“Will you play a game with us?”
Three pink mouths, of three pink faces, of three pink fillies, asked in unison and then smiled eagerly at Clastic Strain, waiting for an answer. He wished he was anywhere but there.
After The Great Tag Game of 1024 wrought a trail of destruction through Ponyville’s center and left more than a dozen injured; the town signed a petition to saying Pinkie’s triplets had to go. Leave they did, and with a hop, skip and a jump found themselves hired into a traveling circus, owned by a llama named Duck. Many claimed that he was insane; almost everyone agreed that he seemed like a very jolly fellow, and tens of thousands from around the globe had witnessed the antics of his circus team, known as Acumen Merut, or, roughly translated from its original Fancy, Sanity Dies.
Clastic Strain had believed he’d seen the last of the triplets when they joined the circus; but when he was visiting Fillydelphia to open a new library, the mayor had invited him to attend a circus that had just shown up in town, and Clastic Strain couldn’t think of a good excuse not to. Now he was faced with the triplets, and needed an excuse like never before; “…What kind of game did you have in mind?” he asked hesitantly.
“Oh, there are so many games we could choose from;” squealed Pinkie Zip, “Like Sugar Rush!”
“Or Super Twister!” suggested Pinkie Zest.
“We could play Cupcakes with him!” laughed Pinkie Zing, clapping her hooves together, “Cupcakes! Cupcakes! Cupcakes!”
“That’s a great idea!” agreed Zip and Zest, “Cupcakes!”
The triplets jumped in unison and landed at even intervals around Clastic Strain, reaching out to grab him, but then stopped as disappointment stung them simultaneously, “We can’t play Cupcakes” Sighed Pinkie Zest, “Only Pink Zoom knows what the secret ingredient is.”
Clastic Strain stepped out of the triangle uncomfortably, “Who’s Pink Zoom?”
“She’s our fourth sister” informed Pinkie Zip quickly, “We were conceived as quadruplets, but she died in the womb. For a long time we didn't know she’d ever existed, but then a traveling gypsy bard showed us how to make contact with her spirit;” the triplets leaned back in a moment of crazed nostalgia, “She’s taught us so many wonderful games.”
“I’ve… never seen her.”
“Of course you haven’t silly!” giggled Pinkie Zest, “Pinkie Zoom only ever lets us see her.”
“… Is Pinkie Zoom here now?”
“No.” sighed Pinkie Zing, “Her spirit can’t leave Ponyville so we only get to see her when we visit home.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing though” admitted Pinkie Zip, “She was a lot of fun, but she never helped us clean up after parties and was always getting us in trouble. You know when dad got mad at us because we did that thing with the yo-yos and the pineapples and we broke the swimming pool? That was all Pinkie Zoom’s idea, honest. Besides, life on the road is great!”
“Yeah!” Agreed Pinkie Zest, “When one town gets tired of partying we move on, so no one ever gets mad; plus we get to meet so many interesting people. Last week we all had dinner in a bakery owned by a magic panda. Whenever he plays his pipes, all the bagels get up and dance; and then you eat them!”
“Sometimes the neat people we meet even come with us.” added Pinkie Zing, “Our latest act is by a yodeling turkey named Flibber’o’lu. Having him with us means we’re not allowed to visit Turtay anymore because he’s still wanted there for piracy, and Clicker keeps saying he doesn’t like sharing a camp with someone who slashed the throats of his old pirate crew in their sleep, but really that’s a small price to pay to have a yodeling turkey on your team!” Pinkie Zing grabbed Clastic Strain by the ears and pulled him forewords until their faces were almost touching; “YODDELING! TURKEY!”
Clastic Strain reclaimed his ears and walked back slowly, “… Sounds like you take your circus acts very seriously.”
“We do! We do!” agreed Pinkie Zip, “But Sanity Dies is really about so much more than just the performances; we all have things we want to do in life, and we all help each other achieve them. Like Vippy; she’s always wanted to listen to the beat-boxing-banshees of Hangman’s Mountain, so we’re all going to go there next Nightmare Night to listen, and try not to get eaten.
Buzz was raised by Tweedle Beetles, and so we’re going to make sure that we’re in Tweedleopolis next month to see his parents compete in the triple tricycle muddle puddle lazy-suzan tweedle poodle beetle noodle bottle paddle battle, and then we’re all to the Meerkatriea so the three of us can enter the world team limbo contest; all while continuing our ongoing quest for the apocalypse!"
"What?"
“Well; when tweedle beetles battle it’s called a tweedle beetle battle, and when they battle with paddles it’s called a tweedle beetle paddle battle, and-”
“No-no; what did you say about the apocalypse?”
“THE APOCALYPSE!" cheered the Mcpie triplets in unison, rearing excitedly into the air.
"Why are you trying to cause the apocalypse!?"
"For a party of course!" answered Pinkie Zest, like it should have been obvious.
"What!?"
"Duck has promised us that when we help him get the apocalypse, he's going to throw us a HUGE party. We've been helping him for the last year and were very close now; we can all feel it with our pinkie senses."
"Why does Duck want the apocalypse!?"
"We don't know.” Shrugged Pinkie Zing, “He talks about it a lot, but we don’t really listen; something about fulfilling an ancient family oath. But the important thing is; when we get him the apocalypse, Ducky is going to throw us a HUGE PARTY! There's going to be balloons, and streamers, and cake, and trampolines, and swimming pools, and slides, and chainsaws, and monkey butlers and...."
The Mcpie triplets continued their energetic descriptions of their planned post-apocalyptic-celebrations and by the time they realized Clastic Strain was gone, he was already bursting into the tent that served as Duck’s office. The llama in question was sitting calmly at his desk, making paper draconequus out of origami.
"Why are you trying to destroy the world!?"
Duck looked up from his desk, "What?"
"The triplets say you want the apocalypse!?"
"Oh, yea; that.”
“WHY!?”
“It is my destiny.” Said the llama, rising to his feet, his voice betraying no hint of emotion, “Passed down to me by my sacred lineage from an oath three hundred years ago. I don’t see how it is any particular business of yours, or why you seem so upset, but if you wish, I shall tell you. Would you like some tea?”
“Just the story.” Breathed Clastic Strain,
“Alright, suit yourself,” said Duck, taking a sip of steaming liquid and clearing his throat, “I am descended from a line which, long ago, ruled over the Alpec Empire. The last and greatest of my kin to rule was eight generations ago, a glorious emperor named Kuzco, who was a master of both war and peace, that lead his empire into a golden age of peace unrivaled before or since.
Upon his death, Kuzco was mummified and placed in a sealed tomb, with many artifacts from his glorious reign; but alas, tomb raiders would now allow him to lie undisturbed. If the thieves had been content with stealing only his gold and jewels, my family may have forgiven it, but the thieves showed no such restraint, dismantling his remains into magical charms.
They took his eyes, thinking they would grant them his foresight and clarity. They took his feet, believing they would grant whoever wore them, his legendary skill with the nun-chuck and so on as, piece by piece, his body was desecrated.
For centuries; my family has sought his pieces so that our ancestor may once again rest in peace. Generation after generation has recovered fragments of him, and as the last of my lineage, it falls to me to recover the last charm; made from the lips of my greatest grandfather. They said to enchant the oratory of its wearer, granting even a stuttering child the articulation of the most radiant politicians; or give an illiterate barbarian, the persuasion of the world’s finest merchants.
The lips have been sold, bartered, stolen and gifted away for three hundred years, but now, after years of searching, the trail grows warm and the completion of eight generations of ceaseless toil is finally within my grasp. None shall stop me.”
Clastic Strain blinked once, twice and then a third time for good measure, "So... you're on a quest for the alpaca... lips?"
“Yes.”
“As in; the lips of an alpaca?”
“Yea” nodded Duck, looking at Clastic Strain quizzically, “Why? What did you think I was talking about?"
Author's Note
Satellite story to Limits of the Horizon
