selfish....so selfish and arrogant that I can't see past myself? A failure who only does what I do because I'm trying to make up for the fact that I was too weak to protect you?
More tears began to fall. Another year alone...another year of what I've sentenced myself to. I don't deserve anyone; I'd just fail them too. I don't deserve love or compassion. I'm just...a failure.
The silent sobs overtook him as the glass dropped to the floor, spilling it's contents.
I hate myself...
Something nudged him. Phillip opened one eye and through a blurry lens of tears, saw a mess of pink next to him. A familiar smell--a concoction of flour, chocolate and punch--hit his nostrils. Of course it was Pinkie Pie. Pinkie Pie, who was giving him a sympathetic look, putting her forelegs around him, gently nuzzling him in comforting affection.
But she... Phillip was still, unsure if or how he should react. She cares. She and her friends. Unconditionally.
Do they see something in me that I can't see in myself?
Through the pink of her mane, Phillip's eyes once again found his father's smile.
Did you see that in me, dad?
He turned to see Pinkie looking up at him. The blue eyes blinked, unsure. Slowly, he smiled.
Maybe I'm more than I think I am...if they are willing to give their love to me...
Am I worthy of that?
Somewhat hesitatingly at first, but then with more confidence, he embraced Pinkie back.
I'll try to be.
Two other faces broke out in a smile in that dark room, which was suddenly not so lonely anymore.
Author's Note
Another short story that I came up with. I thought of this as a way to explore one of the central tenets of Phillip's character: he hates himself. This is for two reasons:
But that self-hatred is what fuels him, drives him to be who he is, do what he does.
And maybe someday...he'll find out that he is a good person.
By the way, Phil's father's name is Bobby "Dizzy" Bassline.
Phillip Finder: Short stories
"For the last time, no."
"But--"
"No."
"Phillip, darling, a little makeover would do you so much good," Rarity told Phillip, who had just happened to be heading the same way as her on the path that day. "And a day at the spa would make you feel so much younger!"
Phillip gave her a sidelong look of confusion. "Why would I want to feel younger? What does that mean?"
"It'd help you to relax, give you more energy," Rarity replied.
"Exercise and music help me to relax, and I don't have to pay an exorbitant fee to do them," Phillip replied.
Rarity had to admit that he did have a point, but she wasn't ready to give up just yet. "But I could really improve your looks! A bit of a trim, some new clothes--maybe a nice suit and a tie, black and dark blue would really go with your eyes--and there could be a very handsome stallion indeed underneath that trilby."
"Rarity, does my physical appearance and how it stacks up to the arbitrary standards of others have any bearing on my ability to do my work?"
"But a stallion with a heart like yours deserves something to turn the ladies heads," Rarity replied.
Phillip didn't reply for a moment. No blush graced his cheeks, nor did he look up or externally react, but Rarity could have sworn that he was either vaguely confused or mildly embarrassed.
"I appreciate the thought and the compliment, Rarity, but I consider myself married to my work," he replied. "And I happen to be comfortable with my look, so I'll keep it, thanks."
Rarity sighed. "I can see why you get along with Twilight and Applejack so well," she said softly.
The two continued on their walk for a while longer in silence. But then that nagging voice in the back of Phillip's head lead him to speak up again.
"Do we not get along?"
Rarity puzzled the question over for several moments. "What are you asking me?"
"Rarity...we are friends, right?"
Rarity suddenly understood. She had, after all, not been given a throne in the Castle of Friendship alongside the Princess of Friendship for nothing.
"Of course we are, Phillip," she said with an easy smile. "Just because we may differ in our interests and views and disagree from time to time doesn't mean we aren't and can't be. Take myself and Applejack. You couldn't imagine two ponies more different from each other than us. Has Twilight told you about that time when we had that sleepover at the library?"
A low noise that may or may not have been a chuckle escaping Phillip's throat, accompanied by a brief smile, told her that he had heard the story. Rarity chuckled as well. "I learned that night that even if our conflicting personalities lead us to fight once in a while, and although we admittedly both have our own shortcomings, those aren't the things that make or break a friendship. Being friends means respecting each other's strengths and who we are underneath." She paused for a moment to allow Phillip to absorb this information, holding his gaze.
"And I respect your strengths and who you are underneath. Therefore, you are my friend."
Phillip considered this for a moment and realized that her logic was sound. "I guess that means you're my friend, too," he said. "And Rarity?"
"Yes?"
Phillip paused for a moment, internally struggling as he forced these vague emotions into words, impressing logic upon them.
"I'm glad that you are. You and all the others." A smile, a true, genuine smile crossed his face, which Rarity returned. More was said in that gesture than could ever be put into words.
With nothing more to be said, the two continued on their way, side by side.
"Maybe I could just--"
"No."
Author's Note
Just a little something to give some more insight into Phillip's character. I like doing these little slice of life scenes with Phillip and the other ponies.
Phillip Finder: Short stories
She'd liked to have blamed it on the fact that she was sleeping in a new room, in a new bed. She could, if she wanted to, come up with all kinds of psychological reasons why it was taking her so long to adjust to her new bedroom in the Friendship Rainbow Kingdom Castle after having spent years sleeping in the now former Golden Oaks library, which could turn into a lecture that would bore most of her friends and new subjects to sleep.
But Princess Twilight Sparkle knew that the reason she was having trouble sleeping wasn't the new surroundings, the new bed (which, despite seemingly made of crystals, was surprisingly comfortable and boasted sheets that were so soft and cozy that they would make a Saddle Arabian weaver jealous).
It was everything associated with it.
Somehow, she'd been okay with being a princess, so long as she still lived out of the library, could walk normally among the other ponies...so long as she could live a relatively normal life. Of course, there had been that desire to do something, to be more than just a figurehead or another pretty face to wave and smile, but she'd never considered how much she'd have to sacrifice in order to achieve that dream.
But when...he came, that all changed. He was gone now, his powers broken, put back in his proper place in the lower regions of Tartarus (where he would stay for all eternity, she hoped from the very bottom of her heart, which still skipped a beat every time she thought of him ), but not before destroying the Golden Oaks Library. And in doing so, destroying her last illusion that anything could ever be normal again.
Now, here she was, a princess in her brand new castle, the ruler of a brand new kingdom...well, technically, co-ruler. There were six other thrones in the throne room, after all. One for her, and one for each of her friends.
And of course, the small throne right next to hers. Speaking of which...
Twilight rolled over and looked down towards the foot of her bed, focusing some magic energy to her horn to provide a soft lavender glow so that she could see. There, on the ground, in a basket decorated with crystals, asleep beneath a silk blanket, was Spike.
As she watched him sleep, occasionally letting out a little snore or twitching a claw or tail in his dreams, Twilight couldn't help but think of what advice he would give her if he was awake.
Hey, don't worry, Twilight. The Elements of Harmony chose you for a reason: you were meant for this. And I know you can do this; it's what you've been practicing for all your life. And besides, it's not like you'll have to do it alone; you'll always have your friends, and you'll have me to help.
She smiled. Yes, that is exactly what he'd say. He was her voice of reason, keeping her grounded in times of stress, maintaining her faith in herself even when she didn't believe that she could do it. He would remind her that what would come, would come, and there was no use worrying about it. He would point out that she and her friends had accomplished so much, and they would always stand by her, together, in the face of adversity.
And he would promise her once more that he, like always, even before she came to Ponyville, would be right next to her, ready to drop everything and help at a moment's notice.
Even in his sleep, he was her number one assistant.
"Good night, Spike," she whispered, turning off the light from her horn and returning to sleep beneath the covers.
When morning came and Celestia's sun shone upon the castle, the rays causing the crystalline structure to sparkle magnificently in the morning light, the two would arise, both agreeing that the sleep they'd just had was the best they'd had in a long time.
Author's Note
I come up with some of my best ideas when I'm trying to sleep. This happened upon my ever-active mind when I was contemplating trying to sleep. My mind drifted to a Calvin and Hobbes strip, and, probably because I'm a fan of the work of The Descendant of Keh An's work, it changed to something about Twilight and Spike.
I really hope we get to see more of their relationship in the future. But even if we don't, we've got this fandom.
Phillip Finder: Short stories
Twilight Sparkle walked into the throne room of the Friendship Rainbow Castle, her hooves clicking on the crystalline floor. But it felt like she was floating, skating across the room with a smile on her face.
What a night it had been, for her and for Flash! Dinner at a fancy restaurant at his expense, a moonlit walk through the park, and dancing among the fireflies where he'd played his guitar just for her. She hummed the tune he'd played for her as she pictured him sitting before her, the light from the stars reflecting in those sapphire eyes, a lilting little melody that he'd composed himself.
And he'd even been enough of a gentlecolt to walk her to the door. He'd been tempted to give her a good night kiss, she could tell--and there was a part of her that wished that he had--but if there was one thing that all the books she'd read about dating had agreed on, it was that the first kiss should not be rushed. It was only the third date after all. And so they'd simply smiled, bid each other good night with the promise of seeing each other again tomorrow, and departed each other's company for the night, she returning into the castle and he flying off to the little cottage next to the castle that he lived in.
Twilight took a breath, and suddenly let out all the joy that she'd been holding back since earlier. She allowed herself to fall into the thralls of ecstasy: her heart rate accelerated, she felt flushed, endorphins flooded her whole body, and she proceeded to prance about, giggling and squealing like a school filly.
All the symptoms of being in love.
"Twilight?"
Twilight forced herself back to seriousness at the sound of the voice and reminded herself that she was expected to behave like a princess. Even in the presence of her number-one assistant.
"H-how was the date?" Spike asked, hovering at the foot of the stairs that led up to their personal quarters, staring down at his claws.
"It was lovely," Twilight said. "We did everything by the book and Flash was a perfect gentlecolt and--"
"Good! Good, I'm glad, that, that you're happy and it went well," Spike interrupted, now looking down at his feet.
Twilight frowned. She knew this behavior: she'd seen it before when she'd first taken in Owliscious. "Spike, is something wrong?"
"No! No, nothing's...nothing's wrong!" Spike blurted out, too quickly. He fidgeting, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, then cleared his throat. "Well, it's late, so...good night." He turned and made to head up the stairs.
Twilight took flight, gliding over Spike's head and landing on the stairs in front of him. "Spike, I know that something's wrong," she said in a firm but gentle voice, a voice that she had grown accustomed to. "You can tell me; you know that you can tell me anything."
Besides, we both know what happened the last time something was bothering you and you didn't tell me, she thought.
Spike lowered his head, took in a deep breath, and it all came tumbling out in a rapid stream of worry. "You've been dating Flash and spending a lot of time with him and he seems like a good guy and I want to be happy for you, but..." He took a shaky breath and continued. "But I'm afraid that as you get closer to him, you'll get further away from me. What if...what if one day you and Flash...what will happen to me?" Spike's body trembled and his little hands balled into fists, frightened tears trickling from his eyes as he faced the prospect that his worst nightmare, his darkest fear, would come to life.
"What if...you don't need me anymore?"
Twilight looked down at the quietly sobbing, scared baby dragon before her and felt her heart break, rendered into pieces by the sword of guilt. How dare she? How dare she not think of Spike? How could she have been so blind, to not think about how this might affect him?
She extended a foreleg and hugged Spike to her. He clung to her like a lifeline, his tears staining her coat.
"Spike, listen to me," she said soothingly, nuzzling his head. "I know you're scared of being abandoned. But you don't have to be. Didn't I promise you when we saved the Crystal Empire from Sombra?" She pulled back a little and tilted his chin up with her hoof so that he looked up at her smiling face.
"I will never, ever push you away. I will never not want you or not have a place for you. Yes, I love Flash. But I love you, too." She wiped away the tears with a hoof. "I will always love you. You're not just my number one assistant; you're my number one friend." She smiled at him. "Besides, what would I do without you? The day I try to go without you is the day Equestria falls!"
A smile broke across Spike's face and he hugged her again, this time in relief. As she embraced him again, Twilight pondered the nature of their relationship. They were best friends, that much was certain; it had been ascertained long before she came to Ponyville. But she also, over the years, had played the roles of his teacher, disciplinarian, counselor and caregiver. What did that mean? Were they siblings? But she was the one who brought him in the world in the first place. Did that make her his mother? Then why was there something inherently frightening about calling him her son?
"I love you, Twilight," Spike whispered into her chest.
A tear fell from Twilight's eye as she felt her heart repair itself, and she decided that the bond between them didn't need a name. He was her little one, and she was her big one, and that was enough for them both, secure in their indestructible bond.
"It's late," she finally said. "We should--"
But Spike could not hear her: he'd fallen asleep in her embrace. With a wistful smile, she gathered the baby dragon up in a magical field, carried him up the stairs and tucked him into his basket at the foot of her bed.
"Good night, Spike," she whispered. "I love you."
Right before she turned out the light, she saw a peaceful smile spread across the face of her little dragon.
Author's Note
In which Spike confronts Twilight about her dating Flash Sentry.
Heavily inspired by the work of The Descendant of Keh An, who I hope will forgive me for stealing one of his lines.
Phillip Finder: Short stories
"I still don't see why you wear those," Phillip said, moving his rook to cover his queen, keeping his eyes on Time Turner.
Time Turner met Phillip's gaze with his own smile, peering at him through a pair of paper 3D glasses that were perched on his snout. "I like them," he said, moving one of his pawns forward.
Phillip pondered his next move, gazing down at the chessboard set up on one of the Ponyville park benches. It was a fall midmorning, and the two stallions had met for their weekly chess game in the park, which they had begun after Phillip, with the aid of Ditzy Do and Rainbow Dash had rescued Time Turner from changelings who had abducted him.
Phillip enjoyed these meetings. He was able to do something intellectually stimulating, with an intellectually stimulating pony. They would while away the time, playing chess and talking.
Of course, he had to put up with some of the obsessive-compulsive's strange quirks. One of which was his insistence of wearing the 3D glasses when he was focusing on something.
"I'd understand if they were a compulsion," Phillip said, trying to decide if he should take Time Turner's pawn with his knight or block his queen with his bishop. "Are they?"
"Perhaps a bit," Time Turner said, waiting for Phillip to complete his turn. "But really, I just like wearing them."
"Why?" Phillip said, deciding to use his bishop. "Seems kind of silly to me."
"It helps me get a new perspective on things," Time Turner said, castling his king. "It's, well..." He gestured around the park. "What do you see when you look around?"
Phillip looked up from the chess board and slowly panned his gaze around the park, taking in the sights. Ponies frolicked among the butterflies and birds, or simply took time out from their lives to enjoy the scent of the flowers, the light breeze and yellow sunshine through the remains of the late fall/early winter foliage. He spotted a nervous stallion (an orderly, based on the caduceus pin on his collar) waiting on a blind date, an elderly couple feeding some pigeons, a young mare (single, recently moved out, home schooled) walking her dog, and the cutie mark crusaders looking to get their cutie marks in rock skipping (it'd probably help if they would use the smaller rocks).
"Everything," he said. That's my blessing and my curse.
Time Turner was momentarily bewildered by Phillip's extremely literal answer. "Right. Let me tell you what I see." He advanced with his rook and gestured around. "I see movement, all the time. Everything, always moving, going forward, carried forward in time and space."
"Entropy," Phillip said, countering Turner's aggressive advance by taking his knight with a pawn.
"Well, not quite," Time Turner said. He gestured at the tree above them. "See that tree? A few weeks ago, it was covered in leaves, and then all the leaves fell. Next spring, the leaves will grow again. And the cycle will continue.
"And you know the thing about motion, Phil?" Time Turner retreated his rook. "It's relative."
Phillip raised an eyebrow as he pressed his advantage with his queen, prompting Turner to explain.
"Imagine that you and I were sitting in a cab in a train car," Time Turner replied. "From our perspective, we wouldn't be moving, but from somepony outside the train, we would be moving." Phillip nodded his understanding. "It's the same thing about time. See, in a way, that tree isn't the same tree that it was yesterday, and it won't be the same tree tomorrow. It's the same with ponies: you aren't the same pony you were yesterday, and you won't be the same pony tomorrow." He took Phillip's queen with his own, suddenly putting his opponent on the run. "Everything's always moving, constantly seeking it's proper place."
Phillip retreated his knight to cover his king. "Interesting."
"And when I think about it, that reminds me that all things are relative to each other," Turner said, taking one of Phillip's pawns with one of his own. "All of us, everything, all of us are connected to one another. Our actions affect each other, positively or negatively." He took Phillip's bishop with his own bishop.
"We're all part of this big, chaotic, wonderful world, interwoven in time and space," he said with a smile. "Check."
Phillip looked down at the chess board, observing the result of their game. He saw the result of the varied interactions, choices and responses, infinite possibilities leading to the final result.
It was so...fragile, constantly flexing and changing, pulled and pushed by the unpredictable current. It could turn out better or worse in a single moment.
That's what made it so precious.
He felt a smile tug at his lips as he selected his pawn and took the offending bishop.
Time Turner responded by advancing with his rook. "Checkmate."
"You got me," Phillip said, conceding defeat.
"Can I play you?" came a voice. Looking up, Phillip and Turner saw Ditzy, still wearing her mailmare cap and saddlebags, now empty, standing next to them.
Phillip raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"
"Checkmate!"
Phillip's jaw dropped in surprise.
"Five minutes, twenty-six seconds," Time Turner said, snapping his pocketwatch shut with an authoritative click. "That's a new record, dear."
Seeing Phillip's surprise, he laughed. "That's perspective for you!"
Author's Note
Remember that scene in It Ain't Easy Being Breezies where Time Turner had on the 3D glasses (Yes, I know that was a Doctor Who reference. I'm a Whovian, too)? That's where this came from. Came to me while I was in the shower.
And never underestimate Ditzy. She may be a bubblehead, but there's a surprisingly sharp mind behind those walleyes.
Phillip Finder: Short stories
He knew that it was pointless to pretend. He knew that whatever imaginary paradisal worlds he could create inside his head, whatever utopia he could visualize, it had no bearing on his reality.
But it felt good.
He was acutely aware of the saxophone within his grip, reed held between his lips. He was playing Wild Mare Heart , eyes shut as his hooves traveled up and down the brass skin of his instrument. As he blew into it, he demonstrated his mastery over the instrument: he knew every inch of it, knew how to make it mumble and roar, shriek and squeal, producing the exact sound he wanted it to.
That was where reality ended for him. In his mind's eye, he imagined that he was back on the stage at Sydneigh Opera House, playing to a packed audience that had gathered underneath the sail-shaped roof. He could feel the smooth, polished wooden surface of the stage beneath his hooves, feel the heat of the lights on his face, and smell the salt of the sea air that had blown in through the opened windows and doors.
And he further imagined that he was not alone on the stage. He could distinctly picture, standing to his left, the String sisters, Rock and Roll, both of them mirror images of each other--standing back to back, same auburn coats, same startlingly blue eyes, same coal black manes with a dyed dark red stripe styled into the same manestyle--as they jammed on their guitars. The only difference between them was their cutie marks: Rock had a treble cleft and a guitar pointing towards the left, and Roll had a bass cleft and a guitar pointing towards the right.
Next to them was Timmy Slide, oily slicked-back brown name shining beneath the stage lights as he sounded out on his trombone. His dark green flank swayed side to side, displaying a miniature version of the brass instrument on his sides as he grinned and winked his gray eyes at the mares in the audience through glasses that were artfully perched on his snout (no doubt deciding which ones he was going to ask out to join him for a seaweed slider after the show).
Behind himself, Phillip imagined distinct crashes and clangs and knew--even though it wasn't--that Ella "Beats" Hoovesgerald was working her magic on the drum set (literally, as she was a unicorn--the only unicorn on the stage, in fact). He could picture her shaking out her wild yellow and red mane that always seemed to cover her freckled face and green eyes as she brought the sticks down on the drums with the same barely controlled enthusiasm and energy that she always approached every task with, even before she had gotten the crossed drumsticks on her chocolate brown flank.
And then to her right was the grand piano at which Charlie Ivory sat. A sparkling white ear-to-ear grin was spread across his black-coated face, his eyes hidden behind a pair of shades that reflected the stage lights that Charlie himself could not see due to a foalhood accident at the cooking stove. Despite his handicap, he hit every note perfectly, and Phillip knew that Charlie wasn't even trying: he was lost in the music, lost in the wondrous sounds and smells of the stage. It was almost as if he was flying through the music with the wings of his heart, like he had with his own wings as a youth before the accident grounded him permanently.
And finally, his father, Bobby "Dizzy" Baseline would be standing directly to Phillip's right. His father's skill with the trumpet exceeded his own with the saxophone, as he demonstrated by weaving a perfect counterpoint to his own music in the air with his instrument, tapping his hoof and shaking his long reddish tail to the beat as he did so, his lips smiling as he pressed them against the trumpet's mouth.
Finally, the song ended. Phillip imagined that the hall erupted in the cheers of the delighted crowd. As one, the band stepped forward and bowed. Phillip imagined that he opened his eyes and saw a glimmer of light to his right, and he imagined that he would look up to find that the light was the light reflecting off his father's trumpet. As he looked up, he imagined that his father would meet his gaze with his own proud smile that shone through his full red beard, his green eyes sparkling with love.
And Phillip did not want to open his eyes, because he knew that when he did, there would be no light reflecting off his father's trumpet, because his father, just like Rock, Roll, Timmy, Ella, Charlie, the audience, and all the other ponies that had once lived in the city that had stood upon the shore north of the now rotting Opera House, were dead.
But he could not stay in the dream forever. So he opened his eyes and raised his head.
The audience sat before him. It was nowhere near the number of the crowds that he had once played for, but all of them applauding, and all of them were smiling. He looked around and realized that he was on the open-air stage in Ponyville.
He turned to his left to find Flash Sentry standing there, guitar in hoof, nodding to him. Next to him was Lyra, who was holding her lyre in a magical grip, the polished metal gleaming gold in the sun. Behind him was Spike on a small drum set, and Bon Bon on piano. And to his right was Pinkie Pie, who was somehow simultaneously playing a trombone and a trumpet.
He felt the rough wooden floor beneath his hooves, smelled the cool wind that was blowing through his mane, and realized that he didn't have to pretend at all.
Author's Note
A quick short story where Phillip silently reminisces about his old home.
Phillip Finder: Short stories
"Rarity, I really appreciate this, but--"
"Tut-tut-tut!" Rarity said, shepherding Phillip into the main room of the Carousel Boutique. "Everypony deserves to look chic, unique and magnifique; even you, Phillip."
"You've already made me a suit," Phillip protested as Rarity made him stand in the raised circular stand in the center of the room.
"That was a rush job," Rarity countered, already gathering materials in a swirl of purple. "What you need is a proper suit, one that fits properly." She gestured impatiently at him. "Now, come on. Take the vest off."
"No," Phillip said firmly.
"Phillip, I can't get your proper measurements if you're wearing that vest," Rarity said, a bit of impatience entering her voice. "Now come on, take it off."
"No," Phillip repeated, retreating slightly.
Rarity's horn lit up with a purple aura. "That vest is coming off whether you want it to or not," she declared in a rather ominous tone.
Realizing that she was not going to let him leave without taking the vest off, Phillip gave himself over to the inevitable with a small sigh, reaching up to unzip the vest. Smiling, Rarity turned to gather some supplies from the shelves around the room. "You're not going to like this," Phillip said quietly, shrugging the vest off his shoulders and allowing it to fall to the floor.
"Oh, darling, really, I'm sure it's not--" Rarity started to say, turning. She suddenly froze, her speech cut off with a shocked gasp as all the items that she had been carrying clattered to the floor.
It was the first time Rarity--or anypony else in Ponyville--had ever clearly seen Phillip with his vest off. The coat beneath it was adorned with scars, crisscrossing almost the entire whole of his torso. Numerous stabs, scratches, burns and bullet wounds seemed to glow dull red against the milky chocolate brown of his coat. For a moment, Rarity stared in shock, her mouth open.
"Fascinatingly ugly, aren't they?" Phillip said quietly, looking straight ahead, his face and voice neutral.
"How..." Rarity said softly, slowly approaching Phillip. "How did you get all these?"
"You don't live the life I've led without getting hurt a few times," Phil said plainly, avoiding Rarity's gaze as she slowly circled him, her face a mixture of fascination, curiosity and horror. "Every one of these scars is a memory."
"I believe most ponies use a photo album," Rarity said quietly, attempted to put some humor into the tense situation.
Phillip almost smiled. He was not, never had been, and never would be "most ponies."
"That looks very bad," Rarity said, having reached Phillip's left shoulder. There was a very large patch of burn scarring, covering most of Phillip's shoulder and extending down his back.
His home was burning. All around him was screams of terror and pain, intermingling with the terrifying roar of flames. He ran, but the flames surrounded him, seeming to taunt him, moving to block his ever exit. There was a crackling from above and he looked up just in time to see a burning timber falling towards him. It was too late to dodge: the timber struck him in the shoulder and searing pain erupted across his body...
"Accident," he said shortly, in a tone of voice that made it quite clear to even the most tactless pony that he did not want to talk further about it. Rarity was many things, and tactless was not one of them. She allowed the conversation to drop, proceeding to take Phillip's proper measurements. However, curiosity overcame her normal boundaries after a brief internal battle, and she found herself unable to resist asking one question.
"Do they ever hurt?" she asked quietly.
Phillip did not answer for a moment. "Nah," he said finally. "Itch like hell when it's dry, thought."
"Perhaps you should try some skin ointment?" Rarity suggested. "I can recommend some particularly good ones from the spa that should help."
"Mmm," Phillip said quietly. Rarity continued her work in silence, Phillip silently allowing himself to be measured from neck to dock, around his body, from shoulder to shoulder, and around his elbows, wrists and neck. Finally, Rarity gave a satisfied nod, placing a pair of red-rimmed glasses upon her nose to make a few notes on a notepad.
"That will be all for now," Rarity said. "I shall inform you when your new suit is ready for pickup."
"Thank you," Phillip said, recollecting his vest and putting it back on. He turned towards the door and started to exit.
"Phillip," Rarity said. He paused at the door, not turning towards her.
"I'd like to tell you a little secret," Rarity said. "Something that I would never admit to my clients, but that all real fashion designers know." She strode closer to him, moving around to face him, glancing around to make sure that there was nopony in the store but the two of them.
"Clothes don't make a pony beautiful," she said, maintaining constant eye contact with him. "In the same way, scars do not make a pony ugly. What makes a pony truly beautiful is what is in here." She reached out and placed her hoof on his chest, directly over his heart (and an inch down from an old stitch). Phillip looked down at her hoof, then back up at her. His gray eyes, normally so cold and distant, now glimmered like a jewel in darkness.
"And you think I'm beautiful?" he asked quietly, almost disbelieving.
"Quite, darling," Rarity said with a genuine smile, patting Phillip's cheek and coaxing out a small, flushed smile. "Now, you run along now. I have work to do."
"Rarity, I...thank you," Phillip said, stumbling over his words slightly as his smile wavered on his face.
"No need, darling," Rarity said, waving him goodbye as he stepped out and into another beautiful day in Ponyville.
Author's Note
So, my latest short story.
Not really sure about the ending. What did you think?
Phillip Finder: Short stories
Four ponies crouched in a darkened room. One was a hostage, a young stallion. He sat, trembling right down to the tip of his tail, in the midst of his three captors. The masked terrorists were all armed: one pointed his pistol at point-blank range at the hostage's head. All four of them stared, throats dry and hearts pounding, at the open door.
Outside the door in the hallway. a single pony crouched. He was a Royal Guard, a slim pegasus with cloud white coat, crimson mane and tail, and sky blue eyes, with a cutie mark of a five-pointed shooting star with a rainbow trail. He was dressed in the golden chest armor, boots and kneepads, but lacking the helmet—he found that the weight slowed him down and skewed his aim slightly. In his hoof was a pistol, an oak-handled, polished steel .44 revolver.
The Guard's heart beat steadily in his chest, which rose and fell slowly with his breath. He allowed himself to observe his condition without feeling anything, detached from everything; from doubt, from fear, from anger. His mind was still, like an clear reflective pond, untroubled by waves. He knew what he was going to do.
He took one last breath and in a burst of motion, turned the corner, entering the dark room. As if moving on it's own, the gun in his hoof raised, took aim and fired. Fire and brimstone propelled the bullet through the air at a speed of over 1000 meters a second. In the blink of an eye, it struck the one holding the gun to the hostage's head right between the eyes, killing him instantly. The other two terrorists didn't stand a chance. Without conscious thought, the Guard aimed and fired twice more. Both of the other targets fell dead before they could even start to raise their guns, leaving the hostage alive and unharmed.
Lowering the gun, the Guard, PFC Zipline, blinked once. When he opened his eyes, he was no longer standing in a dark room with a terrified hostage and three dead terrorists. He was standing in an open field south of Ponyville, far enough away from the town that nopony would be disturbed by the sound of gunshots or endangered by a stray bullet—not that there would be any stray bullets. In front of him was four large paper targets mounted on cardboard. All of them had the silhouette of a pony on them. Three of them were holding guns: each had a hole in the dead center of it's forehead. The fourth, which had it's hooves up in a gesture of surrender, was untouched. Satisfied, Zipline holstered his revolver on his right hip and walked back to the oak tree that he was using as a depository, his empty backup revolver slapping rhythmically against his left hip with every step.
Shooting, Zipline knew, is both an art and a science. The science, ballistics, took hold when the projectile was loosed, put at the mercy of physics. The art was prior, when the weapon was held in shaking hooves attached to a pulsing, breathing body. As part of Zipline's job as a Royal Guard sniper, one of the few armored ponies trained and qualified to use firearms on a regular basis, he had to be an expert of one and a master of the other. He had to be as quick as lightning and precise as a scalpel, hitting his target every time over any distance. That meant constant practice.
Reaching the depository, Zipline took his revolver out and emptied it, replacing the unspent bullets in the ammo box and putting the spent cartridges in a trash baggie. He then turned his attention to his rifle: a .30 caliber Summerfield. If a gun could ever be described as beautiful, the Summerfield would be a work of art: an oak body the color of hoof polish, with polished steel metal parts that were each hoof-crafted precisely to fit, placed exactly in their proper place. Zipline picked up the rifle, taking a moment as always to appreciate the perfect weight distribution, then drew back the bolt, selected a six-round clip and prepared to load it.
"Hey, dad!"
Immediately, Zipline placed down the rifle and ammunition and spun around, a delighted smile crossing his face at the voice. His daughter, Scootaloo, was riding towards him on her scooter, looking equally pleased to see him. When she came within a few feet, she stopped abruptly, propelling herself up into the air, gliding towards him on her wings. Zipline snatched her out of the air and tossed her back up, laughing as his daughter used her wings to hover for a moment before gently falling back into his bear hug.
"What're you doing up here, kiddo?" he asked, removing Scootaloo's helmet so he could tussle her mane.
"I wanted to see you," Scootaloo said, giggling as she tried to squirm her way out of his embrace.
Zipline's face fell slightly. He hadn't been spending a lot of time with his daughter: his job had required too much of his time for too long. That had to change. "I know, sweetie. I haven't been around as much as we'd both like to, but I'll make more of an effort to—"
"I know, dad," Scootaloo said, wilting a little in his embrace. "It's your job."
With a bit of a shock, Zipline realized that Scootaloo was looking over his shoulder at his collection of guns. With a soft sigh, he set his daughter down beside him. For a while, the two simply lay in the grass side-by-side, listening to the breeze through the trees.
"Dad?" Scootaloo asked after a while. "You know how you're always telling me that violence isn't the answer?" Zipline nodded. "Well...doesn't your job involve violence?"
Zipline swallowed and looked down at his daughter, putting a wing around her. "Well, sweetie..." He sighed. "This isn't easy." He swallowed and looked back up at the sky, as if searching for knowledge up among the clouds.
After a moment, he decided to do what he did best: just do it. "When Diamond Tiara makes fun of you, you'd like to haul off and punch her right in her big, fat, no-good mouth, right?"
Scootaloo smiled softly and nodded. "Well, that doesn't solve anything," Zipline said. "All she'd done was say some bad things about you: I know it hurts when bullies make fun of you, but words are just words.
"But in situations like I'm trained for—when ponies' lives are at stake—I have to use violence to stop the situation, to keep ponies from getting hurt. But I only use violence when I have to. That means I have to know when to use it, and also when to stop."
"But what if..." Scootaloo said softly, her wide eyes brimming with worry. "What if one day you have to kill a pony?"
Zipline sighed heavily, bending his head, briefly wondering why his own daughter had to be the one asking these questions. "It's not something I like thinking about," he said. "And it's not something that you should be thinking about. But sometimes...sometimes if I can take one life to save another...that doesn't make it all right. But it is the better option." He gave Scootaloo a little squeeze. "Maybe someday you'll understand."
Scootaloo managed to smile a little wider than before and snuggled up against her father. He lay back down and pulled her on top of his chest. Father and daughter just lay in the grass for a while longer as the sun lowered closer to the horizon.
"Hey, race you home!" Scootaloo declared, hopping off Zipline and scurrying to her scooter.
"You really want to take me?" Zipline said with a bright grin.
"Any time, dad!" Scootaloo said, placing her helmet on her head and buzzing her wings excitedly.
In a flash of motion, Zipline gathered up his equipment and strapped it to his back. The two ponies stood side by side at an invisible starting line. "Ready, set...go!" The two raced off back towards Ponyville, laughing all the way.
Author's Note
Just a little short story I wanted to write about Zipline interacting with his daughter in a warm-hearted way.
Phillip Finder: Short stories
The boomerang spun through the crisp evening air, skimming over the shivering grass with a whirring sound before returning back to it's owner. Phillip reached up and caught the boomerang with his left hoof almost lazily. Pausing for a moment, he examined the familiar sensation of the cool, carved wood in his hoof, turning the tool over to examine the smooth, rounded edges.
"It's cool, dad. What is it?"
"It's called a boomerang, Phil. Our people have used them for hundreds of years, even before Celestia and Luna were born. Come on, I'll teach you how to throw it."
With a sigh, Phillip pulled himself out of the memory. He cocked his leg back, pausing for a moment to check the wind direction, then snapped the boomerang out with a flick of the wrist. It soared out a long way out, dipping down low to the ground before zooming back up like an eagle snatching up a field mouse. It looped back to Phil who reached up to catch it almost without looking.
"Where'd you learn to do that?"
Phil looked up to see Flash gliding towards him, setting down on the grass next to him. Phillip looked back at the boomerang, turning it over in his hooves. "My people, the Aushaylians, used it as a weapon for years. Then it became a ceremonial tool. Parents taught their children how to carve them and how to throw them, passing it down generation to generation."
"So you carved that yourself?" Flash asked, watching as Phil threw the boomerang out again.
"Yeah," Phil replied. "I carved several, in fact." As the boomerang returned, Phil turned and caught it behind his back.
"We used to have boomerang contests every summer," he said softly, looking down at the curved wood in his hooves with a distant look in his eyes. "Down on the beach, every year. Everypony would be there. There'd be contests for longest throw, accuracy, technique...there'd be a big barbie, and Dad I would have a concert with the band..."
His voice trailed off into silence. Glancing up, Flash saw Phillip wipe furiously at his eyes with his foreleg for a moment. "Damn it," he growled, flinging the boomerang out with a violent gesture. It tumbled awkwardly through the air and landed several feet away. Phil let out an angry sigh and looked down at the ground. "It's not fair," he mumbled.
Flash looked at his companion for a while longer, then flew over to the boomerang and picked it up in his hooves, taking it back to Phil. "Hey, teach me how to throw it," he said.
Phil looked a bit surprised for a moment, then walked around Flash to stand behind him. "Hold the boomerang by the tip," he said, taking Flash's hoof and gently raising his leg. "Just pinch it lightly. Now the key to a good throw is making it spin. When you do the throw, you want to snap your wrist slightly at the end."
"Like this?" Flash said, giving the boomerang a practice throw.
"More snap," Phil said. "And don't throw it horizontally, it's not a frisbee. You have to throw it almost vertically, at a bit of an angle." Taking Flash's foreleg in both his hooves, he gently manipulated it to raise it up. "You ever play hoofball? It's kind of like that."
Remembering his old days on the Manehattan U team, Flash raised his foreleg and launched the boomerang, snapping his wrist out at the end of the throw. The boomerang arced forward and sliced right into the ground.
Phillip's lips twitched upward. "Not straight like that. You have to have a little layover: you want to throw it at an angle to the ground. Try it again."
Flushed with embarrassment, Flash retrieved the boomerang and raised his leg again. He snapped the boomerang out at a bit of an angle. This time, the boomerang soared out, skimming sideways through the air over the grass. Flash grinned proudly. A moment later, his grin was removed when the boomerang arced back and bonked him in the nose.
Phil couldn't help but laugh, his shoulders shaking as he chuckled. "Not bad," he snorted. "Maybe I should teach you how to catch it next."
"I'd appreciate that," Flash said, smiling as he rubbed his nose.
The two stallions stayed out in the field until the sun went down and the fireflies came out to dance in the darkness. As it was too dark to see the boomerang anymore, the two simply decided to lay back in the grass and watch the stars come out. Neither of them spoke: there was nothing that needed to be said.
Many minutes later, Phillip was alerted that Flash had fallen asleep by his gentle snores. To his surprise, his companion rolled over in his sleep and curled up against him, wrapping his wings around him. Phil initially stiffened in surprise, then smiled. "Come on, mate. Time to go home."
"Hmm, wha...?" Flash groaned as Phil lifted him up and let him sprawl across his back. Phil carried him back towards the town, heading down towards Flash's cottage near the castle. Still half-asleep, Flash wrapped his forelegs around Phil's chest and hugged him gently.
"Your dad must've been quite a guy," he murmured.
"Yeah," Phil said. "Yeah, he was."
"Y'know," Flash added, already half-snoring again, "You'd make a pretty good dad."
Phil halted as suddenly as though he'd walked into a brick wall. His face practically glowed red in the darkness, his eyes wide as stars. When he did proceed, it was a slower step, as if he had suddenly picked up a greater weight.
When he finally reached Flash's cottage, he carried the younger stallion up into his room and gently laid him down in his bed. Taking the covers in his mouth, he lifted them up over Flash's body, watching as he snuggled up into the warmth. For a moment, he hesitated at the edge of the bed, feeling as though there was something left unsaid.
"Maybe one day," he said softly, turning and leaving the room. "Good night, Flash," he whispered, closing the door behind him.
As he left the cottage and headed down the street towards B Boulevard, Phillip reached up and wiped at his eyes. Maybe one day...
Author's Note
Wanted to write a touchy-feely. Did I write a touchy-feely?
Phillip Finder: Short stories
"It's dirty work, Flash," Phillip growled. He was sitting atop the piano bench in his living room at 221 B Boulevard, leaning against the piano, a shot glass of cider in his hoof.
Across from him, opposite the chessboard on the coffee table, Flash was sprawled on the sofa, giving him a dark look. "That's why we have rules, Phillip," he said. "Laws and regulations. Ponies have rights, and we don't have to soil them for no reason."
Phillip spat bitterly. "Rules," he grunted, staring into the dark amber of his glass. "Rules are good and all, but sometimes they're not enough. In fact, sometimes they get in the way."
"Maybe sometimes," Flash said, leaning forward. "But a few exceptions isn't enough to justify suspending everypony's rights."
"I never said that," Phillip said. "But sometimes..." He scowled, staring at his reflection in the cider.
"During my second year in the Guard, I was stationed in Manehattan," he said. "One case we had, we were investigating some hotshot businesspony that was on the city council."
"What'd he do?" Flash asked.
A bitter taste rushed up Phillip's throat and the glass quivered in his hoof as his grip subconsciously tightened. "He...touched his daughter. Several times. Her and other fillies." He heard Flash hiss quietly. It was the same attitude with every Guard: anypony who violated a child was seen as lower than dirt, the foaming scum of society.
"We worked for three months," Phillip said. "Gathering evidence, questioning witnesses, consoling victims, doing surveillance and laying traps. Finally, we arrested him, got him on the docket..." He paused for a moment, the hot bitter taste overwhelming his throat so that he was forced to take a draught of cider, which he immediately spat back out: "And that filthy, arrogant arse got off on a bull**** technicality! Got to go home and hurt his own daughter all over again!"
He glared at Flash, whose eyes displayed shock and fury. "So what'd you do?" he asked, thinking that he already knew the answer.
Phillip took a couple breaths, settling himself down to continue. "The courts had failed to protect those fillies. So I did what I had to do. I knew he liked to visit a bar at nights, so after my shift, I followed him...
The rain poured down on his head, soaking through the balaclava, the impacts of the drops on the cobbled ground echoing off the walls of the small alley, but he didn't notice. All he was aware of was his own hooves, smashing into the slime's fat body, the weak flesh yielding and breaking under the impact. A left body shot ruptured his diaphragm. A crushing elbow strike broke another two ribs. The pedophile tried to protect himself, huddling on the ground, but the blows came down from everywhere. Every time he was struck, the pony let out a pathetic little yelp of pain. His weakness disgusted Phillip, but did not surprise him; only a coward would dare target somepony who couldn't defend themselves, like a little filly. Part of Phillip wished his target would at least try to fight back; that would feed his anger more, afford him an excuse to bring down greater punishment.
Finally, the fat bastard had had enough. He lay facedown on the alley floor, barely conscious and whimpering. It took a great effort for Phillip to force himself to stop; but as much as he wanted to finish it, even if it would be doing society a favor by removing the fat, whimpering waste of air from the face of the Earth, his death was not his goal. It would be much more satisfying for him to be punished, to have to live out the rest of his days remembering this night, to dream of the pain should he ever look at a filly with filthy intentions again.
Seizing the pedophile by the back of his expensive suit collar, Phillip dragged him over to a dumpster, lifted him up and tossed him in with the rest of the garbage where he belonged. The pony groaned feebly. Grabbing him by the neck. Phillip turned him around so that he was looking into his eyes.
"If you ever touch your daughter again, or any filly, I'll know," he growled in a voice like approaching thunder. "And I'll be back." And with that, he slammed the top of the dumpster down, sealing him inside.
Turning away, Phillip walked to the front of the alley, his anger finally calming. He felt the rain, soaking him to the skin, washing away the blood on his hooves as if removing any evidence. Removing his mask, he turned his face up to the skies, to the embrace of the cold wind and rain, and it felt right.
"There was an inquiry, but nopony except him asked too many questions. He moved away a while later, and he never touched any filly again." He looked up to give Flash a hard look. "That's justice."
"Justice would be making him rot in a prison where he belonged, not beat him to a pulp!" Flash said. "You're lucky you didn't get arrested!"
Phil just sighed and rested against the piano, striking some of the keys with his elbows and creating a discordant melody. "You know what, Flash? It's part of the job. You and me, we're the ponies who do the stuff that nopony else is willing to do. We're the ones who can afford to get our hooves dirty and bloody so others don't have to."
"Without being dirty ourselves," Flash said. "That's why we're Guards, not vigilantes. The public trusts us with their safety for a reason: we don't hold ourselves above the law."
There was a long, tense silence that solidified like ice between them, just as hard and twice as cold. "Maybe it comes down to what I said before," Phillip finally spoke in a soft tone. "Deep down, you're a good person. And deep down, I'm not."
Something in Flash's eyes dissolved, some layer peeling away. "Who you are and who you want to be is up to you," he said, rising from the sofa. "But I don't think you're bad." With a nod, he left the house, placing his helmet back on his head as he did so. From the hall came a squeaking sound as the door opened, then closed. As soon as he left, the room temperature, which had risen by inches when he spoke, seemed to fall once more.
Phillip listened to the solid silence for a moment more, then heavily lifted himself up to get another shot of cider.
Author's Note
Another short story that I tapped out in one go.
I'm not ashamed to say that I firmly consider Phillip to be an anti-hero (it's worth noting the symbolism of him wearing a gray hat). Not only does it give him a character that contrasts with the brighter characters of Equestria, but it also gives him a lot of room for potential growth.
Phillip Finder: Short stories
I'll Be Home For Hearth's Warming
The snow crunched beneath his hooves, soaking into his coat. More of the white precipitation fell from the evening sky, melting onto his hat and vest.
Phillip hated the snow, cursed it with every frosty breath he took. The first time he'd seen snow was in his freshpony year in college. To this day, he didn't understand the point of the cold, wet, white blanket. It blocked sidewalks, covered patches of ice, blinded travelers with it's stinging winds and sharp glare, and forced ponies out of their warm homes to shovel off roofs and pathways.
PAFF!
The only thing that it seemed to be good for was forming projectile weapons to hurl at unsuspecting ponies' heads. He stopped for a moment, then turned and glared at his attacker with a look that was as chilly as the snow dripping down the back of his head.
"Sorry, mister!" Apple Bloom apologized with a smile, ducking beneath another volley of snowballs from Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo. The trio of fillies laughed as they cavorted amongst their makeshift forts, continuing to attack one another with snowballs. Shaking his head to clear the snow off him, Phillip continued on his way down the main street of Ponyville.
As he passed Drury Lane, he had to stop to allow an excited Dinky Do to cross the street in front of him. The little filly bounded across the street and into the embrace of her mother, who nuzzled her happily before taking her by the hoof and guiding her into their home. Time Turner, wearing his trademark scarf around his neck and body, greeted his wife at their door with a kiss and brought his two mares inside. Pausing, Phillip watched through the lit window as the three ponies gathered around the brightly lit and decorated tree in the sitting room, chattering and laughing, even when Ditzy tripped and dropped a tray of cocoa cups and cookies. The muffled sound drifting through the window incited a stab of...something in Phillip's chest. With a sigh, he turned and walked on.
Continuing on his way back home, Phillip then passed Sweet Street, where the lilting sound of lyre music piercing the chill air made him pause. Lyra, Bon Bon and Tootsie Flute were sitting in front of Bonbon's Bon Bon's, singing carols to the tune of Lyra's lyre, handing out roasted chestnuts and hot chocolate to passerby. The girls' voices reached Phillip's ears:
"I'll be home for Hearth's Warming You can count on me. Please have snow, and mistletoe, and presents under the tree.
Hearth's Warming will find you Where the love light gleams I'll be home for Hearth's Warming If only in my dreams..."
Catching Phillip's eye, Lyra smiled and waved at him. He waved back, but continued walking down the street. He wanted nothing more than to go back to B Boulevard and set himself down in front of the fire with a book, a shot glass of cider, and his favorite sax record.
But why did his hooves suddenly feel heavier, the snow seeming to bite harder into his skin as if reluctant to let him go? He sighed heavily, his breath frosting in front of his face, and forced himself to keep walking, to not think about the stabbing feelings of envy and desire in his chest...to not think about Hearth's Warming when he was a colt, putting up lights on the house, attending the Hearth's Warming Eve barbie with the band down on the beach, and falling asleep in his father's lap while he read to him the tale of the first Hearth's Warming...
Damn snow. It made his eyes water. Phillip wiped furiously at his face, with the result that he bumped into somepony walking out of the games and craft store. His victim staggered back from the impact, then chuckled softly. "Normally it's Twilight that does that."
"Flash?" Phillip looked up to see Flash grinning at him, a pair of wrapped gifts tucked beneath his wings and a green scarf around his neck.
"Hey, Phil," Flash greeted him, noting the remains of the snowball on the back of Phillip's head. "Enjoying the snow?"
"Can't say that I am," Phil scowled. "Those for Twilight and Spike?"
"Yeah," Flash said, looking at his gifts with a proud smile. He turned back to Phil, then paused looking closer at the wet tracks beneath Phillip's slightly red eyes. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Phillip grunted, moving past Flash and walking away.
Flash watched him walk away, noting his slow, heavy step and the bunching of his shoulders. "Hey!" he called after him, causing him to pause. "You doing anything for Hearth's Warming?"
Phillip stopped. It took a second for him to answer. "No."
"So why don't you come over and spend it with us?" Flash asked. "I'm sure Twilight and Spike wouldn't mind having you visit."
"I don't make good company," Phillip muttered.
"A friend always makes good company," Flash said, walking up and touching Phillip's shoulder. "Look, at least think about it, all right?"
Phillip looked at him with a sideways glance for a long moment, then said, "I will." Flash smiled and patted him on the shoulder, then flapped off towards his own home. Phillip watched Flash fly away until he disappeared over the distant houses, then continued walking towards B Boulevard while the sun lowered past the horizon.
Hearth's Warming morning three days later brought a fresh batch of snowfall and a bright, clear sky, the snow sparkling as brightly and beautifully as the crystal walls of the Rainbow Castle. Flash Sentry flapped down to the large crystal doors and knocked upon the stone. The doors opened wide and Twilight greeted him with a radiant smile. "Hello, Flash," she said, welcoming him inside. "Happy Hearth's Warming!"
"You too, Twilight," he said. Noticing something moving above his head, he glanced up and saw a certain plant hanging over the pair, held in a lavender aura. "Is that mistletoe?"
"You should be a detective," Twilight giggled, leaning in. He obliged, giving her a long kiss on the lips, intoxicating himself on the scent of lavender in her mane and the taste of maple syrup from breakfast on her lips.
"Blech!" Spike cringed in protest from the top of the stairs. "Do you two ever give it a rest?"
Chuckling quietly, the two ponies separated and flew up to the sitting room, setting themselves down on the couch before the decorated hearth and the crackling fire therein. Lifting his wing, Flash pulled two wrapped gifts out of his saddlebag. "For you, Twilight," he said, handing the larger package to Twilight. "And for you, Spike," he added, handing the smaller one to Spike.
"Thanks, Flash!" Spike eagerly declared, ripping into the gift and flinging wrapping paper everywhere. When he finished unwrapping the gift, he gasped in astonishment. In his eager little claws was a set of Power Pony figurines, from the Masked Matterhorn to Fili-Second to Humdrum, all of them as detailed as if they'd leapt right off the pages of Spike's comic books. "Wow!" he gaped in amazement.
Twilight raised an eyebrow at the figurines. "You didn't get those from a store with 'Enchanted' in it's name, did you?"
Flash chuckled. "Nah, just from the crafts store." He turned to Twilight. "Well, come on, open yours."
Using her magic, Twilight deftly and neatly peeled the wrapping paper back, lifted the top off the box and stared in rapture. Inside the box was a collection of carved diamond chess pieces in pale blue or bright ruby, decorated to look like famous wizards and conjurers of the ancient past. Starswirl the Bearded and Leonardo da Whinny were the bishops, Meadowbrook and Lillybud were the knights, and Princess Celestia and Luna were the king and queen respectively.
"I saw that in the craft store and immediately knew that you'd go for it," Flash said. "That'll give you something to do besides bury your nose in a book!" he added, giving Twilight a playful jab on the shoulder.
"Aw, Flash, thanks!" Twilight squeed happily, giving him a tight winghug. Her embrace warmed Flash's heart to the point where he forgot all about how much these gifts had cost.
Lighting up her horn, Twilight extracted two gifts hidden beneath the decorations on the hearth. "Spike and I both picked something out for you, too."
Trying to resist the urge to just rip the packaging off his gifts, Flash opened up Twilight's rectangular package first. To his complete non-surprise, his first present was a book, a collection of Agatha Canter mystery novellas.
"Have you ever read her work?" Twilight asked eagerly. "She's brilliant and witty, I think you'll like her."
"I'm sure I will," Flash said with a small smile, setting the book aside and reaching for Spike's gift, which was smaller and flatter, and opened it up. "Whoa, Spike!" Inside the box was a collection of tapes of his favorite band, Simple Plains. "Thanks, bud!"
"You're welcome," Spike said, looking proud at his gift being so well-received. "And there's something else in there, too!"
Curious, Flash lifted up the tapes to reveal the second gift underneath them: a plastic package labeled "Trojan."
"I asked Rainbow Dash for some ideas on what to get you two, and she suggested that I get her a pack of these," Spike explained. "I'm not sure what they are: she just said that she thought the two of you might need them..."
Spike trailed off, looking between the two ponies with confusion. Both Twilight and Flash were blushing deeply, Twilight's wings were spread open in a sign of agitation, and Flash had to cover his mouth with his hoof to stifle his giggling. "What?"
"It's a very...thoughtful gift, Spike," Twilight stammered, lowering her wings and making a mental note to have a very strict talk with Rainbow Dash. "How about we start up a game of chess?" she added, trying to change the subject.
"That sounds great," Flash snickered, struggling to regain control of himself. Getting up off the couch, Twilight flew up to her room and got her chessboard. When she got back to the sitting room, Spike and Flash had already taken the Power Pony figures and were playing with them, moving them across the table while making bizarre sound effects with their mouths. She shook her head at the sight, laughing quietly.
Just as she was setting the board up with her new pieces, there came a knocking at the castle doors. "Who's that?" Twilight queried, getting up off the couch.
"I'll get it," Flash interrupted, rising and rushing down to the doors. Opening them wide, he was pleasantly pleased to see Phillip Finder standing in front of him, a plain saddlebag attached to his side and dark shadows beneath his eyes. "Oh, hey! I didn't think that you were going to come!"
"I didn't either," Phillip replied, entering and stamping the snow off his hooves. "But I figured that since I had nothing better to do, I might as well come." He followed Flash up the stairs to the sitting room and paused at the threshold. "You sure I won't intrude?" he asked hesitantly.
"Of course not! Come on," Flash reassured him, beckoning him in. "Hey, Twi, Spike, we have a guest."
"Phillip?" Twilight said in surprise. "We didn't think you were going to come! Happy Hearth's Warming!"
"You, too," Phil replied, shaking her hoof warmly. Reaching into his saddlebag, he extracted three sloppily-wrapped gifts. "Couldn't think of what to get you three, so I made these yesterday. Sorry 'bout the wrapping."
"That's all right," Twilight sighed, watching Spike eagerly opening his. "I don't think it's going to last too long."
Spike opened up the box, and his eager face turned into confusion. Reaching into the box, he pulled out a carved wooden slat attached to a long length of cord. "What's this?"
"Spin the end," Phil suggested.
Taking the cord in his hands, Spike began to spin the end with the wooden attachment. As he did so, a low, buzzing hum began to fill the air, coming from the strange instrument. His eyes widening at the sound, Spike began to spin the cord faster, causing the sound to become louder and deeper.
"It's called a bullroarer," Phil explained, watching Spike experiment with the strange sound by adjusting the length of the cord. "My people used them to communicate over long distance, and in certain rituals."
"Neat!" Spike grinned, slowing the spinning instrument to a stop. "Thanks!"
Twilight gave the instrument a long look, reflecting that there was going to be no peace in the castle for a while. Turning to her own gift, she opened up the present to reveal a brown woven bag with purple and pink stripes and several blue feathers woven into the interior and a long cord for wearing around the neck. The weaving was somewhat hasty, with the stripes randomly zig-zagging around the circumference
"It's not the best work in the world," Phil said, shifting slightly as though embarrassed. "I haven't made a dillybag in years, but with Rarity's help...yeah, it's not that great."
Twilight lifted the dillybag up and placed it around her neck, allowing it to rest comfortably on her back. "No, I like it. It'll be perfect for carrying some of my books! Thank you, Phillip."
Looking slightly relieved, Phillip then turned to Flash, a glimmer of anticipation in his eyes as he watched the younger stallion opening his present. Out of the wrapping paper and cardboard came a length of simple carved wood, which he had spent most of last night working on.
"A boomerang?" Flash asked, holding the gift up and examining it. "Is this one of yours?"
"No. I carved it myself, but it's yours." Phillip paused, watching Flash's face to try to gauge his reaction. "Among my people, it's traditional for parents to give their child a boomerang of their own when they come of age..." He stopped abruptly, his throat convulsing as though he was trying to swallow a rock, then looked down at the floor. "I mean, I just thought...if you like it..."
His nervous stammering was cut short when Flash stepped forward and hugged him around the neck. "I do like it," Flash smiled, pulling back to give Phillip a glowing look. "Thank you. Happy Hearth's Warming." Reaching into his saddlebag, he extracted one last gift, a small hoof-sized package. Taking it in his hoof, Phillip stared at it for a moment as if unsure what to do with it before tearing the wrapping off with his teeth to reveal a deck of playing cards, decorated with images of famous jazz musicians.
"I noticed that you didn't have any playing cards at your house," Flash said, his smile quivering a little as he watched Phillip's blank expression. "My mom and I used to love playing cards, and I liked played cards with the other Guards in the barracks." He paused, his face falling a little when Phillip did not react. "...Okay, I...I kind of ran out of ideas on Hearth's Warming Eve, but..."
Phillip smiled back and pressed his forehead against Flash's, cutting off his explanation. "Thank you. Happy Hearth's Warming, Flash." Turning to Twilight, he then noticed that she was looking at the two of them with a crestfallen expression. "What is it?"
"I just realized," Twilight confessed, looking ashamed as she glanced at Spike. "We didn't think you were going to come, so...we didn't get you anything."
"That's all right," Phil smiled. "I don't need anything." He looked at the chessboard with the crystal pieces on it. "How about a few rounds?"
"Sure!" Twilight eagerly settled herself down onto the couch before the game board, summoning a cushion for her opponent to sit upon. Her smile, however, was temporarily removed by a whooshing sound and the tinkling of china, "Not in the castle, Flash!"
"Sorry," Flash apologized, retrieving his boomerang from the shards of the vase that he'd just smashed. The four friends gathered around the game table. In the town, families everywhere gathered in their warm homes with their decorated hearths or rushed outside to frolic in the falling snow, which sparkled and shone beneath the love light. And nopony had to dream.
Author's Note
Of course I couldn't let the holiday season pass without doing something to mark the occasion. So have a sweet little heart-warming Hearth's Warming tale. I hope you enjoy!
Happy holidays, everypony, and a joyful new year!
Phillip Finder: Short stories
"Really?" Flash scowled at the six mares gathered around the crystalline table, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "You're going to forgive her for what she's done?"
"Flash, she showed genuine remorse for what she did," Twilight said patiently. "Starlight deserves another chance."
"Genuine remorse?" Flash snorted. "She's a sociopath; lying and manipulating is part of what she does."
"You weren't there when she saw what she did!" Twilight snapped, fed up with her Guard's biting snark and angry snarls. "When Spike and I took her to that last alternate future and she saw the consequences of her actions, she was horrified! She—"
Her speech was interrupted by Flash slamming his hooves onto the table in frustration. "In case you all forgot, I was there the first time we met her; we all were!" He glared around at the six of them in obvious frustration. "She took away our cutie marks; she locked us in that room for thirty-six hours. She tortured us for thirty-six hours! "
Applejack cleared her throat markedly. "This isn't just about you, Flash," she said sternly. "She tortured her villagers for even longer, and even they were willing to forgive her."
"And at least she has a reason for doing what she did," Fluttershy pointed out. "Losing her friend like that must have been hard for her."
"Oh, and that excuses everything she did? Overtaking a village? Leading a cult? Kidnapping? Trying to destroy Equestria?!" Flash spat. "I once read about a serial rapist who molested and butchered a dozen fillies. When he was caught, he said that he did it because his father assaulted him when he was a foal. Should he be pardoned just because he had some pathetic excuse for doing what he did?"
"Starlight isn't like that," Fluttershy answered in a voice of strained patience. "Nothing she did was done out of true malice or greed or hatred. She's not an ordinary criminal."
"And besides," Applejack pointed out. "What would you suggest we do with her? We obviously can't just let her off on her own, not the way she is."
"Make her pay for what she did, of course!" Flash shouted in exasperation.
"She will," Twilight explained. "As long as she's working with me, as my pupil, she will be learning about friendship to make up for what she did, and give her a chance at starting over; a chance that a lot of ponies don't get." She looked into Flash's deep blue eyes; where she normally saw humor, happiness and love, she now saw nothing but anger and vengeance.
"Listen, Corporal Sentry," she stated in a sterner tone. "This is my decision as a Princess of Equestria. As my Guard, you are obligated to follow my instructions. You will help Starlight Glimmer; you will make her welcome in these hallways and in this town, and you will protect her like you would any Equestrian citizen. Do I make myself clear?"
Flash snorted and glanced over at the door to the throne room. Outside, Starlight Glimmer awaited her punishment; how delighted she would be to hear that she wouldn't be getting any.
"Fine," he huffed through clenched teeth. "But as long as she's here, I'll be keeping an eye on her." He glared at the doorway. "A very close eye."
Author's Note
The "Phillipverse" of my stories is a "close-to-canon" universe: if it happened in the show, it happened in the universe, with some minor alterations. The Season 6 premiere gave me a minor issue: the inclusion of Starlight Glimmer as what appears to be a new major character in the series forced me to adopt my headcanon in light of this new information.
So I tapped out this story in response to give both myself and my readers an explanation as to how she fits in, and her relationship to Flash Sentry. I don't anticipate Starlight being a major character in the series, but I do have an idea for her that I'm dusting off.
Phillip Finder: Short stories
First Meeting, First Smile
Greenwhinny, Gritish Isles. Twelve years before Phillip Finder moved to Ponyville...
A pony sat at a table outside the St. Amble Cafe in a sun-kissed cobblestone street, sipping lightly at a cup of coffee. A lit smoking cigarette sat in the ashtray on the table before him; the smoke that wafted off the lit stick smelled of heady Saddle Arabian perfumes. A light wind rustled the leaves of the oak trees spaced with precise regularity across the sidewalks, but the pony did not acknowledge it. The scent of the cigarette, the taste of the freshly-brewed coffee, the gentle warmth of the sun embracing him...he felt none of it. His mouth remained in a thin, neutral line, and no emotion showed at all in his abyss-black eyes.
They called him the Chessmaster back then: his name had not yet gained the fame and fear that he was known for now. The title could not have been more appropriate: every crime he planned was set up and executed with perfect precision, with nothing left to chance. A few members of the underworld had started a rumor that he was able to see the future. The thought caused the dining pony to snort disdainfully. Dummköpfe.
It had been an amusing diversion at first. Pitting his mind against the law, continually testing them to see who was better. He remembered the first crime he planned, when he was merely fourteen years old: the murder of his parents. It had been easy, extraordinarily easy: a little unexpected mogul in the ski path right in front of a sheer cliff, and then all he had to do was play the mourning child and let the world write it off as an accident. The fortune he inherited was certainly quite nice, but that hadn't been his motive: he'd just wanted to see if he could do it. And he'd done it.
That was the first of hundreds. He'd loved the challenge, the thrill he got from playing other ponies like pawns on a chessboard. And over the years, he got bolder and bolder, the size of his board and the number of the pieces increasing exponentially over the years. And he always won.
Therein was the problem. It had became too easy, the game too predictable. There was nothing new in the world of crime and law, nopony to match wits with him, no unique, special thrills to delight in. And bit by bit, the little pleasure that he depended upon to forget that he, like all ponies, was trapped in a pointless, empty existence, was taken away from him. It had been over a year since he had last smiled; he had not felt anything for almost as long. Every morning, it was becoming harder and harder to find any reason to pull himself out of bed.
Recently, he began to wonder if he should make it a little easier for his opponents. Maybe then he could even up the game a little bit and finally find somepony worth playing with. And for that, he turned to one of the few things he truly enjoyed: riddles and puzzles.
One of his favorite methods of communicating with his pawns was with a special code that consisted of selecting letters from the daily crossword. So the day before, he had sent a note to the local Guard precinct with a code that, when put through the day's crossword, revealed his clue: "What has four wheels, thirty bouquets, and flies?"
The answer was, obviously, a garbage cart. A garbage cart carrying a set of valuable flower paintings stolen from the Gritish Art Museum. Specifically, the garbage cart across the street from where he was sitting. As he watched, a set of surly ponies carried large garbage bags out of the back door of the museum and tossed them into the stinking wooden cart that creaked beneath the weight of several blocks worth of trash. Within the bags that these ponies were carrying was a set of paintings, statuettes and other exhibits stolen from the museum. The stallion glanced up and down the streets. Plenty of shoppers, strollers and joggers to be seen, but not a single Guard.
He sighed. It was too easy. He'd given it a try, and it hadn't worked. What was the point anymore? There was a perfectly good bridge not far from here, sitting 200 feet above the icy cold waters of the river. Perhaps there he could finally...
Suddenly, there was a loud whirring noise and the sound of something impacting against a skull. The largest of the false garbage ponies collapsed the ground, unconscious; the bag that he was carrying dropped and spilled open, revealing the stolen stamps that it had been carrying. Every head turned to view the stranger in the green vest and gray trilby running up the street, catching a spinning boomerang in his hoof as he sprinted towards the garbage pony. The thieves, sensing this was an attacker, immediately drew knives and ran forward to meet him, only to find themselves on the receiving end of a telescoping baton.
The watching stallion stared at this intruder in amazement, watching as he easily weaved through his opponents, fluidly moving from attack to defense, from enemy to enemy. He committed every memory to detail, from his magnifying glass cutie marks to the old, fraying black band around the trilby, but it was the stranger's eyes that attracted his attention: gray as stormclouds, hidden behind midnight black bangs...full of a rage like he had never seen before. This stallion had brains—that was evident from the fact that he had solved his riddle—and yet, look at him: hitting and hitting with the force of a wild animal controlled with the cold calculation of a machine, looking like he just wanted to hit back against the whole world, and hit where it hurt the most.
"Fascinating," Zugzwang whispered softly, slowly standing as he watched the pony throw the last thief to the floor and strike him twice over the head with his baton. For the first time in over a year, he felt something: a strange sensation he could not identify or put a word to, but that made his heart beat against his ribs like a drum and a warmth spread to the tips of his hooves.
For the first time in over a year, Zugzwang smiled.
He had finally found somepony to play with.
Author's Note
Tonight, we are pleased to give you the story of how Zugzwang met Phillip Finder and began their long rivalry. Inspired by Batman: Lovers and Madmen, this little story gives you a close-up look on Zugzwang's personality and mindset, and what really drives him.
This is officially all of the information that I'm giving you on Zugzwang's history: I feel that he doesn't really need a fleshed-out backstory. He just needs to be who he is in the stories: Equestria's Black King of Crime.
Phillip Finder: Short stories
Darkness had long descended on the the waterfronts of Vanhoover. Dim lamps flickered along the wooden docks and concrete coasts; the sounds of splashing water, flapping sails and creaking boats filled the still air. Far away over the dark, choppy water, distant lightning flickered on the horizon.
A golden pegasus stole down the dark waterfronts, moving from shadow to shadow. She spotted her target in the distance: a white two-masted yacht docked at the last pier, bobbing up and down in the water. If her contact had been telling the truth, then that boat contained the ponies that she had spent two weeks looking for. She just hoped that she was in time.
She squinted ahead, pushing her prematurely gray mane out of her eyes, and spotted a lone pony standing on the upper deck of the yacht in front of the door to the main cabin, smoking a cigarette. The tiny flicker of the cigarette stood out in the darkness. Taking flight, the intruder flew over the docks to the yacht, careful to keep as many objects between the sentry and her. Within moments, she had reached striking distance. Even in the darkness, she could see the tattoos that marked the other pony's body: swirling marks in a bizarre language, the red and green seeming to glow in the night.
She smirked to herself. Just one guard, lazy, inattentive. Too easy. She spread her wings and shot forward silently. Her enemy never saw or heard her coming. She struck him on the back of the head with a powerful elbow strike, knocking him out instantly. She caught his falling form and gently set it down on the deck to prevent it from making noise. Stealing over to the main cabin, she peeked up through the window.
The interior was lit with candles, their lights swaying and flickering with the rocking of the boat. Three more muscle-bound earth ponies with similar tattoos were gathered around a small table, placing a number of items on it: small vials of liquids, jars of incense, piles of salt and carved stones and animal bones. Looking over in the corner, the intruder saw a young mare tied to a chair, her head lolling as if she were dazed.
"Hurry, brothers!" she heard the largest of the tattooed ponies shout through the windows. "The time for the sacrifice approaches!"
The pegasus gritted her teeth. She was almost too late; she had to act quickly. She examined the dark cabin and the ponies therein, plotting out a plan of attack.
"Hey!"
She whirled around to find another cultist standing behind her, already drawing a sharp, curved blade from his cloak. She whirled into an attack, preparing to take him down before he could draw his weapon, but there was suddenly a loud thump and the cultist slumped to the deck, unconscious. Standing behind him was a stallion in a green vest and a gray hat, holding a extendable baton. The ponies paused in confusion; the stallion's eyes fixed upon her and she saw recognition flash within them.
"Daring Do?" asked the gravely voice.
Daring Do started in surprise, not so much because this other pony knew her name, but because she recognized him as well. "Phillip Finder?"
Suddenly, the door to the cabin burst open and the three cultists raced out, looking enraged at the appearance of these intruders. "Kill them, brothers!" the cult leader shouted. "They must not interfere!"
Two of the cultists each engaged Phillip and Daring, cutting at them with their knives. Daring ducked beneath a wild slash at her head and countered with a roundhouse kick to her attacker's gut. He snarled and attacked again. She ducked again, spun into him with an elbow strike to his gut while grabbing his arm, and threw him over her shoulder and onto the deck of the ship. Turning, she saw Phillip strike his attacker on the wrist with his baton to disarm him of his knife, then hit him across the jaw, doubled him over with a kick to the groin, and finished him with a knee to jaw.
With a vicious snarl, the cult leader charged Phillip, leaping into the air and attacking with a flying punch. Sidestepping the attack, Phillip swung his baton at the attacker's shaved head. Even before he touched down, the hulking pony grabbed Phillip's baton and punched at his face. Neatly deflecting the punch with his free arm, Phillip tried to counter with a strike to the nose, only to receive a headbutt to the face. The cult leader then kicked Phillip in the chest, sending him flying back into the railing of the deck.
Daring leapt into the air, aiming her best kick right at her foe's head. He blocked the attack and twisted his body powerfully, slamming her down onto the deck. All the breath exploded out of Daring from the force of the impact. She looked up to see the cultist aiming a stomp kick at her face and quickly rolled out of the way. Instead of crushing her skull, the giant hoof smashed into the deck, denting it.
Meanwhile, Phillip had gotten back up and charged again. Whirling, the cult pony sent out a flurry of kicks, forcing Phillip back on the defensive. He backpedaled quickly, blocking every kick until he was caught out by a sweeping kick to the leg that staggered him. Leaping, the cultist whirled in midair to deliver a powerful kick to Phillip's jaw, only for Daring to hit him in the back and send him crashing to the deck.
Daring and Phillip stood side by side against their foe, who quickly got back to his hooves, panting. He kicked out at Daring, only to be struck in the chest by Phillip. He swung at Phillip but was kicked in the side by Daring. No matter which way he turned, he was struck from where he wasn't looking by the pony whom he wasn't facing. Blow by blow, his defenses crumbled. He punched desperately at Phillip, who seized his arm in a lock and forced him to bend over. Daring rushed in and kneed him hard in the face. He staggered back, blood streaming from his nose. Spinning around, Phillip kicked him in the gut, causing him to double over. As one, Daring and Phillip leapt up and kicked as hard as they could. The double blow impacted against the cultist's skull like a pair of sledgehammers, sending him crashing to the deck, out cold.
Both ponies stood over his unconscious form for a moment, panting heavily, then Phillip turned and quickly walked into the cabin. Hurrying over to the bound mare, he pressed his hoof against her neck, checking her pulse. Sighing quietly in relief, he pulled out a pocketknife and cut her loose, lifting her up onto his back.
"So what are you doing here?" Daring Do asked, retrieving his dropped baton and handing it to him. "You're not in the Guard anymore?"
Phillip didn't answer for a moment, instead choosing to concentrate on putting his weapon back into its pocket. "Left," he grunted after a moment. "Was looking for her. She'd been kidnapped two nights ago, latest in series of three ritual kidnappings and murders across the coast."
"I know," Daring said. "These ponies are part of the Sect of Xolotl. They were going to try to sacrifice her to try to resurrect their god."
Phillip stared at her for a moment, blinking in obvious disbelief. "You're serious?"
"Dead," Daring replied, following him down the dock to the head of the waterfront. Reaching a callbox, Phillip gently set the unconscious mare down, draping his vest over her, then used the phone to call the City Guard and an ambulance.
Daring settled down next to him uncertainly. She was still relatively new to adventuring, still relying primarily on the tutelage and mentorship of Professor Ravenhoof, and for some reason, she didn't like hanging around and letting the Guard question her; she'd found that they were often hesitant to believe her stories.
There was the snick of a lighter, and she turned to see Phillip lighting a cigarette. He offered her one, which she gratefully accepted, and lit it for her.
"Haven't seen you since Pranceton," Daring said, taking a slow draught of the tobacco.
"You either," Phillip replied. "Last I heard, you were doing freelance adventuring work." He was silent for a moment, looking back at the yacht bobbing silently at the last pier.
"These cultists," he said. "Are there more of them?"
"Plenty," Daring replied. "Them and the ponies who support them. Cultists, grave robbers, treasure hunters, smugglers."
"They all dangerous?"
"These guys were on the lower tier," Daring answered, jerking her head back at the yacht. "But I can handle them."
"Didn't say you couldn't," Phillip said. The victim groaned quietly, stirring on the ground. Phillip bent over her, gently touching her shoulder, and she slumped back into unconsciousness. "But two heads are better than one."
Daring cocked her head. "You want to work together?"
"These ponies are hurting others. If we can help each other, better for us and everypony...except them." Phillip looked down at the unconscious mare for a moment, then turned to Daring. He extended his hoof towards her. "So, partners?"
Daring stared at his hoof for a moment, then looked at him, turning over her options in her mind. He held her gaze steady, but shifted his weight as though uncertain. After a moment, she grinned, then grasped his hoof and shook it firmly.
"Partners."
Author's Note
One of my first watchers and closest friends, themouthofmush , put in a request as part of my special birthday story giveaway for the story of how Phillip Finder and Daring Do first met.
The two were in the same class at Pranceton University, but did not interact a lot there (Phillip took sociology and chemistry, Daring took literature and Equestrian history). It wasn't until after Phillip left the Guard and starting working as a PI that he met Daring again, who was just starting her career as an adventuress. The rest, as they say, is history.
Phillip Finder: Short stories
The sun was setting over the Crystal Empire, the dying sunlight reflecting off the magnificent blue and purple architecture that complimented the pale orange sky. Two stallions stood several feet apart from each other on a patch of green grass.
"You never really told me exactly how these work," Flash said, turning over the carved boomerang in his hoof. The cool wind kissed his bare coat; he had left his armor back at the Crystal Palace when he had left Twilight in the care of her brother, sister-in-law, niece, and the Crystal House Guard.
"Inherent magic," Phillip explained. "A boomerang carved from the bark of a living tree carries the tree's magic in it. Through practice, the thrower eventually connects their magic with the boomerang's. Once you get that connection, it's much easier for the thrower to get the boomerang to do what they want." He held his right hoof in up in the air. "Now, c'mon, throw it."
Flash cocked his wrist, took aim, and threw the weapon out. It whistled softly as it spun through the crisp late fall evening air, arcing towards Phillip. He reached up and snatched it out of the air as it closed in.
"Good throw," he nodded approvingly with a small smile. "Now catch!" He easily threw the boomerang back, curving towards Flash. Flash set himself ready, holding his hoof up in the weapon's path. The carved wood flew directly into his grasp and he received its momentum by snapping his arm back.
"You're getting good," Phillip praised.
"I took down Cornerstone with this," Flash replied with a smirk. "I think I've gone beyond 'good.'" He tossed the weapon out again, but immediately saw to his dismay that it was banking too far to the left and too close to the ground, a result of his failure to take proper aim.
But as the boomerang was about to pass him, Phillip tossed himself to the side, snatching the boomerang as deftly as an eagle seizing a field mouse as he performed a full cartwheel and landed on his hooves.
"You haven't learned everything, ankle-biter," Phil smirked in response to Flash's look of surprise. Pulling his own boomerang out of his vest, he placed them both in his right hoof, paused for a moment to take aim, then threw. Both weapons separated in midair, forming two separate arcs as they flew over Flash's head.
At the last moment, Flash tossed himself up into the air, spreading his wings to the side to control his flight. He caught one boomerang in both hooves, performing a full backflip and easily landing on his hooves.
"I'm a fast student, old stallion," he shot back, grinning from ear to ear, already preparing to throw both of the boomerangs back.
The practice session quickly turned into a game, both stallions trying to outdo each other with the best and fastest throws and fanciest catches. By the time they became tired, the sun was already dipping beneath the horizon. They wandered over to one of the crystal benches that sat in the shade of an oak tree. Evening birds twittered and sang over their heads as they sat back. Phil tossed his hat onto the back of the bench as he placed himself down onto the smooth stone.
"I missed this place," Flash said, looking around. "I graduated the Guard Academy just after the Crystal Empire reappeared. I was there when Sombra was defeated."
Phil gave Flash a sideways look. "I can't imagine you as a crystal pony," he said.
Flash laughed. "Honestly, I always thought it looked kind of silly."
They were silent for a few moments, content to just watch the world go by. Phillip's head turned to follow a pair of crystal ponies, a unicorn mare and a pegasus stallion, walking side by side down the path. A small orange pegasus filly was riding astride the stallion's shoulders, looking like she was close to falling asleep.
"Dad?"
It took Phillip four seconds to realize that Flash had spoken, and that the statement was addressed to him, and another two seconds to generate a feeble, inadequate response. "...yes, Flash?"
Flash chuckled softly. "You took a while to respond."
"I'm...I'm still getting used to it," Phil said, shuffling his hooves. The decision to offer the papers had been an impulsive one on his part, a faint hope of filling in a hole that both of them had in their lives. He was still amazed that two signatures a scroll with a royal seal had the power to change so much.
"Do you not want me to call you that?" Flash asked, blinking in uncertainty.
"No, I..." Phil said slowly. "...I like it. I do. Wh-what did you want?"
"I love you," Flash said quietly.
The three simple words reverberated in Phillip's core, and he felt a warmth spread through his being emanating from his heart. "I love you too, son," he smiled, reaching out and placing his hoof on Flash's.
Flash smiled back and nestled up against his father with a contented hum. The comfortable silence embraced them both once more, and they sat together for several long, satisfying minutes, until the sun finally disappeared below the crystal hills and the stars appeared across the dome of night.
Flash's slow, heavy breathing and relaxed form alerted Phillip that he had fallen asleep. Carefully, so as not to wake his son, he slid off the bench and gently lifted Flash up onto his back. The pegasus murmured quietly and nuzzled him in his sleep. His warm breath tickled Phillip's ear.
Glancing around to make sure that nopony was watching, Phillip paused for a moment to ensure that Flash was truly asleep, then reached around and briefly, gently brushed his lips against Flash's cheek. His smile concealed by the darkness, he started carrying him back to the castle.
Author's Note
Last October, I commissioned this animated piece for myself. A vague idea for a story formed as soon as I saw it, and I eventually managed to mold that idea into this form.
Set some time after The Fillydelphia Solution. I hope you enjoyed!
