Therapeutic Face-Punching
Author's Note
[Warning]: Minimal editing, Discord-as-Plot-Device, and some almost-language.
Therapeutic Face-Punching
“Ugh...wha 'appened?”
“Oh, just a little dimensional displacement.”
I'll admit to a little surprise at getting an actual answer, but I kept my cool, throwing myself away from the voice with all the grace and poise-
“ARGLKDJHFSG!”
-of a drowning cat. Side note; dirt tastes disgusting, even when you're massively hungover.
“Are you alright?”
I responded to that surprisingly reasonable question by lifting my head and violently emptying my stomach on the ground.
“That would be a 'no'?”
Oh God, this hurts. This hurts in all the ways. And now all I can taste is vomit, and that's terrible. I want the dirt back. “Ugh.” Of course, wanting it not to be happening doesn't fix anything, so I push myself to my hooves, do my best to spit out the worst of it as I stumble away from the mess...and eww, snot. I hate snot. That's so gross.
“If you're finished?” Reasonable voice speaks up again. “I have other things to do, you know.”
“Aaarrrg...” My head. My stomach. I feel like I got run over, and this smarmy voice is practically laughing at me. I blink away tears, try to focus my swimming vision. But, of course, what I'm seeing refuses to resolve into any semblance of sense.
“...the buck?” Wait, what was that? “Buck.” I rock back, my eyes crossing as I glare at my uncooperative snout. “Bucking heck...applebucker...sugar-eating son of a gun.” What?
“Oh, yes, profanity filters...”
“Ffffff-udge icing!” Thing. Floating there. What is it? I don't have a clue...or don't I? Let's recap; stabbing pain in my head, stomach is oww, and the rest of me feels like something very large and heavy hit me while moving very quickly...duh. Brain damage!
“Buck off, brain-puppet. I've got the hangover to end all hangovers, and I'm probably delusional and on my way to the hospital. I don't need your shenanigans on top of that.”
“Actually, it's more of a 'hijink' this time.” The hallucination refuses to disappear. “If I might-”
“Nope!” I turn away...slump, as that sends my head spinning again. “Ehhhhnnnnn...” Why pain? I hate pain...also, brain injuries. Those suck too. Or, at least, I assume they do. I've never had a brain injury before. So far, I'm not impressed, so I think my assumption holds up.
“Maybe this will help?” There's a snap...and the pain goes away. Like, all of it. There was a lot of it, and...wow. I run my tongue over my teeth, because minty-fresh-out-of-nowhere mouth is freaky. And come to think of it, my teeth feel kind of funny. I can't quite put my hoof on what's wrong, but there's something...
“Aaaand-”
Wait a second. I can't put my hoof on...
“-the penny drops.”
I look down, and, yep, hooves. Hooves and fur and oh my God I have a tail. I am sitting on my tail. Without really thinking about it, I scramble to my hooves, and crane my neck back and what the heck is going on?
“I turned you into a pony.” I look up at the totally-has-to-be-a-hallucination thing, and it shrugs. “Ponies are cool now. It could be worse, you know."
"Wa?"
"I could have left all those messy 'muscle memory' things in place. Wouldn't that have been entertaining?”
Oookay. Okay. No panicking. Panic is bad. Brain damage is still on the table.
“I do find it interesting that potentially fatal injury is preferable to you, over the pony thing.”
Ahahaha, okay, panic. Just a little bit. Or a lot. A lot sounds good. Is my vision going gray? Isn't that a bad thing? I think that's a...a bad...
“Ready to listen?”
“Bwah!” I lash out, digging out a furrow of dirt and grass but missing my target. “...” I push myself up, and manage to muster up a bleary glare. “This...isn't in my head, is it?”
“Well, look who's catching on!” It claps its ha...paws? It's only one paw, the other's more of a...I don't know. 'Talon' maybe. Whatever it is, I want to kick that smug grin right down its throat. “Firstly, I am a 'He', not an 'It'.” He. Right. “And secondly, if you'd like to settle down and listen for a few moments, I might be able to answer a few of your questions, hmm?”
Answers. Answers are good. “...alright. But make it good.”
His grin grows, and he waves a paw...a blackboard appears out of nowhere. I blink, and suddenly he's dressed in a sweater-vest and taped up glasses. “Consider, if you will, the nature of 'infinity'. All sorts of beings like to toss the word around when they're trying to describe something large or vast...but most fail to consider the true meaning in it.” His tail whips up to flip the blackboard around, and taps the chalky infinity symbol there. “As a concept, it is anything and everything. All things thought up and dreamed, all things yet unimagined; if Infinity is fact, then what can be, is.”
“Booorring.” I throw a rock I'd been working up out of the dirt, manage to knock those dorky glasses off his face. “Stop philosophializing and get to the point.”
“Hmph...I'm fairly certain that isn't a word.” He pulls out another pair of glasses. “But I can tell that you're going to be a nuisance about this, so I suppose I'll 'get to the point'.”
“Awesome. Do that.”
He reaches back to flip the blackboard again, a cartoonish drawing of a bunch of ponies scrawled across it. “Infinity exists, and I pulled you through it to bring you here. This is Equestria; peaceful, happy, boring. Now, once in awhile, something does happen which shakes things up a little, break the 'status quo' as it were; once or twice, I've had the personal pleasure to be that something.”
Where do I even begin? “Sooo...you're the bad guy?”
“Reformed!” He wags a claw at me. “Reformed bad guy. Really, more of a 'chaos enthusiast'.” A pause, and he crosses his arms, turning his nose up. “It's not my fault that nobody else appreciates my work. Unless, of course, it benefits them.”
Jeeze. Someone's a little bitter...
“I'm not bitter!”
“Oh please, that was super bitter.”
“It wasn't!”
“If you were a cup of coffee, I'd be dumping you down the drain right now.”
“If-wait. Why wouldn't you just add sugar?”
“...shut up. Keep explaining.” Dammit, now he's laughing at me. “Who the heck are you and how do you rate 'reformed bad-guy' treatment?”
“Mmm...nope.”
Uh? “No? What do you mean 'no'?”
“Your punishment for poorly thought-out banter is that I'm not going to tell you about myself.” He smiles. “Besides, you're the important one, here.”
“Me?”
“You!” He snaps his...paw...fingers, and the blackboard and silly costume disappear. “You see, it's been almost a month since the last big batch of chaos, and I find myself terribly bored. It happens a lot, but I've noticed that I'm not the only one, this time.” He heaves a dramatic sigh, and I start feeling around for another rock, because this whole thing screams cheesy monologue...
“You're the new villain!”
Dammit. I was looking forward to throwing more things at him...
…
“I'm the what!?”
“Well, with the Elements of Harmony back in use, Equestria has been running rather short on villains. So! I was sitting in my thinking-tub, wearing my thinking-sombrero, just turning that little problem over, and I realized how easy it would be to bring one here from somewhere else. And here you are!”
I don't think 'indignation' quite covers what I'm feeling at the moment.
“I am not a villain!”
“Well, you're the closest thing I could find on short notice. So there is that.” He smiles again...and I turn my attention back to the ground. There has to be another rock here. We're outside, there's always rocks and...bugs and stuff. “Now, I do have a few basics outlined for you; I don't know if you're the sort to enjoy studying. I know several of them, and dislike them all, so you seem to fit the bill.” Right, right, keep talking. I found me a throwin' rock. “Do you prefer your material alphabetized, or are you more a chronolo-ouch!”
“Distraction!”
“Wha-oof!”
Hard to see a flying tackle coming when you don't see it coming. We go for a tumble, and I manage to stick the landing with a hoof in his gut. “Alright applebucker! You're gonna turn me back into a person, or I'm gonna rip off your b-” My jaw clenches, and I almost choke. “B...b-b...beard.” Uh, okay, fine. Whatever. “And shove it up your a-aa...ear!”
He lays there for about three seconds before he starts laughing. All things considered, I think I'm perfectly justified, punching him in the face. Which, I'll admit, is much more satisfying without all those fragile little hand-bones to hold me back. In fact, it's so satisfying that I do it again. Just because.
“Why am I swearing like a deranged six year-old!?”
He shakes his head (complete with rattling googly eyes), and spits out a malformed fang before composing himself enough to answer. “Well, a good portion of your vocabulary was...rather the opposite of family friendly-”
I punch him again. “There's nothing wrong with my vocabulary, you jackass!” Oh, wait. “Ha! You missed one!”
“Actually, that term specifically refers to a male donkey...”
“Bite me, mix'n'match!” Boy, that's calming. It's like I'm punching the stress out of me and into his face. I should solve all my problems with physical violence. “Turn me back!”
There's a pop, and I'm eating dirt again. Darn it.
“And you think you're not a villain.” He chuckles from somewhere behind me. “Now before you start hitting me again, perhaps you'd like to finish hearing me out?”
I sit up and shake my mane out...mane. “My mane is made up of hair. Why am I thinking 'mane' instead of 'hair'?”
“Like I said, vocabulary.” He arches a brow...like, the brow turns into an arch. Greco-Roman. Very classy. “May I?”
“If it'll make me want to stop hitting you.”
He holds up his...appendages...disarmingly. “I'll not be sending you back...yet. But that isn't to say I never will.” I growl, and he backs up obligingly. “If you play the part, you get sent home.”
“And what's stopping me from beating you like a piñata till you do what I want, instead?”
He actually takes a second to consider that, and I graciously allow it. “Well, I could tell you all about the way Princess Celestia practically jumped on the chance to reform me rather than have to fight me again.”
“So?”
“She controls the orbit of the sun around the planet.”
Hmm...given the whole 'turned me into a pony, not bothered by facial-trauma, snaps things in and out of existence' thing, I'm actually inclined to buy that. “...yeah, okay.”
“Ah, but you haven't even heard the b-huh?” His arms drop. “'Okay'?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You're not going to argue some more?”
“Is there a point?”
“Well, no...but it was amusing.”
“Buck you.” I buff my hoof on my...chest...fur. “What do I need to do to get home?”
A few moments pass, and then he rolls his eyes, exasperated. Him. The nerve. “You're the villain. I'm sure you can work something out...”
“I mean, yeah, sure, but what am I doing?” I scuff my...don't have heels anymore. And it's a forelimb, so it would be palm. Except not. Arrrrrg. “Do I have to arrange for an untimely demise? Subvert a particular polity? What?”
He gives me a weird look. “No?” After a short pause, he looks thoughtful, pulling off his wonky horn to scratch his head. “Really, most of my plans for you just involve general chaos...not necessarily a bad thing, but I suppose it seems a bit unfocused, doesn't it?”
“Kinda...”
“No matter!” He tosses the horn, snap-pops another one into place on his skull, and smiles at me. “Just be the best villain you can be. I'm sure that'll work out perfectly!”
“The best villain I can be, huh?” I can totally do that. Especially if it means getting home. “Yeah, okay...so what's my thing?”
“...thing?”
“Yeah, you know...” He doesn't. I glare. “Look, if I'm your big bad villain, I can't just be some random Plain-Jane pony, right? So what's my thing?”
“That's...hmm.” He floats toward me...has he been floating this whole time? The whole time? I narrow my eyes and back away, but that's not super effective once he starts circling me. “That's a point, I suppose...let's try this, then.”
He snaps, and drops an anvil on my head. I think. I don't actually see what hits me, but it definitely felt like something big and heavy. Ffffff.
“I thought we were done with pain!?”
“Oh, pony up.” His voice booms. “So I'm welding magic into your soul and spontaneously forming a bone and keratin projection on your skull to channel the energy. Big deal.”
“You're what?”
“I made you a unicorn! No need to thank me.”
I manage to open my eyes...unicorn? That means horn, right? That...might be a horn up there. Really, I can just see a point. Kind've a pointy point. “Can I stab you with this?”
“Well, you could, but I wouldn't suggest it.”
Debating that eats up a few seconds, and gives the pain a little time to abate. “Why did you weld things to my face?”
“So that you can do magic, of course!”
...okay, so maybe worth it. “Like, magic? Enforcing my will on the natural world? Warping the laws of reality to satisfy my every petty whim?”
“Ah...no. That's my shtick. You get normal unicorn magic.”
Ugh! What kind of weird dimension-magic-grabby-thing is this guy? “Normal unicorn magic? Like, this stuff is common? And what kind of magic is 'normal' here? Is it the stuff that you have to study obsessively to do simple spells, or is it all instinctual or what?” His blank stare isn't very reassuring. “Come on! You want me to be a super-villain, you have to give me something to work with!”
He pulls his paw down over his face, dragging it along almost a foot before it snaps back into place like rubber. “There's just no pleasing you people, is there? Fine, fine. Here.”
This time, it's like a sledgehammer to the jaw; literally, it knocks me over and everything.
“Well then, that's done.” He hauls me to my hooves, and I sway, blinking up at the pair of hims hovering in front of me. “You can figure the rest out for yourself. Ponyville is that-away-” They point in opposite directions. Jerks. “-and I'm going on a spontaneous vacation that has absolutely nothing to do with you. Have fun!”
I fall over again the moment he disappears, and struggle weakly to smack the empty space where he used to be. Of course, not only is he not there, but I also can't move very well.
Actually, I'm kinda tired...I think I'm just gonna...rest.
Yeah.
This Can Only End in Fire
Well, after an afternoon's worth of aimless wandering in the woods, I'm feeling pretty good. Considering I woke up after passing out...in the open. On the ground. In a new body. Alright, so I might have had a few minor freakouts (the discovery that that daises were delicious, for instance, or the realization that I was effectively naked), but I got over them with minimal fuss.
Another good thing; I feel like I'm getting the hang of magic. So far I can lift heavy things and, with a little bit of concentration, set them on fire. At least, I think it's fire. It's sort've glowy and red, like my magic-aura-thingy, and it turned that big rock I'd found to slag, which was all kinds of awesome.
So...that's cool. It'd be more cool if I could do something other than those two things, but telekinesis and sort've-fire-starting isn't a bad mix. In fact, I'd go so far as to say it's almost a beginning to making me want to hurt that...whatever it was...a little less.
Hey, I'm a villain now. Grudge-holding is both a necessary and practical skill.
Which reminds me, actually; I need to decide what sort of villain I'm going to be. I mean, there are just so many options...different goals, methodologies. Some I can dismiss out of hoof. I don't have the stomach for 'omnicidal maniac', or the raw, unending cynicism I'd need for 'nihilistic anarchist'. I could maybe be a despicable tyrant, but that seems like a lot of responsibility to take on without any sort of preparation or fallback.
“Note to self: resource acquisition is a priority.”
“Thanks, self. I'll keep it in mind.”
I guess if I'm going to go that way, I'd better find out what the local governments are like so I know just what sort of despot I'll need to be...and how much of it I'm going to take over. I mean, limits, right? I'm not going to try and take over the world or anyth-
Oh...oh, wait, no. Yes.
Yesyesyes, that's perfect. “What's the best sort of villain? It's so obvious that it's actually in the name!” I put on a sinister smile and gaze imperiously at my current audience...the oak tree just over there seems particularly intimidated. “I'll be a super villain!”
Chirp-chirp. Chirp-chirp.
That's bull. There weren't any crickets here a minute ago. “Go buck yourselves. It's an awesome plan. Goal. Whatever.” And given I now have a goal, all I need to worry about is execution. Of the goal. And maybe me, but I think that largely depends on the legal system here in...uh...I think it was 'Equestria'. That sounds 'pony' enough.
Oh, right, I'm supposed to be looking for 'Ponyville'. Almost forgot that. And despite the fact that it was a suggestion from the annoying-thing, I don't really have any better ideas. Or worse ideas, even. Ideas are hard.
“Right. Find Ponyville, get info, be evil. Easy peasy.”
Of course, the whole 'finding' thing might be a little tough. I mean, this whole place has been 'lightly-wooded' and 'pretty clearing' for the last couple of hours. It's always possible, but I kind've doubt that I'm just going to stumble across a convenient...road.
Okay, so a road. Right here, in front of me. That's statistically probable, I think. I'm not a math pony, but it seems like the sort of things you'd have statistics about. So it's only a little bit of a coincidence. And there's still two directions I could go, which means that it's unlikely it actually leads to my destination-
“Well hey there!”
“Gah!”
“Ah!”
Why is he scream- no, wait. Pony. Right. “Ahem.” I straighten up and sweep my mane back into order, pointedly ignoring the stranger's shock (and the weird look he's giving me, now). I suppose this is as good a time as any to start getting into the swing of things.
“Hello there, unsuspecting traveler.”
He relaxes, slightly, but remains wary. I'm somewhat disturbed to realize that I noticed that because of the set of his ears. “...sorry?”
“Oh, it's quite alright.” I wave off his apology, turning my attention back to the strangely convenient road. “Could you be a dear and tell me where this leads?”
“Uh...oh, yeah!” His mood seems to pull a complete turnaround, lighting up with (alarming) cheerfulness. “This is the road to Miss Fluttershy's cottage, actually...” He pauses, eyes me again. “Just a second, though...you're not local, are you?”
“Not as of yet.” I offer a disarming smile...for some reason he doesn't seem very disarmed. “Though I do believe I'll be settling nearby.”
He smiles and nods, all very agreeable. “Well, I'll just have to keep an eye out for you, then! Now, hope you don't mind, but I've got to go pick up a tabby with more bravery than sense.” And with that, he starts walking again, calling back over his shoulder as he continues on his way. “Sorry about the fright! Oh, and welcome to Ponyville!”
I watch until he's rounded a bend and out of sight, before turning to look back the way he'd been coming from. “The convenient road leads to Ponyville. Of course it does.” Hmm. “...it's not like I'm going to find a metric ton of gold when I turn around, or anything.”
Turn, and...nope. There is a piece of paper that wasn't there before, though. With a bit of mental finagling, I pick it up without my hooves (why is it harder than picking up a big rock? That's not fair at all), turn it over...ah. It's a note from 'Mix'n'match'.
'Nice try.'
There's a tiny doodle of him underneath, looking cartoony and scolding. I take great pleasure in burning it to ash like the garbage it is.
Oh, evil laughter. That's perfect...now, I just need to learn to harness it voluntarily...
Trotting is infinitely more complicated than walking, even with whatever voodoo the annoying-thing pulled to make sticking me in a different body actually work. Still, it's a challenge I've embraced, and given how clear and empty this road has been, I've gotten a fair bit of practice in...
“Uh, miss?”
I have to stop to avoid an embarrassing stumble, but at least this time I manage not to actively freak out. How do ponies keep sneaking up on me!?
And for that matter, when did I get so close to actual buildings?
“Are...you alright?”
I'm quick to compose myself, of course, and turn a haughty glare on the...stallion, I guess. Hadn't thought about that earlier. Weird.
“...hello?”
Oh, right. Curious stallion. After a quick review of his question and my own potential reactions, I school my expression to convey just how stupid that question was ('how dare you speak to me, you filthy peasant' similarly implied). And, once I'm certain I've managed the proper nuance, I huff and toss my mane imperiously.
“Of course I am.”
“Alright...” He draws it out, apparently not too sure.
I don't waste time waiting for him to wonder. “Tell me, that wouldn't happen to be Ponyville over there, would it?”
“...yes?”
Alright, confirmation. Always good...my malevolent chuckle has him backing up, a step, which is even better.
“I'll just let you get back to...whatever that was.” He gives me a speculative look before turning to trot awa...oh, that's a trot. Huh. What was I doing?
Darn.
I glare after him for a moment, then turn and continue on. At a walk.
First impressions; 'Ponyville' is Mayberry, for ponies. Except without the nice Sheriff or musical hill-people. Maybe. I haven't been here long enough to know one way or another. The point is, the town is wholesome to the extreme. Ponies smile at me as I walk by. Me. A complete stranger. That's just unnatural. One of them even waves. Who does that?
Despite my general unease, I do explore for a little while, do some pony-watching. It's informative, which is good because that's the whole point of the exercise. I learn that some ponies can fly, that most (if not all) unicorns can use some kind of magic, and that I totally didn't need to freak out about not having clothes.
Still, even with how utterly enthralling all this exploring is, I call it quits when I come across the gingerbread-house of a bakery and start fearing for my blood-sugar. There are a few less sickeningly sweet shops here and there for me to check out.
I pick one that's quiet and out of the way, to best avoid witnesses while I accost somepony for details.
The clerk doesn't take me very seriously, at first. It's actually pretty annoying, and I manage to maintain a relatively friendly demeanor for all of a minute before I resort to some magical persuasion. As it turns out, violently shaking ponies makes them nauseous and generally uncooperative. Go figure.
I do manage to get a few more answers out of him, though...not as many as I'd wanted, but it's a starting point. If I'm going to be Best Villain, I need to be intimidating. Ponies need to tremble at the very sight of me, not quibble about 'intrusive questions' and 'criminal assault'. Given that it will take time to build up the sort of reputation that will help with that, I'll need something else.
I trot (an actual trot this time, thank you very much) around town once again, now with my nefarious mission in mind. A few pointed questions to random passersby unearth several important, and very interesting, facts about my intended target. The sorts of things that mean the whole venture is quickly going from 'convenient' to 'desirable'. Not only will I be taking steps to correct my image, but I'll be starting off my career almost immediately.
So it is that I find myself standing before the Carousel Boutique, taking the time to make sure I'm in the right mindset and to contemplate the clueless and unlucky heroine within.
It's getting late, by now, and the Boutique is closed. That serves my purposes perfectly, of course, and so once I'm certain I'm ready, I sweep inside with obvious and malicious glee. Locking the door proves a little fiddly, but I get it done and, after a quick glance around, draw all the blinds closed as well. Then, since I might as well be thorough, I upend several tables and unused mannequins to barricade the doors and windows.
With that done, and since it looks like nopony is downstairs, I decide to poke around a little bit. There are big rolls...uh, bolts? Bolts of cloth, and clippings, sewing...things. Not really very interesting, unfortunately...
And then I catch sight of the mirror. More importantly, my reflection.
“I...” I stop there, because my reflection's mouth is moving in time but it's a pony. That's so weird. I tilt my head around, turn to one side, brush my mane this way and that...that's me. A fuzzy little unicorn, all cream-and-brown...I bounce on my hooves, then trot gleefully in place, swishing my tail just because I can, and oh man, that squealing sound is me.
“I'm adorable!” Gah! No! Bad brain! You're evil now, and that means none of this nonsense. I hadn't flipped out about all those ponies in town, so this is just stupid.
I flinch at the sound of hoofsteps at the top of the stairs, but I'm not a complete moron, so I don't waste any time in moving out of sight and making sure I'm being quiet...
Aha, it is her. Lured down from above, unsuspecting...all according to plan. And now-
“SNEAK ATTACK!”
She manages an indignant yelp before I have her lifted off the ground. After that, she can't make too much noise, because I'm holding her jaw shut. She does struggle, as expected, and there's this weird buzzing when her horn starts glowing. Magic vs. magic, I guess...and judging by the way she winces and stops whatever she was trying, I win there, too. Good job, me.
Once I'm assured of her capture, I give my best evil laugh yet and start to circle her, turning her around with me. A captive audience means that a monologue is necessary.
“So, you are the most talented dressmaker in Ponyville? I can't say you seem that impressive. Though I suppose you're not exactly wanting for competition, here.”
She glares, and I grin, turn away for a little more 'exploration'. It's mostly for show, since I already saw most of what's here, but the muffled tones of what I imagine is a blistering tirade are entertainment enough to keep me occupied.
“I suppose you're wondering why I'm going through the effort to capture you?” I shoot a sly smirk over my shoulder...or, try to. I have to flip my mane out of the way, first, and that takes a couple of tries...but then! Then, I smirk slyly at her, secure in my not-so-natural superiority. “Or, perhaps, you're just wondering who I am?”
Now...spin to face her, stick the landing, and dramatic hoof-stomp! “Well, I'll not leave you wondering! I am...”
“...”
“I am...uh...erm...” I...didn't think of that. Oh no. Ooohhh no. Uh...okay, think, think. “I am...Evi-” Oh! “Evelyne!” Wait, that's just a name. I need something impressive to go with it, some kind of title...Lady? No, no, Queen. Or- “Empress Evelyne...” Of where? Or what? Wait! Magic-aura! Burning things! “...Wielder of the Dark Fire!”
I have to resist the impulse to pump my hoof in victory. That was an awesome save. Not that she seems to appreciate it. Tch. Everyone's a critic.
“And as to the why? Well, I find myself in need of your...particular skills.” I start pacing around her, again, sighing dramatically as I go. “You see, I have a problem, one that is becoming more and more evident to me. You see, I'm simply too adorable to be taken seriously as a force of pure evil!” Oops. No need to shout. I stop, clear my throat, and do my best to look imposing. “As such, you will design for me some properly intimidating attire, that I might strike terror into the hearts of all who see me!”
“...Mph-mmm hmmm?”
Oh, right. I let go of her jaw, wait patiently for her to test her new freedom...
“I'm not entirely certain who you think you are, miss 'empress', but if you think this sort of behavior is acceptable...why would I design anything for you?”
I smile. “I had hoped you would ask me that...”
The sound of the doorknob rattling perks me up, and I turn my attention to the barricaded door.
“...Rarity!”
Well well...a late visitor? This could be interesting. More than the illegible fashion magazine I've been staring at for the past half hour.
“Rarity! I know I said I'd be back before it got late, but, um...Apple Bloom was taking forever cleaning up!”
“Hey! 't weren't mah fault you'n Scoots took all the easy jobs!”
“Shh! I haven't asked her yet...” I slip off the surprisingly comfortable couch and make my way over, but the conversation outside has dropped to harsh whispers. I glance over to where my captive is working, but she seems rather distracted by an uncooperative strip of fabric...
“Uh, alright!” The first voice speaks up again. “We're really late, and I'm really sorry, but you don't mind if the other Crusaders stay the night, right?” The doorknob rattles again. “So, um...could you open the door? Please?” A pause, and then the voice continues, a bit more plaintive. “It's dark out here.”
I do take a moment to debate my options...then put on my best smile and sweep the barricade aside, pulling the door open in almost the same motion.
“Why hello there!”
A trio of frightened squeals makes me worry for my hearing, but I manage to keep my smile, and even get a good look at these newcomers...hmm. I suppose it's a good thing I was popped into existence as (what I assume is) an adult. If I had been a filly, an evil reputation would have been completely untenable.
The little orange one recovers first, pulling away from the shaking huddle that they'd spontaneously formed to make some attempt at eyeing me suspiciously. Brave, I suppose...
“Who're you?”
“Well, I could ask the same, couldn't I?” I smile. “But I won't, because that would be terribly rude.”
She averts her gaze and scuffs her hoof, while the others slowly relax. “...sorry?”
“Apology accepted. Now, why don't you three come on inside, there you go...” I step aside to usher them in, and they don't hesitate. “Yes, yes, wouldn't want to miss out on this.”
“Miss out on what?” The little white unicorn chirps.
I can't help it. I grin, outright, and reach over to ruffle that weird, pastel-parti-colored mane. “Why, being my newest hostages!” The door shuts behind us, and the tables are settled back in place soon after. “Isn't that exciting?”
I get three of the most confused stares I've ever gotten in my life, but it's the yellow one with the bow that actually asks the question. “What's a 'hoss-taj'?”
Oh. That's a little disappointing...no, wait, the unicorn's got it, now. “Isn't that s-something like...a prisoner?”
“Indeed it is!” Dammit, now they're all scared and cutesy again. I stomp down my immediate response, since cringing and offering them stuffed animals and sweets wouldn't do anypony any good. “Now now, no need to fret. Being my hostages means that your well-being is one of my priorities.” I offer my most reassuring smile, and brush the whole thing off. “But enough unpleasantness. I think we've neglected something important. Miss Snooty Booty! Oh Miss Snooty Booty...”
“It's Rarity!” Comes the (somewhat muffled) response. Apparently, there weren't enough needles in the pincushion on her desk; she's got no less than five held in her teeth. That can't really be sanitary, can it?
“I'm well aware of what I said, Felicity.” I huff, sparing another glance at the fillies beside me. “Now, be a proper host and introduce us.”
“Us?” She turns, finally, and the needles...or pins. They might be pins. Whatever the case, they're all over the floor now. “Sweetie Belle! I thought you girls were going to be...I had assumed...”
“Ahem...”
She gives an almost imperceptible flinch, and glares at me for a moment before pasting on what I'm sure is meant to be a natural and welcoming smile. “Ah...yes. Of course. Girls, this is...Empress Evelyn.” Oh, my, but that was almost a sneer. I try not to smirk too much, as I wave my hoof in a 'go on' gesture. “...Wielder of the...Dark Fire.” Pffft, oh, this is too good. The way her teeth are clenched. “Empress, these are Scootaloo, Apple Bloom, and...Sweetie Belle.” She hesitates, but I give her a Look and she relents. “My sister, and her friends.”
Alright, so that clarifies a little bit. Now that I know they're related, I think I can see some resemblance between the two unicorns, and knowing which of the other two are Apple Bloom and 'Scoots' should prevent any unfortunate lapses in conversation later on.
“And when she didn't arrive back when she promised she would, I had assumed she would be staying at Sweet Apple Acres again.”
Oooo, somebody's busted...but that's no fun, so I decide that this is as good a time as any to step in. “Well, from what I hear of it, they've got a wonderful excuse, and I don't mind the extra company at all.” I tilt my head. “I'll just keep them occupied, if you'd like to get back to work.”
It's not really an option, and despite her earlier 'enthusiasm', she's far less certain now. Which is fair, I guess. “...I'll be keeping an eye on you.”
Surprisingly bold. I approve. “Please do.” I turn back to the fillies, who at this point are, again, more confused than afraid. Which is a good thing, I think. “Come along girls. Let's stay out of Miss Sorority's way.”
“Rarity!”
“Of course.” I smirk, then grin when the orange one...Scootaloo...snickers. “There's a wonderful couch right over here.”
They allow themselves to be herded (heheh) away from what Rarity had designated her 'work' space, and settle on the couch without prompting. It's a little annoying that there's no room left for me, but I suppose that's...fine.
As I settle down in front of them, they just watch me. And, seeing the makings of an awkward silence coming together, I decide to avoid it. Because nobody deserves awkward silences.
“So, what is this I hear about a 'clean-up'?” I brush my mane away from my face so that my carefully arched brow and skeptical expression will have greater impact. “From the sound of it, there must have been quite the mess.”
Well, from the looks of things, 'guilty little foal' looks the same across species...foal? Child. So why...oh, kids are goats. Right. Stupid context-sensitive thought-censor...thing.
“We kinda...maybe might have, um...crashed a wagon.” Scootaloo offers.
“A crashed wagon took all three of you to pick up after?”
“Well...it was kinda...full'a fruit?” Apple Bloom apparently buys into the 'smile enough and they'll forgive you' school of thought.
“And we might have crashed it through a barn door.” Sweetie Belle, on the other hand, goes for 'forlorn and apologetic', which, frankly, might have swayed me if I was the one handing out punishments. And not actively attempting to be evil.
Still. “And what, exactly, led the three of you to crash a wagon full of fruit into a barn?” Because seriously...
Apple Bloom's forced smile turns to defensive pleading. “We were just tryin' ta get our Produce Deliv'ry Pony cutie marks.”
Well, that answered that question. Except not really. “Cutie marks?”
“Uh-huh! We try all sorts'a stuff to get our cutie marks!”
“But it doesn't really seem to work out very often. Even when it's totally awesome.”
“I dunno if I'd call crashin' inta the barn 'awesome', Scoots. I thought mah sister was gonna make us work all night...”
“Well, yeah, she was kinda scary. But that thing Sweetie did with those rubber bands? That was super awesome.”
“Yeah, guess yer right about that...”
While the byplay is amusing, I'm a little more interested in the way Sweetie Belle has started staring at me, and the weird convolution of emotions on her face. I can't decide whether she looks more like a kitten that needs to sneeze, or a puppy that just had its favorite toy taken away. Maybe somewhere between the two...
“You don't have a cutie mark.”
That little comment breaks the other two up from their banter, and then they're staring at me, too. And here I thought pony eyes were already huge...if theirs got any wider, I don't think they'd fit in their skulls.
Now, I'm not a detective or anything, since that sort've thing tends to require deeper thinking than I have the patience for. But I can connect 'cutie mark' with something they don't have, something I don't have, and something that I apparently should have. I hadn't really thought about it, before, but I was seeing a lot of unique tattoos on a lot of flanks around town. And, after a quick glance down to confirm what I'd seen in the mirror, I nod. “No, I don't.”
There are a couple of tiny gasps and some overlapping babbling, which is a little annoying, but then they're looking up at me with a...surprising amount of sympathy.
“Don't you got a special talent?”
...well thank you, Apple Bloom, for answer a question I hadn't been sure how to ask. And, after a moment's consideration, I have a perfect response, too.
“I am Empress Evelyne, the greatest Super Villain that Equestria will ever know...my talents are so varied and magnificent that no one cutie mark could properly encompass them.” I give a dignified sniff and affect a wounded air. “Obviously.” Their uncertainty and disappointment is irritating, and I sigh. “Of course, on of my many talents is offering Advice...so, perhaps I can help.”
Sweetie Belle looks thoughtful, then suspicious, and the other two take their cues from her in that. “You just said you're a villain, and you said we're hostages...so why would you help?”
“Well, I could certainly be unhelpful...would you prefer death-traps? Poisonous snakes, maybe?”
Their eyes widen, and they all share a look. “Uh, no...”
“Nope!”
“Helpin' is fine.”
“I am totally cool with helping. Really.”
“Wonderful!” I grin, and settle back. “Now then, you say you've tried quite a few things to get your...cutie marks...” Mental shudder and gag. “Why don't you tell Miss Evelyne what you've already...eliminated.”
After a few more moments of hesitation, they do.
It takes some time. And, when they finally agree that they've covered everything, I feel this strange combination of amusement, awe, and mortal terror. It's an...impressive resume, and really, I can only offer one response.
“Have you girls ever put any thought into careers in Evil?”
“You will not encourage them toward villainy!”
“Of course not." I wave a dismissive hoof at the seamstress without so much as a backwards glance. "Villainy requires skill and experience that these...precocious fillies rather lack. Minion work, perhaps...starting positions can be easy to get into, and the work is actually fairly rewarding. Not to mention the opportunities for advancement, once you've got the hang of things.”
They just look at me, for a minute, before huddling up whisper conspiratorially to each other. When they break again, Sweetie Belle takes the lead. “I think my sister is probably right, about this one...”
“Oh, don't let Rave Party put you off the idea.” The wordless vocalization of sheer frustration from behind me is immensely gratifying. “Tell you what...I wasn't planning on recruiting quite so soon, but once I have myself properly attired, I'll be in need of henchponies. And I think a group with your particular...enthusiasm would be a perfect first step.”
I stand, then, and begin to pace as I put together the best 'pitch' I can. “Now, I won't be offering full benefits immediately...in fact, the positions would likely start out as a part-time sort of affair. I'm not terribly formal, as far as that goes, though you would of course be held to certain standards...uniforms, appropriate behavior, that sort of thing...once I've secured a proper lair, though, we would adjust any arrangements as necessary.”
I pause mid-step, then turn back to them. “You would, of course, be learning on the job, which I believe suits you as far as your...cutie mark search...goes. A dynamic working environment and diverse responsibilities should offer plenty of opportunity to find something you're talented at. Payment options can be discussed at a later time, but I dare assume that you'll find them more lucrative than other options you might have.”
That covers all the basics, right? Note to self: hire lawyer. I should be able to get a good price on some consultation, at least. Professional courtesy and all that...
They huddle up again, which is interesting...and again, Sweetie Belle is the spokesfilly. “What kind of benefits?”
“Sweetie Belle!”
“Sorry!”
I turn to level a disapproving frown at Rarity. “I would like to see a finished product some time tonight, thank you.” She opens her mouth to argue, and with a bit of effort I snap it shut again. “Do remember your situation, won't you? There's a good girl...” Her glare could melt stone, and I am so glad that I could too, or that would be really intimidating.
From the looks of things, though, the fillies don't approve. Scootaloo particularly. “That was mean!”
“Super Villain.” I remind her. “Should you ever get into the business, you'll find yourself doing mean things fairly often.” Hmm, kinda negates the whole 'sell them on Evil' thing. “It's all in the name of keeping things manageable. A few mean words, a little bit of harmless prodding, and ponies fall in line without...more drastic measures coming into play.” I sigh. “It really is unfortunate when somepony with more guts than sense decides to make trouble...like the unruly foal in the group that makes the teacher upset and spoils things for everypony else in the class, hmm?”
“Well...”
“And I don't go out of my way to be mean...that would be entirely counterproductive. Miss Scarcity here is even helping me of her own free will. For a given value of 'free'.”
I ignore the muttered '...a little closer, at least...' from behind me, focusing my attention on the fillies...I'm not good at reading ponies, and never have been, but they're like an open...no, open books. Can you pluralize a phrase like that? I'd think so...
Curiosity and impatience, it seems, tend to overrule common sense. Apple Bloom breaks first.
“What do 'henchponies' do?”
“An excellent question!” I grin. “The simple answer is, of course, 'whatever needs to be done'. Generally, this will consist of preparation and cleanup during evil schemes, the operation and defense of both the lair and any and all doomsday weapons, artifacts, etc., that we bring into play, general security concerns...most of which you're rather young for, your inexperience another issue...” I trail off, tapping my chin thoughtfully for a few moments before waving the whole thing off. “Something to work out later, I think. If you decide you'd like to try it.”
They have yet another little pow-wow, and man that's a term I rarely get the chance to use. Never in conversation, either, it's always one of those snarky little extraneous thoughts. Lame...
“Alright.” Scootaloo speaks up. “We're in.”
“But no hurting anypony.” Sweetie Belle sounds more hesitant, looking past me to her sister. “And no more holding ponies hostage.”
“Hmm...” I consider her carefully, then shake my head. “Not much of a Super Villain if I don't occasionally capture somepony, or emotionally compromise a hero to thwart their attempts at stopping me.” Scootaloo actually seems to get it, nodding agreeably. Weird. “But...I suppose I can compromise on death-traps, and limit doomsday activities to a bare minimum for the first two years.”
Well, apparently that's good enough for them.
“Now, before we get ahead of ourselves, I should probably confirm that you do have some of the necessary skills...” Let's see. “Are any of you familiar with any or all of the basic cons?” That'd be a no. “The creation, modification, or disposal of explosive devices or materials?”
Apple Bloom raises her hoof. “Do fireworks count?”
“It's a starting point. We can work on that.” I nod. “What about double-entry bookkeeping?”
“What'sit whonow?”
“Thank you, Scootaloo, that would be a 'no'.” I sigh, and do my best to look aloof and considering. Considerate? Like I'm...considering...things. “Hmm...can you loom menacingly?”
They look between themselves for a moment, then, by some silent agreement, hop off the couch together and...bristle, like angry cats, their faces twisting up in what I'm sure are meant to be frightening expressions. Apple Bloom and Scootaloo growl fiercely; Sweetie Belle squeaks. Of course, that startles them all out of place, and she's left blushing furiously while her friends give her strange looks.
“...close enough.” My face hurts from not smiling. Darn. “You're in.”
“Really!?” Wow. That was...synchronized. When I nod, the last of their discomfort seems to just evaporate. I can tell, because suddenly they're grinning like they belong in nice padded rooms...
“Cutie Mark Crusaders henchponies, yay!”
...my poor eardrums.
“Perhaps I should rephrase.” I surreptitiously rub my ear, eyeing them for a moment. “You...will be in. There's discussion to be had, before we get to work, and that can wait.”
“I guess it is kinda late.” Apple Bloom sighs...then yawns. And suddenly they all look tired. Which is...what? I'm not a f...child...specialist or anything, but they don't bounce back and forth like that, do they? High to low? I mean, maybe if it involved lots of sugar, but...uh...
“Um...Miss Evelyne?” Sweetie Belle glances past me, toward the stairs. “Could we, uh...go to bed? If that's okay?”
Yeah, 'cause I'm gonna say 'no' to that face. Ugh. “I don't see why not, all things considered.” I glance back at Rarity, but she's completely focused on a sewing machine, which is kind've funny considering she was so determined to 'keep an eye on me' and to dissuade the fillies from the potential for greatness...just a few minutes ago. “I'm sure your sister will be done with my clothes shortly, so she'll be free for anything you might need.”
And suddenly they're clomping sleepily upstairs, leaving things relatively quiet and boring again.
Huh...
“Now wait just a moment!” Fff- really!? I press a hoof to my chest, take a deep breath to ward off my impending heart-attack, and turn, calmly, to eye the indignant dress-maker as she glares at me. “Don't you think I'll let these buckles distract me, or that you can keep me quiet forever! You'll not...” Her tirade cuts off suddenly, as she notices what isn't there. “Where did Sweetie go?”
“Off to bed, along with her delightful little friends.” I give a winning smile, not at all devious and conniving. “How is it coming along?”
“Hmph...you cannot rush genius, you...you ruffian.”
“No, no I can't.” I just keep smiling, and wait for her to catch it...ah, there it is. The way her face scrunches up makes me wish for a camera.
“Another hour.” She bites out. “And then I'll need to test the fit, and put some finishing touches on.”
“Of course, of course.” I move to lounge on the couch again...after a moment, reach for the magazine I'd been browsing not too long ago. “I can hardly wait.”
Which was very true. An hour later, I'm ready to start burning random objects just to pass the time.
Fortunately for her shop's supply of knick-knacks, Rarity wasn't being overly optimistic with her estimations, and when she 'requests' that I take my place on the dais in front of the mirrors I'm more than happy to 'acquiesce'.
It's striking. Likely memorable, as expected. Rarity had no interest in promises of money or power, but the chance to design something specifically to make a splash, something that would be seen, would come with a reputation...well, apparently it was enough to sway her. And she really did deliver.
I have to say, I like it. Basic black, because of course; there are also shades of darker tan and cream that seem to complement my coat and mane...the overall impression is something like a ball-gown, or something I'd wear to a funeral...if I were the kind of pony that tended to go to funerals, or wear...gowns, to them.
Lots of black lace. Not sure why she had so much of that, but it certainly...'accents' things nicely. Or something. I like the collar, especially; it's all elegant and spikey, and the satin lining is really soft. Which is weird, because I'm covered in fur. Hair. Whatever. Lace wouldn't really be scratchy on it, and satin shouldn't feel super soft, but...
“Be careful with the magic.” I scold, narrowing my eyes as that blue glow sweeps through my mane.
“The 'look' isn't complete without a few other alterations.” She mumbles, and I keep a close eye on the black ribbon that works its way into my mane as she braids it. She ties it off when she's done, then brings more ribbons into play. These are heavier, and several of them are held together with light, silvery buckles; she weaves them into the gown, through some ingenious little belt-loop things that I hadn't noticed before...some of them wrap around my forelegs, some just drape. It's all very...unnecessarily decorative.
“I like it.”
“Wonderful!” She smiles...and then my hooves go out from under me as the ribbons all tighten at once, pulling my legs together and up against my stomach. My chin hits the floor first, and not only do I just barely avoid biting off my own tongue, but I feel like I just got whiplash. Lashed? Whatever...pain!
“Gaaah!” I fall on my side, squeezing my eyes shut because ow. “Pain...why always with the pain?”
Dammit. Okay. Eyes open. Where's the pony? There's the pony. She's moving the tables as quickly as she can, but doesn't seem to be able to do more than one at a time. Which is good. For me.
I lift her off the ground with a thought...the way she squeals and runs in place is adorable. So is the way she slumps in defeat as I float her over to me.
Loosening the ribbons enough to free my legs is a little more difficult; I still suck at delicate stuff, apparently. Still, I manage, and when I get back to my hooves, I feel a wonderful sense of accomplishment.
“You...clever little minx.” I grin, turning her around to face me. “That was sneaky, devious even. I didn't suspect a thing...I approve entirely.” I look to my reflection, then, take some time to admire the look now that it isn't trying to kill me. “And this really is excellent work. I'll take it.”
“...what?”
“You heard me.” I set her down, and look to her expectantly. “Make your finishing touches, then pack it up for me to take with me.”
She sputters, stammers, and finally just gapes at me.
Bweheheh.
I win.
I stand just outside the Carousel Boutique, a pair of new saddlebags on my back and an impressive dress inside those.
The town is dark, only a few street-lamps to cast their glow; it's not much, compared to the bright, silvery moon overhead. That's pretty darn impressive, actually...I don't think I've ever seen the moon so bright. Which makes sense, because this isn't the moon, it's...a moon. Different moon. Maybe it's got a different...reflective...property. Thing.
Oh, man, and the stars! The stars are great. I can actually see them! Which is way more than I could claim back home. Awesome. Stargazing, that can be a thing now. That's great.
Wait, I'm stalling. Why am I stalling? I've got the name, I've got the clothes, by tomorrow I'll have the beginnings of the rep, I've got some potential (and destructive) recruits...that covers everything, right? I mean, what could I be mi-
“I'm homeless.”
Oh, yeah.
That.
“...buck everything. Twice.”
Author's Note
Minimum editing and posting-while-sleep-deprived.
Errors and issues will be fixed as they're noticed/pointed out.
And a preemptive note regarding the 'swearing': It's literally just finding the closest available replacement. Whether it's of the 'gosh-dang it' variety, or nonsense that just happens to fit via rhyming or rhythm. Applebucking is a thing Applejack does, not an actual swear.
DIY Lairs for Every Occasion
I'm not an 'outdoorsy' pony. Cities, those are great, gimme concrete and blacktop and nobody being able to drive because there’s too much traffic. Heck, I don't even mind dirt. And grass is okay once and awhile.
It's the bucking trees that are getting to me.
“And that is getting on my la-hrgk!” I cough, fall on my flank as I try (and fail) to back away from the low-hanging branch I'd just run into. Then I get to enjoy the experience of spitting out the bark and leaves and junk that I'd stripped off the damn thing when it smacked me in the mouth.
“Grrrr...” I glare at the offending branch, and tear it down with my magic...when that's not enough, I turn my attention to the wretched tree that spawned it, spend almost a minute trying to figure out just how to 'grab' it so I can yank it out of the ground and tear it into kindling! Things get kinda blurry, after that, but when I do manage to calm down a little more I get to appreciate the pile of scorched wood arranged in front of me.
For a little while, at least. Then I remember that this is just one tree. And there's about sixty bajillion more in this heckhole of a forest.
And unlike the 'White Tail Woods' where I showed up, there aren't any convenient paths or clearings to make things easier on me. I'd murder an innocent family for a path right now.
...wait, I can think 'I'd murder a bunch of random ponies', but not an applebucking swear word? Are you...I...what!?
“GRAH!”
Well, that's two down. Sixty bajillion minus two. Take that, nature.
“Enough. No more wrecking trees. I'm here for a reason, darn it. So I'm just gonna pull myself together, and keep moving. Yup. That's the plan. Anybody have a problem with that?” I wait, and sure enough, there's that cricket. I blast the general area that the sound is coming from, wait patiently as the dirt and burning twigs settle...blessed silence. “That's what I thought.
I start walking again.
Three days in pony-land, and I think I'm starting to adjust. Tree-burning and homelessness aside. I didn't even freak out when I ate that daisy sandwich, earlier. So this? This is easy. Easy like Sunday morning. Or something to that effect...why are Sunday mornings supposed to be easy? Does it matter? Do ponies have a 'Sunday'? I haven't seen any calendars yet...for all I know they don't even have a seven da-
Thunk
“Ffff-”
Tree. Trees are the true form of evil. Springing up in front of unsuspecting ponies and bashing them in the face...
“Ooowwwiiie.” I sniffle...to test my snout, of course. Make sure the tree didn't break it or anything. “Stupid nature. What am I even doing out here?”
Oh, yeah...
Earlier -
“Ya think we should wake'er up?”
“I dunno. Maybe we should go tell somepony...
“Are you crazy? My sister would get us all grounded for a month!”
“No way! Rarity couldn't manage that!”
“Could too. Apple Bloom knows what I'm talking about.”
“...yeah, Ah gotta go with Sweetie on this.”
“Ugh. You guys-”
“Aren't very quiet, for ponies who are trying not to wake somepony up.” I finally open my eyes, shifting to get my hooves under me...yelp and accidentally bite the inside of my lip as my attempt to stand results in the top of my head smacking into the lantern hanging down from the ceiling of my little 'shelter'. “Son of a-” Great start...and cripes, my neck. I really shouldn't get in the habit of sleeping on the ground. Floor. Whatever.
Wait a second. These fillies are familiar. “You three?” How the heck did they track me down? “What're you doin' here?”
The three in question share a look, which is quite an effort considering the way they’re bunched up in the little door. “Uh...this is our clubhouse?”
Oh. Yes, well. That’s a good reason, I suppose. “And it was so gracious of you to allow your new Evil Overlady to stay for the night.” Though it really could have done with a pillow or something. Maybe some blankets. A toothbrush.
Good gravy I could use a toothbrush.
“We didn’t let’cha stay here.” Apple Bloom frowns up at me. “We didn’t even know you were here!”
I wave it off, because it really is too early to try and make up some kind of convincing argument against that. “Details, details…”
“Wait.” Sweetie Belle looks thoughtful (then annoyed, as Scootaloo finally gets fed up with being scrunched and wriggles her way into the ‘clubhouse’ proper). “Why’d you stay here last night?”
Hmmm, how best to put it…
“Oh, oh! Were you going to meet up with us to talk about henchponying but you fell asleep?”
That from a suddenly-much-too-close-to-me Scootaloo. I take a moment to back away. Not easy, considering the close confines. “Ahem...yes. Absolutely. That is what I did.”
And just like that, I have a tiny but attentive audience arrayed in front of me. Grinning and eager and sweet baby jay I can feel my teeth rotting.
“Well then. Since you’ve all finally arrived...the first order of business, if your business is Supervillainy.”
Um…
Hmmm…
Oh!
I narrow my eyes, and offer up my most eeevil smile. “A secret lair.”
Now -
Right, okay. New rule. Don’t crowdsource housing ideas if your crowd consists mostly of excitable twelve-year-olds. Or however-old-fillies-of-that-age-are.
I groan, grab a couple of branches with my not-so-handy but definitely dandy magic to shove them out of my way. “C’mon! How hard can it be to find a giant castle in the middle of the w-”
Crack-Thwack!
That was one of the branches snapping at its base, and hitting me right in the flank. The end result is...some panicked whinnying, directionless bucking, and quite a bit of fire.
...I really don’t want to talk about it.
So here I am. Panting, irritated, bucking twigs in my mane, and all I have to show for it is some scorched earth and a couple of wrecked trees...oh. Yeah.
“That definitely looks like a castle.”
I knew my exceptional sense of direction would serve me well. Oh, and it looks wonderful. Crumbling stone, a true ruin...ominous and foreboding, surrounded by mist and moody lighting. There’s just...one...little problem.
That being the chasm separating me from my goal. And the rickety, half-ruined rope bridge that leads across it.
“I could just turn around and go back to the clubhouse.”
In theory. Like, it’s entirely possible that that’s a thing I could do. Absolutely. I don’t necessarily have to cross that...death-trap of a bridge, over that very deep, very disturbing crack in the ground. I could do that.
“Ehhhnnnnggg…”
I step, very carefully, onto the first plank. It creaks audibly, the whole bridge shifting in the breeze.
“Heeeeeeeeeeeeeee-”
And then I...scramble like mad to get across as fast as possible oh buck oh sugar oh motherbuckingheck that board just snapped aaaaaaahhhhhhhh
Oh, hey, I’m on solid ground again.
I take a few, completely normal gasping breaths, take a moment to pull myself together because this is...a moment of triumph, yes, because my lair-to-be is right there. Very good. Very lair.
Now...now I’ll just need to figure out how to get inside.
Maybe after a short break. For reasons.
(oh holy heck, that was terrifying)
The way in turns out to be a very large set of doors. The wood is half-rotted through, which isn’t very useful, but it definitely makes getting rid of them easier. Except now I’ll need to figure out how to get rid of a whole bunch of wood ash. Hmm. Well, at least all those metal fixings are still useful. Probably. Maybe. I mean, they’re still mostly shaped like they’d been before.
Whatever. The important thing is, now I’m inside. Now I can actually explore a little bit.
Where to start, where to start? There are open archways leading off the...lobby? Is this a lobby? What do you call the entryway of a castle? Eh, whatever, not important. I could just pick one of those...or maybe head upstairs first.
Or…
“Meh.” I hang right, and trot fearlessly into the nearest archway. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
Kerthunk.
“Ow.” Okay. Yeah. Fine. “Trapdoor.” I consider the walls for a minute...then pull one down and trot out into an open corridor. “The castle has traps.”
That is…
“Eeeee, this place is so bucking perfect!”
“Oh my gosh.” There’s a goshdarned pipe organ. And while I can’t really do anything but mash at it with my hooves...well, I can make that work.
So yeah, maybe I change into my new dress and spend an hour or so flaring my skirts dramatically and pounding out dramatic noises on my new pipe organ. And if I maybe make up a monologue or two while I’m at it, that’s just...practice.
Practice makes perfect, right?
Ooo, hall of armor. Ponies have full plate, apparently. Dark, ominous, spiky armor. Dark, ominous, spiky, heavy armor.
“Oof.” Very heavy. Wow. Okay. Gonna magic that off. And probably I won’t be adding it to my ensemble any time soon. Still, it’s nice as far as decorations go.
Is that a creepy tunnel? Nice.
So the creepy tunnel is a way back to the lobby place. Cool. Now I can head upstairs. Past the tattered banner things (very nice, but the sun-and-moon motif is gonna have to go), up-up-up the stairs...there’s a balcony up here looking over the lobby, very nice...actually, perfect.
Heroes come in the front, I’m up here to meet them. “Hellooo~!”
‘Helloooo~’
Oh yes, those are some nice acoustics. When I belt out an evil cackle, it echos back twice as terrible. Had I mentioned this place was perfect? Because it was gosh-darned perfect.
So many books. Ugh, why would anyone have this many books?
I sneeze, snuffle, grimace as I back out of the dusty library and slam the door shut. Yeah, so maybe not everything about this place is awesome, but whatever.
“Hmmm.” Scorch marks on the floor, broken stone bits, rearing statue, shattered windows, crumbling pillars...some serious junk went down in here.
A dark and troubled history, huh? Maybe I’ll be able to co-opt that. Will have to consider.
Something for later, though.
And this would be the throne room. Two thrones, side-by-side...still with the Sun and Moon thing. Didn’t mix ‘n match mention some kinda princess or something that controlled the sun? Guess this used to be her digs.
Welp. Finders keepers. Obviously, she doesn’t spend much time in this place, so she doesn’t get to complain when somebody else moves in.
Gonna have to do something about this setup though. The thrones are raised, side-by-side, but I’m not sure how well I could fit something in the middle bit that connects them...also, wait, those are thrones. Like...not-pony thrones. How do they-?
I trot over and, with a little effort, pull myself up onto the...surprisingly comfortable cushion. Blue isn’t really my color, anymore, but there’s nobody around to play critic…
Okay. So I’m just sort of sitting. And it works. Go figure.
“Ponies are weird.”
So, throne-design. Another thing on my to-do list.
Still, I need to find…
...a way back in, apparently. Which isn’t what I was looking for, but there was another trap door and a very long slide and I’m just really not happy with that. Dammit. Still, now I know where it is, and also where there’s a very spiffy courtyard. Not sure what I’d use it for, but heck, if I’ve got one I’ll probably find a use for it. Right?
That’s how that works, I’m pretty sure. It’s like having a backyard, or a garage. Wait, is it literally like that? Are courtyards the junk-storage of castledom? I feel like maybe I should have read up on medieval housing practices…
A malevolent chuckle echoes through the courtyard. It wasn’t me.
Actually, it was the pony-shaped shadow drifting along just out of the corner of my eye. It disappears through a wall.
...ghost.
The creepy castle is haunted.
Did I...did I mention this place is perfect?
“Bedroom!” Yaasss. This is what I was looking for.
It’s pretty dusty in here, too, but that’s an easy fix; open the windows, magic a blanket into the air...then stand on the other side of the door and go wild with it. Flap-flap-flap-flap-flap...heheh. This is actually kinda fun!
Still, have to stop eventually. And I did a pretty good job, too! There’s some scattered leaves and a couple books or journals or something that blew open and lost some pages, but there’s not so much in the way of dust anymore and that’s all I really care about.
Well that, and the bed. Oh, this bed. Let me tell you about the bed. It’s soft. It’s clean, somehow. It smells very faintly of moonlight, which is kinda weird but I don’t really care because buck it’s so comfortable.
Maybe magic ain’t so bad.
At some point, I’m going to have a whole lot of work to do, getting my not-so-shiny lair in order. But for now?
For now, it’s naptime.
Author's Note
A short chapter to get this thing up and running again. Though I may stick with this length as time goes on and as things inevitably take a turn for the snappy and minimally developed.
