Scrapbox

by Not_A_Hat

Rating: teen
Tags: Random, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 12932

A place where I put scraps of stories.

Some stories I start on a whim, but they don't go anywhere. Sometimes I have an idea for a scene, but can't fit it into current projects.

Those scraps end up here. I have no further plans for any of this.

Published 2014-07-21 17:20:02 UTC
Last updated 2015-07-21 19:20:54 UTC

Zombie Dance

Author's Note

Tags: Dark, Adventure, AU

Wrote this when all the cosplay stuff was floating around, sort of in an attempt to 'redeem' the idea. First, I removed the crossover element that confused so many readers. Then, instead of superpowers, my character gets buffs... which MAY come with some extreme drawbacks. Burned by sunlight, perhaps. Lastly, I tried to tie him into Equestria more strongly, through the inherited memories.

In the end, I didn't like it enough to make more of it. It's not *bad*, but...I just don't feel like going on.

Zombie Dance - by Alice Cooper

Zombie Dance

Snug.

I was wrapped in a warm blanket, impossibly soft and comfortable.

Half-awake, I rolled gently, feeling my wrapping shift and settle around me.

My mind drifted loosely.

What was I doing here? I couldn't remember falling asleep, much less getting into bed. I was headed to a party…I'd been dressed up as a zombie. I'd spent a long time getting my makeup just right, and my clothes just so. I'd never done a really elaborate costume, and it had been a lot of fun. I looked really real, the best zombie costume there, if I did say so myself. It had been a good party. Good friends, good fun, good food. It had run late.

Then…then….I'd been walking home…

Bright lights. Squealing tires. Honking. Crashing. Pain.

What? No. That couldn't be right. If I'd been hit by a car, I'd be hurting a lot more. I wouldn't be lying…

Where was I lying, anyways?

I slowly floated up out of unconsciousness, and tried opening my eyes. Dark.

I rolled over again. Strangely, I didn't feel any panic or even fright as I realized I was wrapped in thin cloth. I also seemed to be buried in some sort of powdery…dust. Odd. For some reason, the strangeness seemed distant. This was, somehow, right and proper, even though it should be alien and disturbing.

It was very comforting.

I lay still for a bit longer. I felt very safe, relaxed. Even though I was buried, I wasn't suffocating. Actually, it almost seemed like I wasn't breathing. Although the grit should have been irritating my skin and eyes, it seemed feather-soft, like an enveloping blanket. Somehow, it fit me.

Clip-clop. Clip. Clop.

Eventually, strange noises encouraged me to move. I shifted a bit more, trying to feel my surroundings.

I was in a box.

Huh.

It felt like it was about the right size and shape for a coffin.

Maybe I was dead.

I traced it gently in my fingers. As I moved, the dust sifted off me. The interior of my…coffin, for now, felt like raw wood. I gave a gentle shove, and with a loud cracking, splintering sound, my hand went through to the wrist. The odd noise stopped dead.

The wood felt flimsy, soft and foamy. Like I'd pushed through a sheet of styrofoam. I pulled my hand back, and lay still for a while.

Flickering light poured through the gap I'd made. I could hear something like breathing. I shifted a bit more, and heard what might have been a gasp, and a muffled curse. I froze, eventually relaxing again.

Clip-clop.

I pushed gently on the lid again. With a creak, it shifted slightly.

"Wh-who's there?"

Unsure of how to answer, I held my peace. The voice I'd heard was slightly panicky, slightly angry. Should I say something? I was obviously spooking the poor soul, but I had no idea where I was, or how I'd gotten here. Finally, deciding I should just get it over with, I gave the lid another shove. Hinges squealing, it swung upwards and fell open with a crash. I slowly sat up, blinking dust out of my eyes, and looked around.

I was in a coffin. That was weird. But it was surrounded by other coffins, which was even weirder. Each sarcophagus, with the iconic shape of a plank burial box, was supported by a thick plinth about waist high. Each coffin was slightly different. Mine was ornately resplendent with gold and dark wood. What had I done to merit such posthumous honors? I stopped wondering as the rest of the scene grabbed my attention and held it.

The coffins were arranged in rows, leading up to mine. There was a walkway of sorts, between the rows, leading directly to me. In the path was a yellow…pegasus?

I rubbed my eyes slowly, trying to make sure they were clear.

Yup, a pegasus. Wings, mane, one leg at each corner… impossibly cute, but still a kinda-sorta pegasus.

It was wearing a vest and a pith helmet and carrying a candle lamp, which cast flickering light.

It was facing away.

"Ahem." I cleared my throat, coughing dust. The reaction was dramatic.

"AAAAAAAA!" It leaped into the air, zipped into the far corner and hovered, holding the lamp up to see. When it caught sight of me it froze for a second, nearly falling before recovering and alighting slowly.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Back! Back!" It waved the lamp at me.

"Um, I'm not sure what-"

"Stay away! I'll burn you! I'm serious!"

"Ok, ok! Sheesh!" I raised my hands in surrender, though I hadn't moved.

Silence.

"You're not going to attack?"

"No!" I rubbed my head in frustration, but stopped in surprise. I was still wrapped in cloth. I was swaddled tightly, from head to toe, in strips of yellow fabric. Strong-smelling dust fell from my… grave clothes as I moved.

I'd been embalmed?

Again, my emotions felt oddly distant. Again, this seemed strangely correct.

"Why would I attack you?"

"You're a tomb guardian! You need to guard the tomb, right? We can fight!" The pegasus did a few jumps and kicks. "I can defeat you soundly and dramatically, and win your treasure!"

"I don't have treasure…." I stopped. "I think." I suddenly felt I did. Although what, where, or why, was blank.

"A likely story!" Apparently feeling more courageous, the pegasus started advancing. "Why should I believe a monster?"

"Monster?" I felt a twinge of consternation. Maybe the oddness of my setting was finally seeping in, or some numbness was wearing off. "I'm not a…monster." Again, odd impressions assaulted me. As if I'd said that often. And not always believed it. "Right?"

"If you're not a monster, you're doing an awfully good impression." The pegasus pointed a hoof. "Lying in a coffin, in the dark, waiting for innocent archeologists, so you can jump out and eat them!"

"Innocent. Archeologist." I gave her a flat glance. "Really."

"Hey, I have a diploma and everything!"

"And a team? And you beat people up for treasure?"

"I work solo. Besides, you attacked."

"Uh-huh."

"Ok, so maybe I'm just exploring! Sheesh! What's it to you, anyways?"

"Well, it's my tomb. I'd hate to have anything go missing." I shook myself, and climbed slowly out of the coffin. My limbs felt weird, half-asleep. I almost fell, but caught myself. Finally out, I started stretching, hoping to regain some feeling. "Though I've no idea how I got here. Last thing I remember, I'm walking home. Suddenly, a car! Then, waking up here. It's like magic."

"Oh. Uh. Hum. Well, definitely isn't related to somepony looking for enchanted treasure tripping the ossuary wards. Nope. Nuh-uh."

"Oh. Okay, then." I filed that away quietly. While I still wasn't panicking, casual confirmation of magic wasn't lost on me. I laced my fingers, and stretched my hands. There was a sudden pop, and a feeling of looseness.

"Doesn't that hurt?"

"No. Which is weird, since it really should." I unlaced my fingers, and looked at my now-dislocated wrist. It hung at an odd angle. I grasped my palm, and tried to wiggle my fingers. That worked; the tendons were still attached. "Something odd is going on, besides the sudden morgue-ness."

"Odd? Isn't that normal for a zombie?"

"No, I'm only dressed as…" I paused, trying to think. I'd dressed as a zombie. Then, I'd gotten hit by a car. (Maybe.) Now, I woke up in a mausoleum, in a coffin, after a…flying, talking, pony had tripped a magic ward of some kind.

"Hoo, boy…" with a wrench and a pop, I managed to reassemble my arm. "I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore."

That got me a strange look.

"No. No, you're not."

"And maybe I really am a zombie."

"Yes. Maybe you are."

"And you really are a talking, flying, pony."

"Last I checked."

"Well, nice to meet you. I'm Videl Finn."

"Videlfin?"

"It's two words. Videl - Finn."

"Oh. I’m Daring Do. How do you do?"

"Heh, I've been better." I shrugged. This whole thing was very odd, but I still couldn't bring myself to care. Maybe something to do with being dead? Perhaps zombie physiology didn't lend itself to strong emotions?

I carefully inspected myself in the flickery light. I was wearing thin clothes, under the tightly-wound cloth I'd been…buried in, I guess. My body was emaciated and my skin papery.

I was wearing a dagger.

It was smooth steel, wrapped to my left calf. I felt it as I moved, and dug it out of my grave clothes. It had no handle, just a bare tang, but it was razor-sharp and double edged. There was no hand guard, but right below the blade, a sigil of some sort was stamped, obscured by the dim light.

I ran my finger over it. It felt familiar. A picture of a chained fang sprang to mind.

"Do you recognize this, Daring?" I held it out.

"Oooh." Her voice is soft. "Toss it over here?"

I hesitated for a moment; should I surrender a weapon? Still, information. I shrugged, and tossed it gently. It's reasonable to be wary of a zombie. It's reasonable for a lost person to try making friends. To be trusted, give trust.

Clank.

"Oh my."

"Talk to me."

"You…" She paused, looking up from the knife. "You're him! I thought you were a pony! Oh, everything makes so much more sense!"

"Sorry?"

"The general! I've been searching for your tomb for years! Oh! Tell me about the Foghorn Battle! How did you turn it around? Or, oh, oh! The flanking maneuver on Iron Crow! I've been trying to understand that for years!"

"It was in the cyphers." I mumbled absently. "I sent Zephyr a carrier pigeon, and…" I stopped, memories flickering. No, that wasn't right. I'd never been in that battle. I'd never fought ponies. I was a college student. I'd been at a party.

Right?

"What? Go on!"

"Sorry...I can't remember any more." I rubbed my forehead. "This is strange. I get bits and pieces…something about Zephyr. He was a pegasus, like you, but green. A good friend, a trusted aide…but these aren't my memories."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I mean, I'm not this general person."

"Ahem, excuse me? This is your mausoleum, Mendel Gotti."

"Mendel…" At that name, another flood of memories washed through my mind. A sword, sharp enough to slash silk. Laughing faces; Zephyr, Quake, Quiver, Lambent, and Shif. Comrades all. "Oh, this is very odd."

"I'll say." Daring picked up the dagger, and tossed it back. It rang on the stone near me, and I retrieved it. "But even if you are a monster, I'm not letting you get away now."

"Huh?"

"I'll have you tell me everything you remember, even if it's strange. Come on! We need to get going!" She turned to the door. I followed, slowly at first, but more quickly as I saw sunlight glowing warmly.

My emotions might be muted, but sunlight still gave a happy feeling, deep down.

Ulex

Author's Note

Tags: Dark, Gore

Prompted by the phrase: 'Your money, or your life!' and the thought; why settle for one? Why would that be important?

Doesn't really fit in anything I'll ever write, but I couldn't get the idea out of my head.

Afterlife - by Switchfoot

Ulex

“Halt!”

Clip-clop, clip-clop

“I said HALT!”

Clip-clop, clip…

The sun pounded the dusty road. A lone traveler, pulling a two-wheeled cart, slowed and stopped. The wind rustled the gorse. It was summer in the hills.

“Who’s there?” Her voice was steady, nearly careless. A wisp of purple tail and a curl of matching mane escaped the thick cloak she wore despite the clear, bright heat.

“We’re collecting tolls.” A thin, wicked-looking mare stepped out of the underbrush, leveling an arbalest in one hoof. The thick stock and stout arms declared it a true weapon; the type only an earth-pony could rack, enough to punch through strong armor or the average magic shield.

“Tolls?” The traveler cocked her head curiously, face hidden in her hood’s shadow. “I don’t have much.”

“‘Course you don’t.” A stallion appeared on the opposite side of the road. “But you won’t mind if mind if me and my sister look anyways.”

“I won’t?” She released the traces of her cart, and started walking toward the archer.

“No, you won’t.” The sister leveled her bow. “Now stop there.”

“Hmm.” The traveler paused. “Maybe I won’t.” She stepped forward again, walking up the shoulder.

“Halt! It’s your money or your life!” The mare looked suddenly uncomfortable, as the traveler paced evenly nearer. In the face of her confident steps, the arbalest was suddenly not enough protection.

“Money or life?” The cloaked pony’s voice was eerily calm. “That seems silly.” She stared up at the archer, who shied slightly.

“Get away from her!” The stallion, seeing his partner wince, jumped off the opposite bank.

“I mean, if you’re going to kill me, you could take both!” Her shadowed voice sounded like smiles. The archer leveled the bow, tip wavering. “If I’m dead, I won’t be able to stop you. Hmm. I wonder if I have enough money to make it worth your while.” The archer tried to steady her aim, but was badly unnerved by the traveler's obvious disregard for danger.

“Get back, Whin, she’s crazy!” The stallion dashed across the road, moving to help his sister.

“Halt!” Whin waved her bow, frantically emphasizing the weapon. “I’ll shoot!”

“Will you really? It’s been so long since - “

Thwump!

The traveler collapsed with a faint sigh, six inches of feathered quarrel decorating her chest.

For a long moment, the robbers froze.

“I…” Whin gasped, staring at the corpse. “I shot her! She’s dead, Furze!”

“Better off,” Furze snarled. “That one was crazy.”

“Y - yeah.” Whin glanced up. “Yeah, she was crazy. Did you see her coming for me? She made me do it; it wasn’t my fault! You saw.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s never your fault. Come on, let’s get the cart.”

“C-can we just leave her?”

“What? Why not?” Furze glared at his sister. “You want to touch that?” He waved at the cloaked figure.

“No, but - “

“Hee hee hee.”

The two siblings froze, as gentle giggling rose from the dead pony.

“F - Furze…” The sister stared wide-eyed. The brother gulped.

The corpse convulsed. She opened her mouth and splashed gobs of blood into the dust.

“Hey.” She wheezed. “I’m telling you; the money’s in my purse.” She rolled over; her hood fell off, exposing a purple horn and piercing eyes. “If you want it, you’ll have to come get it.” She looked up at the shocked robbers.

“Oh.” A moment later, she looked down to the bolt in her chest. “It’s this, huh? Sorry about that.” She snagged fletching, and drew the bolt clear with a long sucking sound. Gore splattered the ground as she tossed the stained weapon away, trailing strings of flesh. Blood started oozing from the wound, soaking the front of her cloak. She stood, giving the pair a red grin. “Better?”

Whin dropped her bow, and bolted. Furze was a split-second behind.

“Wait!” The traveler moved to pursue, but tripped and fell on the hem of her cloak. It fluttered to the ground, exposing light wings. “Come back!” The forlorn alicorn cried.

“You haven’t killed me yet!”

Alien

Author's Note

I haven't seen Guardian's of the Galaxy yet, but it sort-of-kind-of inspired this. I wanted a spaceship battle, and this is what I got. Also sort of the April Fools thing Hasbro did.

I like Spike a lot as a character.

Kamelot - Center of the Universe

Alien

The warp-gate slashed closed behind me. My fighter uncurled, the coherence field flickering to life as the mobile systems launched, a cloud of tiny shards exploding from the cockpit. They began orbiting around me as my comms fired up.

"Spike, come in!"

"I'm here." My voice was oddly calm. I hung in a void of stars, my tiny ship the only thing shielding me from the barrage of weapons raging through space. "Give me a sitrep, guys."

"Bad, very bad!" Ember yelled. "The Chao are hammering us here! Fang and Talon are in trouble, Jag and Claw are out of the game!"

"Right." I hung in space, trying to orient myself in the cabin after the jump. Cords of symbiotech lashed through the cockpit, yanking me into the pilots chair. I felt my senses expand as the systems logged me in, connections slamming into place one after another as I interfaced. I grimaced as the scene sprang clear to me; our tiny wing was up against an Eris-class cruiser, and a full compliment of Drakon fighters. I kicked the drives online, yanking power away from the jumpdrive and pouring it into the Electronic Counter Measures. I sighed in relief as the ordered fields sprang from my mobile systems, knocking away a half-dozen critical strikes. "Form up on me, dragons! We need to work together!"

I absent-mindedly powered up my weapons. The circuits squealed as warp-ice burned off, but I ignored the noise. I grinned as my wingdrakes fell into formation.

"Hold tight; we need to get closer!" The thrusters thumped, and our tiny ships leaped forward, slicing through the fray.

Lasers and missiles sung around us, but we danced through the sky like leaves on the wind, impossible to catch. We spiraled and turned, moving as one. I targeted fighter after fighter, and together, we pierced through the perimeter.

"What in blazes are you planning, Spike?" Fang yelled. "We need to get out of here!"

"We're not running," Ember snarled back. "You know what's at stake!"

"We can't stop that!" Talon screamed. "That's an Eris class cruiser! Just look at it! We need a destroyer here! Fewmets, we need a battleship!"

"No, we'll be fine." My voice was ice. "We're doing this ourselves, and we're doing it now." I flexed my jets, cartwheeling away from a spate of missiles. As we talked, Talon's weapons seared through another Drakon, his beams shredding the enemy's dark metal into lifeless jags.

"You're crazy, Spike." Fang's voice was flat. Despite the calm I heard, his fighter was a storm of violence. I grimaced as he rammed an enemy fighter, the shards of his envelope snarling into a drill which ripped through his opponent. "I know crazy."

"Are you sure about this, wing leader?" Even Ember sounded doubtful. "We can take these little guys one-on-one, but that?" I felt his ECM flicker, brushing a strike aside even as he scrambled his target's systems so thoroughly the enemy fighter went dark, tumbling helplessly away. He finished it with an absentminded shot, more auto-target than actual skill.

"We've got no choice!" I snarled. "Look, you know we've got to do this. They've got the numbers; they were already tearing you up before I got here!"

"Let's get 'em." I jumped, as another fighter snapped into our formation.

"Jag?" My eyebrows rose.

"Claw's here, too." The new fighter flexed, and I realized it was actually two fighters, the mobile systems from one supporting the other. "We'll be fine. Let's do this!"

"Right." I drew the fragments of my fighter close, the flexible field that kept my strike craft coherent flickering under the strain of acceleration. We lanced through the void, a trail of shimmering energy streaming behind. The Drakon fell behind quickly, but more rose ahead. My sensor net expanded, the symbiotech funneling a welter of impressions straight into my brain. The cruiser soared before me, a few kilometers of plasteel and monofiber, dozens of discrete weapon systems locking on as we entered range, hundreds of fighters streaming from its bays.

"Are you just going to ram the thing?" Jag sounded curious, but I could sense the tension behind his words.

"Well, not just." I smirked, baring my fangs as we rocketed closer. I bent my skills to targeting, barely paying attention as my wingdrakes sliced and diced the approaching fighters.

I winced as a shot slipped through my defenses, a bolt of plazer fire screaming along my hull as the mobile systems danced away from the trajectory. A quick check showed no serious damage. I carefully threaded us through the gaps and holes in the their perimeter, wheeling this way and that to loop away from enemy fighter wings and barrages of weapons fire.

"Right, listen up, drakes!" I howled into the comm. "We're here because we're the best, and we're going to win this! We're taking this fight straight to the enemy, and I mean right to them! Brace for impact, because this is going to be bumpy!" I set a half-dozen locks, and slammed the execute button. My pilot's chair flexed, wrapping around me to cushion the impact. I heard a few gasps over the intercom as my comrades ships followed suit.

"Foolish little whelps." A voice snarled over the radio. "You really think a half-dozen puny fast-attack craft can stop a cruiser?"

"Hell yes." Claw's voice was level. "You have no idea what we're capable of, because you've never seen us working together. Here we go!"

I braced as we slammed into the cruiser's shields. My fighter clenched around me, the coherence field yanking the mobile systems in, hiding them behind the cockpit. My wingdrakes came through behind with a series of thumps. There was a moment of stillness, and then we hit the cruiser. This time my mobile systems swarmed forwards, locking into a spinning formation that sliced through the steel. My heart leaped into my throat as we slowed, and for a second I thought I'd miscalculated, but then we were through.

"Holy crow.." Jag's voice was soft as he realized what I'd done. "This is the drive bay!"

"No duh." Ember's voice was hard. "These things are, what, thirty percent empty space?"

"Singularity drives need that." My voice was exultant. "Now, boys, let's make 'em feel it."

Within moments, the cruiser powerplant was a smoking ruin. My plazers seethed across the interior of the ship. My wing cartwheeled behind me as we swung and looped, directing ravaging energy beams at anything vulnerable.

"Right, that's it." I narrowed my eyes as the cowling around the singularity started to crumple. "We need to bail. That thing's destabilizing. Ember, take point."

"Aye aye." My wing locked onto his fighter, and spun for the hole we'd made. Leaving was easier than entering, and in moments, everydrake was out.

I hung back a second, watching to be sure the job was done. As the drive started glowing, I knew we'd finished what we came for. I turned to go, but my ship jolted to a halt.

"No." The enemy's voice snapped from my radio. "I'll take at least one of you with me."

My eyes widened, as I registered tractors on me. My ECM surged, my thrusters blasted, but it was no good. My tiny powerplant couldn't compete with a cruisers reserves, even with their main drive going critical.

"Spike?" Jag's voice pulled me from my frantic attempts to escape. "Spike!" His voice cracked as he registered what was happening with my ship.

"Get out of here, go!" I yelled, frustration sharpening my voice. "If you're not past the blast radius—"

"Hold up, drakes, let's give the boss a hand." Fang's voice was calm.

"No!" I howled. "Go!"

"Sheesh, don't bust a vein," Claw snapped. "We'll do it from here. Grab him, drakes! Aim for the planet!"

I blinked, as my wingdrakes mobile systems powered up, fields reaching back for me. A half-dozen tractors snagged my cockpit. I grinned, as they whipped me forward, barely managing to break me away from the tractor immobilizing me.

"That's all we can do. Survive, boss. We're coming for you."

I triggered jump mode as the acceleration tore at my consciousness. My ship was in shambles from the forces; control was impossible. But Jag had done well; he'd managed to send me hurtling towards the only friendly thing in space, the brilliant blue-green orb we'd come here to protect. The simbiotech unlinked, while my acceleration couch scooped me up and wrapped me in its snug embrace. I blacked out before I hit the atmosphere.

"Odd." Twilight peered through her telescope, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. "Those flashes are too high to be meteors, and too quick to be astronomical." She nibbled the edge of her hoof thoughtfully, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

"Honey, go to bed!" The call wafted up the stairs, and Twilight sighed.

"Yes mom!" She carefully made one last note in her journal, and took one more longing glance at the sky before turning towards the stairs.

Screeeeee….

She was halfway down the stairs when she heard the shriek. Looking up, she saw something glimmer through the still-open door. Her eyes snapped wide as she realized it was flaming, falling from the sky, and headed right for her.

"Aaaah!" Her horn flared in panic. Unsure of what to do, she blindly lashed out, magic pouring away from her unguided. The best she managed to do was imbue it with the idea push.

Eeeeeeee….

She dropped to the floor, throwing her hooves over her head and cowering as it drew close with impossible quickness and unimaginable noise. The shrieking swelled immensely, filling the world for a moment, before cutting off with a huge CRASH. The floor shook, tossing her down the stairs. She rolled, bumping and banging to the bottom, as pieces of masonry and debris rained around her.

Finally, stillness came.

Shaking, she managed to pry an eye open. High above, a brilliant flash lit the sky bright as day for a second.

What she saw stole her breath away.

Where the stairway had been, was a giant sliver of black glass. It was smoking, some parts still glowing red-hot from the heat of its entry. Here and there pieces were missing, scars and wounds open on its glossy skin, revealing strange patterns and mechanisms.

Click!

"Eeep!" She leaped back as something moved. A section on the bottom peeled back, puffing vapor. She watched in fascination as an interior compartment was revealed. There was a glimpse of strange shapes, more unfamiliar mechanisms. Something inside slithered and heaved, and with a thump, a figure was heaved out.

"Twilight!" Her father came galloping down the hall. "Are you okay? What…" His voice trailed off as he glimpsed the strange purple humanoid lying on the floor. "What… what the hay?"

"H…help." Both of them took a step back as the figure stirred. "Please."

With pointed charm

Author's Note

My writing practice for a week or so. I've had these characters rattling around in my head, and decided to get them out. They're sort of a study in opposites; they each want to be good at what the other is, but inclination and gifts run counter.

With pointed charm

"Just. Stop. Giggling."

"But Pax, I can't—"

"Bellum, stop."

She fell silent, and I returned my attention to the grating. I went back to prying at the window with my stiletto. It was high and narrow, with a metal grate nailed to the frame to deter entrance. It was in a dim alley, half-hidden behind a dumpster, set in a grimy brick wall. We were tucked into the shadows, doing our best to break in. It was taking longer than I'd hoped.

"Couldn't you just magic this open? I'm not a unicorn." I looked down at the mare supporting me. Even in drab glow of the streetlamps, her white coat and horn shined brightly.

"You have your earth-pony magic. Wouldn't that work?" She smirked, flicking her wavy blue mane out of her eyes.

I frowned at that.

"I'm telling you, Pax, you should have let me do that." She shifted slightly, and I swayed.

"But then you'd be the first through the window. And as soon as I let you take point, all semblance of discipline in this mission is gone. Anyways, advice would be more useful than mocking laughter."

"But you're just so adorable with your toothpick!" My partner grinned again, but her horn lit up, and she drew a knife from somewhere in her small pack. "Here, try mine."

I glanced at the weapon, and shook my head slowly. It was closer to a machete than a dagger, nearly half a meter long and serrated wickedly. I reluctantly slipped my stiletto back into its sheath and accepted the knife. Slipping it between the bars, I torqued; the window frame gave with a pop, and the whole assembly fell out. It would have slipped from the end of the knife, but the serrations snagged it.

"Here." I held out the weapon. A baby-blue aura enveloped the window frame and the blade as I released it. Turning to the now-open aperture, I cautiously leaned through.

The inside of the building was as ornate and pleasant as the outside was drab and oppressive. Bright light gleamed from shining metal and crystal. Marble and porcelain glowed, and dark wood and velvet splashed color around the immaculately appointed bathroom. It was empty.

I hooked a foreleg through, pulling myself carefully past the windowsill and off Bell's shoulders. I crawled slowly onto a counter so wide and empty, I didn't even need to be careful of where I put my hooves. As soon as I was clear, I hopped down and locked the door.

It was the work of a moment to hoist Bell up. She gazed around with wide-eyed wonder as I pulled our disguises out of my pack.

"Here." I shoved her dress at her, and turned away. "Put this on." I was already shrugging into my suit. It was plain black; not what I've have chosen, but it didn't clash with my frost-pink coat. I straightened the collar and slipped on my tie, carefully adjusting the cuffs to hide my weapons. When I turned back, my partner was tangled to near immobility.

"Bell…" I sighed. "How did you even manage— no, never mind." I stepped in and straightened her out.

"You look very nice." I stepped back and gave her a once-over. She did look good. The dress was full and sweeping, a light yellow that matched my mane and contrasted hers. "You're lucky you have a white coat. Color-coordinating—"

"Yawn, Pax. Can't we get a move on?" She gave me an impatient nudge. "I thought we were on a schedule here."

"Right, right." I drew a deep breath, schooled my features, and unlocked the door. We stepped out into a party. The main room was twice as ornate, and even more carefully opulent. Well-dressed ponies were talking quietly, grouped into the tiny herds and cliques that denoted unseen flows of power and influence to anypony who knew how to read the atmosphere.

Bell fell in just behind me. I pulled out the attitude of a high-society pony, raising my nose just enough and casting my eyes down. In the corner of my eye I saw her mimic me just well enough to pass. I gave her a nearly invisible nod and started to mingle.

It was surprisingly easy. We looked the part, we acted the part. Of course we deserved to be here. Anypony could see that. Everything from our immaculate clothes to the perfect pitch of an eyebrow proclaimed it, nopony would be so gauche as to suggest otherwise. Besides, the doors were closed and the guards had a list. It's not like we could have slipped in the back, after all. The idea was so far from the conception of these guests they couldn't even think it.

"Good evening, Regal. Why, thank you Star Charmer. Yes, lovely evening isn't it, Sugar Song?"

It took nearly fifteen minutes for Bell to start getting antsy, which was five more minutes than I'd expected. She nudged me surreptitiously, but pointedly.

"Paaaaax…" she hissed. "Stop it! We've got work!" I downed my drink, and gave her a flat look.

"Bellum, I'm doing my best here. I can only do so much; it's not like our target is wearing a sign. If you want to speed things up, you know how."

At that, she minced uncomfortably in place for a moment before sighing.

"Right, right. Okay, I'll do it. Just… you know."

"Yeah, I know. I'll probably take my turn later." I grimaced at that. She nodded somberly, and stepped over to the buffet, carefully positioning herself out of line-of-sight. I saw her lower her head over the punch bowl as her horn sparked. For a brief second a glimmer of magic hung in the air, and a wispy, nearly invisible shape that might have been a heart-shaped crystal glinted in her aura. It vanished as soon as it had appeared, and if I didn't know better, I might have thought I'd imagined it. She raised her head and scanned the room, her eyes finally coming to rest on a sleek brown pegasus mare wearing a frilly ivory dress. She glanced to me and I nodded, sifting through the names in my head.

"Candle Flicker."

"If you say so." She shrugged. "Now, let's—"

"We're going to talk to her."

"Phooey."

"Don't worry." I snapped up one of the hors d'oeuvres, chewing on the toothpick for a second before tossing it into the trash. "I'm sure you'll get to have some 'fun' later."

"Look, just because I like knives—"

"Hush."

She stamped a hoof as I interrupted her yet again. I'd regret that later; I'd been pushing her pretty hard this time around, but our orders had been clear. I was in charge, at least for now. She fell in behind me, and I could nearly feel the waves of disdain roll off her as I worked my way across the room again, making urbane small talk and meaningless chatter to smooth our passage.

"Ah, Miss Flicker!" I nodded pleasantly to our target. "How nice to see you here!"

Candle Flicker smiled blandly in return. Subtle tells showed me her progress from careless pleasantry to slight confusion as she tried to place me and failed.

"Good evening." She settled on guarded politeness. "It seems you have the advantage of me, mister…?"

"Call me Discrete, if you please. I am, you might say, in the import business."

"indeed?" Her ears flicked forward as her interest sparked. "You don't say."

"Indeed I do." I smoothed my jacket carefully.

"And your… friend?"

"Also discrete." I grinned slyly, and she nodded slowly.

"I see. And how can I help you, Discrete?" She sipped her drink with studied nonchalance.

"Well, I've heard some rumors… from a friend, you might say, that you might be in the, ahem, export business. If you know what I mean."

"I might. Indeed, I may."

"I don't suppose we could take this discussion somewhere more… private?"

She nodded once, and turned away, casually dropping her glass on the tray of a passing waiter.

"So, how many of them are crooks?" I whispered to Bell, as we followed Candle Flicker through one of the doors.

"How many lethal objects are in that room?" She shot back, with a wry smile. I shrugged and let it go.

"So, Mister Discrete." Candle Flicker said, as we stepped into a pleasantly appointed sitting room. "What, exactly, are you looking to… import?"

"Oh, this and that." I slumped in a nearby chair, projecting an aura of innocence. Bell settled beside me, carefully covering my blind spots.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific than that." Her smile took on a sharp edge and her wings flared slightly. "If you please."

"Well, honestly, I'm curious to know what you have. I was thinking something… hot? Yes, definitely warm. And maybe, if possible, green."

"I may have something like that. For, of course, the right price."

Bell nudged me. I ignored her. She wanted to make with the knives and pointy objects, but I wanted some sort of confirmation before we pressed harder. Still, maybe I could accelerate things.

"Hmm." I reached into my pockets, rummaging around. I came up with a cigar, and reached over to light it from a nearby candle. It flared at a few puffs, releasing thin clouds of greenish smoke. Candle relaxed a little. "I'm sure that can be arranged."

"Then I'll be straight with you." Our target smiled. "I have, on hand, nearly ten pounds of prime leaves." Jackpot. My eyes widened in honest surprise. We'd guessed there was a smuggler here, and Bell's analysis was rarely wrong, but this went beyond my expectations.

"The good stuff? Do you get it from the Everfree?" I took another drag on my cigar, conspicuously blowing clouds of smoke.

"My Poison Joak? From the Everfree? Please." Candle scoffed. "It's never seen the place. My suppliers can guarantee potency and purity far beyond what's grown in the wild."

"Ahhh." I sighed, and turned to Bell. "Alright, your turn."

"Huh?" Candle Flicker looked confused as Bellum gave a huge smile and pulled out her knives.

"Candle Flicker, Poison Joak is a class two contraband." She slipped off the couch and presented her badge of office, a heart-shaped crystal badge that, unsurprisingly, could double as a weapon. "You are hereby placed under arrest by the Crystal—"

I tuned out the legalese, and watched Candle Flicker. Confusion quickly turned to fear, but that swiftly gave way to anger.

"You can't do this, no!" Her wings flicked wide, and Bell paused. Her eyes went flat as her grin went sharp.

"On the contrary, I, no," my partner glanced back to me, "we can. We are duly appointed officers of the law."

The smuggler gaped for a moment, but her anger surged back.

"You're foals, both of you. You think you can take me? Walking in here cool as you please, baiting me, you didn't even know the codes! I thought you might just be fools, but this is far beyond!" Her wings flicked wide, and I saw steel glint. "I'm more than enough to take you both!"

"Try it." There was a shink as Bell's magic flared, and knives started appearing. They came in all sizes, shapes, and styles, appearing from under her dress like an illusionists trick. In moments there was a veritable swarm hovering around her. "I dare you. Make my day."

"Well." Candle's eyes went just as flat. "If you insist."

And Bellum got her fun.

They met with a clash, and it escalated into a clangor. From there, they moved onto cacophony, and segued neatly into ruckus.

I carefully positioned myself to cover our blind spots, while keeping a judicious eye on the melee. Bell was giving as good as she got, and that was pretty damn good. Weapons flashed and darted, pegasus speed matching excellently against unicorn magic. My partner's knives were everywhere, and the pegasus was meeting her halfway. Candle really lived up to her name, flickering around the room like a lambent flame.

It took only a few minutes for things to get hairier.

"Pax, she just called for help." Bellum's voice was calm. Candle jerked in surprise, and a shattered wax disc crumpled to the floor.

"Right, right. Support incoming." I grit my teeth and pulled up a dab of my power. Earth ponies aren't known for their magic, but in my case that's a distinct advantage. My opponents were rarely prepared. As I concentrated, a web of lines glimmered in the air, connections and dependencies linked clearly. My magic, the magic of all earth ponies, was rooted in life. Life was many things to many people, but what I saw was 'threat'. Degree and inclination, linked to will and intent. A knot centered on the fight, clearly delineated relationships showing the violence and savagery of the two combatants as they tried relentlessly to cut through each other's defense. Fainter lines showed Candle hadn't forgotten me, and a few very wispy connections drifted into space randomly, ponies who held grudges or anger somewhere in the city. I tuned that out, and watched as new connections formed, firm ties that latched onto Bell and ran directly towards… the wall?

I spun and dashed, flashing into the shadows just as new combatants entered directly. The first was a unicorn, blinking in with a flare of power. He was followed quickly by two earth ponies who simply kicked in the thin panels and galloped through. They took the fight in instantly.

"Candle, pull back!" The unicorn took command immediately, stepping into the fight and supporting our target. The pegasus sneered at him.

"Don't be a fool, Quip. I can take this one; you get the other."

They started at that, spinning as they searched for me. I stepped out of corner, letting them get a clear look. Quip gulped.

"No, Candle, you can't." Bell withdrew as he threw something complex at her, a spell that spat and fizzled through the dim room. She absorbed it, carefully shielding herself as it snarled futilely against her defense. "These aren't police. These aren't thugs. They're the Disciples, and they're way, way out of your league."

Calm fell as the six of us stood in stalemate. Bell couldn't make another move without my support, and I held back deliberately, waiting to see what would happen.

"We can take them!" Candle spat, vehemence loading her voice. "I don't care if they're students, or the alicorns themselves in disguise; I've taken the measure of her, and the other one is clearly no threat!"

"Hah." Bell laughed. "Ha. Hahaha." Her laughter was hollow, eerie in the sudden quiet. "You're making a mistake, Candle. We're trained by the Emperor and Empress themselves. You have no idea what we're capable of."

"And this is the best Shining Asshole and his pretty pink wife can do?" She sneered. "Quip, let's—"

"Alright, that's enough." I flexed my magic, pulling the fire from the candles, the moonlight from the window, even the gleam from Bell's magic, and squeezing it down into a tiny ball before me. The room was plunged into darkness as I stole the light, leaving a single shimmering pearl hanging in the air. "You've made a very basic mistake, and I don't plan to let you off easy; not after you insulted our teachers that way."

"Hah! What can—" She cut off as I stepped forward and slammed a hoof into her side. The connections shone clear to me, despite the blackness. All I needed was a little intent, and they sprung clear. My hoof followed one exactly, tracing a careful arc directly past her wing into the pit of her stomach. She gave a wet gasp as I drove the air from her lungs. Quip fired blindly, trying to hit me in the black. I saw the spell form, threads of danger whipping across me as he cast with speed. I simply stepped between them, letting it sail past. I concentrated, picking out the right thread as it ran from my hoof to his horn. The ringing blow sent him staggering as I numbed his magic.

The other two were gone now, running blindly. They'd be past the influence of my power in a moment, but I didn't let them escape. I snatched the glimmering pearl from the air, hurtling it past them and releasing my grip on the light. It sprang apart, releasing all the light in the room straight into their eyes. One of them screamed. The other hit a wall.

I stood relaxed, barely breathing hard, as they stared at me in horror.

"I'm Pax, Disciple of Shining Armor, the Alicorn of War. I come bearing peace." I spat the word through a smile, letting them see exactly what I meant. "Make one more move, and I'll pacify you permanently."

"But—" Candle gasped, eyes flicking towards Bell.

"You think it's strange?" My partner slid a knife lovingly along the pegasus' wings, where the barest slip would cripple her for life. "That the student of War is the nice pony, while the Disciple of Love carries the blades? I'm Bellum, student of Empress Cadence, and love is a battlefield." She grinned. "Don't you ever forget it."

"Right, right. Enough scaring the prisoners." I glanced to where the others were trying to collect themselves. "Let's wrap this up and get home. We need to be up early tomorrow." She gave a reluctant nod, and fired off the ‘all clear’ signal.

Wrap up would be a pain, but we were used to that. At least things had ended cleanly.

Writeoff: The Best Medicine: Strange Aeons

Ting! Tang!

Celestia froze, turning as bells tinkled softly in the cavernous room. A gray unicorn stepped from concealing shadows, starry hat pulled low over his eyes.

“Starswirl! How—"

“This is a bad idea," he said grimly.

"It's all I can do!" Desperation strangled her voice.

"It is not." They matched stares, eyes hard. "She wouldn't thank you for this. You refuse to cut the root. Simplify. End it, Celestia."

"Do you know what you're asking?"

"Completely. You're strong enough. She could never match you, and the parasite hasn't changed that. How will she curse you, if others suffer in her place?"

"No, I…" Celestia turned, stained glass spilling chromatic wash across her coat. The gems before her sang softly from their pedestals.

"If you had pushed aside equivocation to act, your ponies would be safe. If you were decisive with Sombra—"

"If we had treated Sombra on his terms, we would be no better than him! This will not change that!" Her eyes flashed. "And you! You are out of place, where you should never be! How many jumps will you make, Chronomancer? Intruding, meddling, to sate your curiosity?"

"I'm unsure." Starswirl hesitated. "I'm not done yet. But this isn't about me."

"I will not kill my sister!" Celestia turned back to the Elements. "With these—"

"You can merely delay the problem. No prison will hold her; the crisis will return. They will not handle the parasite. Not for you."

"No." She grit her teeth. "No, there's more. My sister is still in there, still fighting."

His eyes narrowed, flashing. "Truly?"

In response Celestia seized his hoof, dragging him to the pedestals and shoving him at the blue gem. After a moment, he touched it. High, frantic whispers filled the room.

No, no, wait, help, please stop!

He yanked his hoof back, eyes wide.

"Truly. Help me. This can end with better than blood."

Starswirl sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"To stand against you now would simply ensure disaster. As you will, my Princess. Prepare; I will lure the Nightmare."

Celestia nodded, swiftly gathering the gems.

Starswirl began a spell, magic spinning from his horn in wisps and whorls. It moments, it was answered with stars.

"So, sister, I find you…" The vapor coalesced, firming into a mockery of Luna's beauty and elegance. "And you again! How?"

The fight was the work of moments. Starswirl fought desperately, standing his ground against a sea of midnight magic, even as Celestia struggled to sway the Elements. She finally brought them to bear, turning their rainbow power against her sister. There was a flash of brilliance, a rush of prismatic light as they crushed the Nightmare's form to vapor.

The corrupted alicorn screamed, her voice wrenching strangely as she disintegrated. A scrap of cloth fluttered to the ground, loosed from her horn.

Starswirl's eyes tracked the fragment, even as he fought to control his panting.

"No wonder you were so surprised." He limped forwards, hooves crunching on shattered glass. Out the empty windows the moon vaulted skywards. A burst of light touched it, imprinting a dark visage, locked in morose contemplation of the planet. He raised the dropped rag. It shone with stars, gold needlework brilliant. A single bell tinkled. He doffed his cap, matching the ripped cloth to an identical seam. "This is a duplicate. Another echo of me?"

Celestia nodded.

"She ripped my hat. Was I killed, then?"

"…I saw the body. You were old, older than I've seen you yet. Bearded." Celestia shakily lowered the stones, eyeing him uneasily.

"This… is going to put a crimp in my research." He stroked his chin, frowning.

"Surely you can avoid…?"

"I'm no longer sure changing the past is possible." He smiled wryly, looking to the moon. "No matter how I try. Now I've seen this… well." He shrugged. "It's set."

"Then whence your earlier desperation, your insistence?" Celestia carefully replaced the Elements on their pedestals, watching him closely.

"Ah." He sighed. "I simply can't not try. When I visit the past, it seems immutable. Yet when I try for the future, I’m smothered in possibility. I've viewed many outcomes from this night, how things resolve after my time, and… well, I'd wish for few of them. It seemed so simple, here, now, eliminate the cause. I thought it was weakness which stayed your hoof, that misplaced emotions kept you from justice. If I could sway you…”

“And I thought you knew me.” The Princess tried for a smile.

“I know you, Celestia.” He bowed. “I’ll never claim to understand you. Still, I didn’t expect to be quite so off. Yet this ending seems inevitable now." He closed his eyes, thinking. "Was it always so? If I hadn't come, would my absence have an effect?"

"That way lies paradox," she said wryly.

"Too true." He looked to her. "Perhaps I can leave you some small advantage, a guess at what will help.”

“Why bother?” Celestia sighed. “What can you change?”

“My future, eventually. It’s still in flux, and in time, we will share it.”

“Tell me, then.”

“You've delayed disaster by a millennium. After, your sister will return, still gripped by the parasite. If you can find the one marked with stars, she may aid Luna's escape from darkness. Otherwise, disaster will fall again, leaving you powerless to resist. Prepare desperately."

"Are you cryptic simply for the joy of it?" She frowned.

"Annoying, isn't it?" He grinned back. "No, I’ve got no more clues. Even these glimpses are tenuous. The future is a mess, much less orderly than the past. Time is strange, Princess." He turned to the moon. "Some say it heals, although I feel we simply leave our old selves behind, wounds and all. Who's to say death is any different? Sometimes I wonder how age will change me. Would I have recognized myself?" He looked at the scrap of bloodied cloth. "I wonder. I know it, now; this research will kill me. Yet stopping is no longer a choice. Even if I wish it."

“Do you?”

“At present, yes.” He smiled at her grimly. "But it seems that will change. When we meet, years and years from now, please don't pity me as I walk into this. Though some would say knowing your fate is a terrible curse, I love my work." He jammed his hat back on rakishly, and looked to the sky. "And to learn your sister may be redeemed… I will not count it a loss." He saluted Celestia. "Be well, my Princess."

There was a pop, a puff of air, and she was alone.

Author's Note

This is my (somewhat) re-written entry for the Writeoff Association prompt, The Best Medicine.

Writeoff: A Matter Of Perspective - This Is Water

Palette met the bee by his easel.

It was a winged drop of silver moonlight. It buzzed nearby as he painted, finally alighting on his brush as he cleaned up. He offered it drops of honey from his lunch, but it seemed satisfied with the pigment layered into the wood handle, remnants of a hundred projects.

When he returned the next day, it found him again. It would circle his ears or fly lazy eights above his canvas, tracing the long, slow brushstrokes he used for trees, or the precise daub of grass. It kept him company and he enjoyed its melodic flight as his painting developed.

When he applied the final wash of color to his canvas, the spring blossoms were nearly gone from the trees. He looked at his easel, sitting in the dappled shade, and sighed.

"What should I paint next?"

Buzzzz

He looked at the bee, silver as a daydream. It zipped towards him, ringing his head and darting to and fro. He shrugged and cleaned his brushes.

That night he dreamed of water.

He tossed and turned on his thin mattress, the warm air wafting in the window of his cheap hotel room. In his mind rushed great torrents of water, clean and fast, deep and purple. They looked perfect for diving, for washing away his troubles and refreshing his mind. But no matter how he ran he was too far away.

"What a dream."

The vision hung mistily in his head, burning away as the sun roused him. He rubbed his eyes and nodded to the bee. It sat atop his suitcase, fanning its wings to stay cool in the heavy air. Spring was over, and summer was rolling in. It was time to find another painting.

"North?" Palette wondered as he stowed his meager belongings. He packaged and postmarked his painting, addressed it to his agent. "North would be cooler." Tall mountains filled his inner eye, strong and wide and capped with ice, solidly implacable in silent self-assurance. Train-tracks stitched between them, lacing the giants together with steel thread. Griffons lived there, wild and free. He wanted to paint mountains, revel in their hugeness and taste midsummer snowmelt.

But the bee circled his head and his dream returned. Purple torrents swallowed midsummer snowmelt. A mountain stream would barely rinse his hooves. He craved water to paint.

"West?"

There was a river to the west. It was broad and flat, slow and sleepy, but maybe he could paint it. He zipped his suitcase and heaved it up.

The walk west was slow and hot with summer rolling in from the south, carrying rainstorms and sweat. He was drenched and steamed in succession, sleeping in fields and hedges. Finally, he reached a village on the river's edge.

"Hello, excuse me!" He wandered the streets, looking for anypony who could help. The bee droned alongside or rested on the brim of his cap.

"Can you direct me?" He finally found a villager. She gave his muddy coat an uncertain look, but nodded. "I'm searching for water. It's deep and purple, rushing and strong, but refreshing and beautiful. Have you seen something like that around here?"

His new friend shrugged wordlessly and pointed towards the river.

Palette prepared his easel on a rise over a river bend and stretched a new canvas. He blocked a few shapes, laying lines with light touches of his pencil. But before he even began, he knew it was wrong. The bee encouraged him, enthusiastically walking his sketch, but it was useless.

"This isn't right." He chewed his lip and surveyed the water. It was slow and deep, cool and refreshing on a summer day. But it was a muddy brown at the edges and a stagnant, rotting green in the middle. "This isn't right at all. This doesn't move, or change, or charge or rush or drive. It's dead asleep and dreamless. This isn't the water I need." He rolled up his canvas, folded his easel, and trudged back into town.

He rented a bed and curled under a thin blanket as thunderstorms rolled overhead, whipping chill air in their wake. The bee walked the handle of his suitcase all night as he dreamed of water.

It rushed and crashed, swayed hypnotically, charged and retreated. It danced and sparkled beautifully. It was blue and bright, energizing and exotic. If he reached it, it would soothe and relax him, float his troubles away and caress him gently.

When he woke, he looked at raindrops simmering on his window pane and pondered.

"East?"

There was a forest eastwards, a deep army of sylvan giants where mist rose in the early evening and wrapped the woods in mystery. He loved the shade trees spread, dappled, dancing with the sun's joy and an invitation to nap. There could be deer, ephemeral as spirits, leaping in the depths and gliding through shade to nibble shoots and branches.

He wanted to paint a forest, dream in morning mist and walk forgotten half-invisible trails, losing all sense of direction and stumbling on things unseen for a hundred years.

But the bee landed on his nose and his dream returned. Water was timeless and trackless. Morning mist vanished in sparkling spray over fish ghosting deep like deer. He craved water.

"South?" Following the river would reach the sea. There would be other ponies, gathering around and obscuring the view of wandering painters… but maybe he could paint the sea. He zipped his suitcase shut, and searched for a paddleboat ticket.

The boat was slow and filled with noisy, nosy ponies. The further south he floated the slower the river moved, heavy with silt and effluence. He stayed up late and slept later, sketching ponies he caught alone at sunset or empty stretches of the deck at night, under the moon and running lights. The bee enjoyed that, riding his pencil as he stroked deft lines in his sketchbook.

He reached the port, where the river surrendered its mud cargo and dissolved into a vast delta, abandoning countless tons of black earth to ooze the last miles to the ocean alone.

He walked busy quays and docks, trading friendly nods with sailors and seaweed gatherers, drinking cheap beer and listening to tales about mermares, but always, always looking to the sea. "I'm searching for water," he would claim. "It's blue and warm, and if you swim it, your troubles are washed away. It rolls in deep waves, with gentle strength. Have you seen anything like that?" The sailors would smile wryly and the gatherers would laugh flatly, but they all waved him towards the port.

He eventually unpacked his easel, begging a spot at the end of a dock. He stretched his canvass and stared. The bee landed on an ear-tip, watching as he framed the boats, placed the horizon and sketched a few gulls. But when he got to the waves, he knew he was wrong again.

"This isn't right." He looked into the trackless expanse. This was blue, but not the bright azure he needed. It was sullen navy, or angry slate in a storm. It rolled with waves, but not the tall, stately combers he dreamed of. They were small and choppy, fighting against the breakwaters and the bay cupping the port. "This isn't inviting." He saw a boat, a seaweed harvester drifting along the swampy coast. "This is river-water, gathered together." It had gotten somewhere after oozing all this way, but it was no different inside. He packed up his easel with a gray heart.

He hunted for a better spot for a few days, a rooftop or hill, a vantage point looking out to the water he needed, but never found it. The more he talked the more he felt this just wasn't his water. This water was sailed every day. Chains of ships, forged by links of gold, marched back and forth across the deep, grinding money daily. This water had gone from rotting and stagnant to cold and uncaring.

He stumbled back to his rented shack and collapsed in his hammock. The bee tried to comfort him, spiraling over his forehead and dancing tiny loops, but he couldn't shake his frustration as he drifted to sleep.

The coast wind was warm that night. He sweated as he slept and dreamed of water.

It fell from a blue sky in sparkling diamond drops. It shattered on the ground and filled the dust with pools and filled the pools with intricate rings, mysterious, magical circles which danced along the surface. If he could get under the downfall, the sunshower would wash away the dirt of his travel, wipe him clean of the sweat and beer and loud nosy crowds of the port town, pour silence and solitude and peace into him till he brimmed over.

He woke with a sigh, and considered his options.

"West?"

There was a desert to the west. He pictured graceful walls of rock, sculpted by lascivious wind and ageless, patient sun. The sand would bake his hooves, scour the moisture from his nostrils. It would be quiet there, the deep, lost silence of unbroken desolation. He could glory in the company of cacti, somber and spiny fortresses with their weirdly branching limbs. Lizards might see him seeing them, locking him in tableau as each waited for the other to move. It might be nice, painting a desert.

But the bee crawled out from under his cap and his dream returned. A memory of beginning his painting long ago, stumbling on water unexpected as desert rain, carving that rivaled the wind’s, quenching a barely understood thirst. He remembered water once painted, and craved it again.

"I'll take the train."

He swept his cap up, letting the bee hitch a ride before he seized his suitcase and dashed for the station.

This time he didn't mind the long ride. He watched the passing landscape, smiling at the river, forest, and the growing mountains. He debarked in a high city. It reached above him, terraced onto the face of the Canterhorn in steps and ledges, buildings packed in intricate knots of brickwork and masonry. He heaved his easel onto his back, abandoned his suitcase at the baggage claim, and trotted into the city.

"I'm looking for water."

Everypony he stopped would listen. The bee would circle as they talked or investigate nearby flowers, drawn as ever to bright colors.

"It falls in great silver drops and fills the ground with pools and rippling patterns of light. If you dip under it, it washes away your sweat and tension, cools your anger and refreshes your mind. Have you seen anything like that?"

As he worked his way upwards they all smiled and nodded, and pointed him towards the castle, to the beautiful, intricate fountain in the castle garden. It was a masterpiece, the work of a dozen masters at the height of their skill who had produced something finer and more wonderful any made alone.

He knew it from years past. It was a cherished treasure, the only memory approaching his dreams. But as he reached it and stood staring, his fears were realized.

"It's not the same." He sighed. He set up his easel anyways, sharpened his pencil. The longer he looked, the less he wanted to paint it. It would be a shadow, a drop against his thirst. "Not like I remember. The magic is gone. How did I not see it before? There's no give." He touched the water and it was ice cold. The stone was merciless, hard and sharp as flint. The water fell in perfect arcs, unmoved by wind. He saw the builder's visions, drifting underwater like fish, caught and trapped by chisels and hammers, but not his. Not anymore.

"I can't change that, no matter what." He morosely packed up his easel. The bee sensed his mood and tickled his back, but he didn't look, wouldn't surrender to the distraction.

"Something wrong?" A pony spoke behind him.

"I'm looking for water." He sighed, replied without turning. "It's rushing and purple, refreshing mountain ice in midsummer; crashing and blue, relaxing sun-dappled shade for napping; dancing and silver, beautiful wind-sculptures loved by lonely cacti. But I can't find it."

Thirst clutched his dry throat. The noise of the city rolled in on his ears. Exhaustion crushed him, shaking his knees and chilling his coat. Road dust burned in his sandy eyes, and he nearly toppled over.

"Hmm." The voice was warm and friendly. "My little pony, have you searched long?"

"Weeks." He turned and discovered the Sun Princess, Celestia herself. "Months, Princess." He swiped at his eyes ineffectually, ran a hoof awkwardly through his mane. "I apologize." He sniffled half-heartedly and made a shallow bow. The bee buzzed comfortingly at one ear, and he pointed. "Ever since I found this little one."

"Indeed?" Celestia's expression shifted to curious. She leaned in closer, until the bee lifted off and circled his head. "Oh!" She leaned back, smiling gently. "And your name?"

"Palette Knife." He smiled nervously.

"Palette, you need to see my sister." Celestia nodded firmly. "I would be very grateful if you did. Would you?"

"Of course." He set his ears returned her nod weakly. "If it's your desire, of course."

"Thank you. She should be rising soon." Celestia waved to the horizon, the steadily lowering sun. "Would it be too much trouble if I asked you to wait?"

"Of course," he repeated numbly. "I'll, I'll wait here."

Celestia nodded and smiled and paced off.

Sunset came gradually. Palette nibbled the flowers, drank from the fountain. He sketched sprays of water or drew the flight of birds and nodding the daffodils in his notebook. But his energy dimmed with the light. He curled on a bench, hoarding his flagging attention, but the gentle gloom swarmed him, snatched at his mind until he pillowed his head on his shoulder and drifted into a dreamless slumber as red clouds burned in the west.

He woke soon after to the nudging of a warm wing.

"Hmph?" He mumbled and pried his gummed eyes open. Looking up, he found Princess Luna standing near. "Oh, your Majesty! I'm very sorry." He stood and stretched, masking it with a deep bow.

"It's fine." She gave an easy reply, her voice soft. She looked him in the eyes. "I didn't like to wake you, but sister said you had—" She paused as the bee crawled from under his cap and flew to her. "Oh, there it is." Luna smiled as the bee, silver moonlight on black ink, circled back and forth. "Tell me, Palette Knife, what are you looking for?"

"Water." He mumbled, frowning in distant confusion. "Water full of beauty and joy and wonder. But no matter how long I searched, I couldn't pin it down, couldn't trap it on my canvas. I would half-find it, but it would be stagnant, or it would be angry, or it would be another's. No matter how I searched, I just couldn't find it."

"I see." Luna looked down, a serious expression on her face. "I'm a painter of sorts, Palette. It's nearly time to bring out the stars. Would you watch?"

"Ah…" He froze for a moment, until he processed the words. "Of course, your Majesty! It would be a great honor!"

"Well." Luna's mouth twisted wryly as she nodded. "Then here we go." She raised her head, a spark on the tip of her horn. As the last shred of sun fled she flicked her neck, snapping a drop of moonlight skywards. It buzzed and circled as it rose, drifting lazily upwards in tiny loops and eights, glittering silver and black.

It gleamed and settled into the sky as the other stars began surfacing. Amazement touched Palette as they bobbed into sight in groups and clusters, each constellation laying foundations for those that came behind. They built gradually but implacably, sprinkled in a rain of silver, ebbing and flowing in the deep blue canvas, finally finished in a rush smeared across the sky end-to-end.

Looking up at the glittering drops, the rushing river and the sea of deep, silent black, he was quenched and filled with peace.

"Was this always here?" He turned to Luna.

"Did you never see it? Take the time to look?" She smiled. "But it's slightly different tonight." She looked to the first star she had placed, and leaned down to lay a kiss on his brow. "Thank you, Palette, for your dreams of water."

Author's Note

If you're interested in what went into the writing of this fic, I have posted a retrospective in the Writeoff Group. It can be found here: This Is A Link.

Lost Cities Inversion: Unknown Architecture

The road from Summer ends at autumn's edge, in a dead forest filled with mist.

Winter reigns behind. At night, stars laugh over the brooding mountains in the distance, and the raging cold crackles with hate. Nothing ever lived out there. The peaks are broken and desolate, shredding the wind howling through their crags. It convulses and curls, whipping the snow into raging storms and rolling them down the foothills, to scream over the snowy plain and snatch at the road. Winter flings itself against the forest, eternally angry, never successful. Dying vortices expire in the leafless trees, bleeding clots of snow onto a thick layer of rotting leaves. The forest shrugs it off, drowned in autumn ennui.

It is always autumn here.

The road was abandoned on the verge of winter. Its form is broken and frayed, cobbles cracked and strewn on treacherous ground where it fades. Travel would be difficult.

But nopony has traveled this road.

The spots of snow never last. They may hold for weeks, but eventually surrender to the eternal drone of crushing autumn days, melting half-heartedly into the ground and evaporating into the mists which curl listlessly about barren trunks, coating everything in moisture and strangling out sunlight. Condensation drips incessantly, an eerie litany of desolation amplified by the fog. Irregularity strips even the illusion of tears from the sound. If autumn could weep it might seem less empty, but even sorrow is sapped here. The hopeless trees sag and slump in the fog, slime sliding down their trunks.

The untraveled road is weak in the dog days of autumn, but creeps towards the mountains even so. Inwards, it stumbles and becomes recognizable. The construction is plain, but the paving grows smother. Stones sit level, with occasional cracks, and the mist thins as the road meanders towards Summer.

The paved way could have been useful under this stark autumn sky. Paths gingerly split from it, straggling towards unused trails and vacant cottages peeking between the trees. Their empty windows turn from the mist and mountains, doors angled away from the encroaching chill. They have never been opened. Stone-edged gardens occasionally verge the road, filled with dead greenery.

The beds were beautiful once, even unappreciated, but their life has been sacrificed to autumn. Only the trees hold out, offering their remaining leaves to keep the encroaching cold at bay. The useless huts cower and huddle, hiding behind bare hedges and gravel paths. A harsh chill hangs in the air, but it is no longer corpse-cold. The trees weather it in silence, bargaining with the wind against the mist.

The road widens and strengthens as the trees brighten. Profusions of leaves, in a riot of red, swarm alongside the road as it marches inwards. It develops a cant, and the forest falls into orderly rows alongside, forming windbreaks and shade which have never offered anypony shelter. The houses grow in size, enclosing more and more vacancy as they stretch and rise. The air grows crisp and momentarily refreshing before a biting dryness takes hold. The leaves fade towards green, but hang limp in the arid breeze.

The forest breaks, and autumn is over. The city of Summer can be seen from here.

It crowns a small hill. Grassy plains, wide and rich enough to feed it year-round, spread from the forest. A hot wind whispers incessantly, rustling the grass and making autumn's dripping despair seem a fever dream, the hatred of winter a chill regret. The fields labor under a final heatwave, an undying burn which scorches the grass yellow.

This ground has never been farmed. Plots lay in ordered sections, marshalled around the hill in readiness, but have never felt a plow or drank a raindrop. They would yield bountifully to any who cared for them, but they simmer in neglect, sullen under the battering rays of the sun. The road ignores their plight. It surges for the city, cutting across the frustrated ground.

The heat rolls in towards the city. There is no wall here, no gates. War could never visit Summer. Buildings to hold the harvest cluster around the road, greeting its entry, hungry for traffic which never materialized. Houses and suburbs roll away to either side, empty as the promise hanging over the fields, aching unused in the futile heat.

The road splits here, diverging and meandering as it works its way up towards the peak. It brushes past civilized shells. Restaurants sit, their intimate beauty never seen. theaters slumber in opulent grandeur, void of applause and joy. Welcoming plazas spread unused. Picturesque promenades unfurl through quiet streets, never strolled in the cool evening. The city sweeps round the hill in lavish device, a marvel of design. There is everything here for comfort, friendship, companionable silence and raucous laughter.

Except life.

The silence grows oppressive, even as the heat mellows. Further inwards, fountains slake the air, fed by bottomless reservoirs. Their water has never been tasted. The buildings turn stately, columned and carved, vain in their worthless emptiness. Gardens overcome the houses, lacing round libraries and museums, devoid of books or history. Public spaces, zealous for learning and the pursuits of the mind, stifle in the unchanging sun.

The road is here, too. It is shaded by lush trees, untended but perfect. Smooth lawns, never mowed, accompany it. It is broad enough for a dozen to walk abreast here, continuing up towards the summit.

The road bends in a broad circle at the very top of the hill. In the center stands a rough-hewn boulder, part of the bedrock beneath. This is the Summer Stone. Rough steps have been cut here, leading up to an ornate but empty arch, carved from the very rock.

This is the only part of the city which might be seen by any besides the architect. The Summer Stone lingers on the edge of mind at times, in the space between waking and sleep. Its voice is quiet, locked by guilt, but an aching emptiness can be felt. Its invitation stands to all. If one can turn, reach, they might find themselves here, beneath the arch.

Standing at the doorway of Summer.

Any who did, would find their hooves the first to walk this land. They could stare down at the marvelous city, blazing bright and warm, inviting and welcoming in every way.

Summer could entice anypony. At sunset it blazes in glory, all cunning artistry and welcoming shade. At dawn it energizes with wonder, vistas around every corner and marvels yet unseen. At noon it offers refreshment, cool privacy to loiter in or warm sunbeams for napping. And at night… at night it offers a thousand delights, secrets to discover and treasure, to own and hide in the heart.

But they might look farther. Perhaps their sight would follow the road from Summer, tracing the creator's last gaze. They might feel the aching emptiness, and know only empty rock stands in the city. They might see the heatwave hovering over the plains, and feel the frustration of rejection. Perhaps, if they had sharp eyes, they would see the edge of autumn, sense anger fade to depression, and depression give way to dreary, empty despair, and realize that the only thing lying beyond is helpless, all-consuming rage.

Anypony who did would surely reject this façade, this shell of civilization, and gladly wake to a real bed, real ponies, and a real sun. They would squeeze their eyes shut in a moment of consuming grief at the wasted potential, as the architect did, and vanish back to the waking land.

But perhaps, if they listened very closely, they would hear the dreams of the Summer Stone beneath their feet and turn to look behind.

The road ends at the peak. Summer's dominion only reaches so far. Beyond, behind, Winter closes in again. The mountains lean close around the small hill, snarling and mewling their rage with frigid wind. Chill breezes sweep in, cold and laden with snow, from the back. But Summer will never flinch from them.

For on those winds, carried from Winter, comes water. A promise to slake the thirst of even the driest city. Because as Summer gives way to Autumn, and Autumn surrenders to Winter, out of the death of Winter comes Spring. And Spring carries rain, the promise of growth and new life, even in the darkest of days.

And any who saw that, might carry a touch of comfort to the architect's heart. If she could feel the dreams of Summer and forgive herself, abandon the laughing-starred winter in her heart, she might unlock the doors of Summer.

So as heat-lightning crackles in the sky over the empty city, Summer dreams of ponies. A drop, a sprinkle, a trickle, a torrent, a flood of ponies.

And Summer dreams of rain.