In Remembrance

by Ponyess

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Alternate Universe, Other, Princess Luna, Random, Pinkie Pie, Human
Length: 2588

This all started about Sixteen years ago. I never got to know her, just like so many other kids never knew their fathers. She did leave me a Mark, though. A mark that reminds me of where I came from, and the joy I was meant to spread.

I have heard her tell me all the stories of Diana and how wonderful she was, but I never saw her myself first hand. The strange thing is that I do recall things and recognise facets from the story in myself.

She never told me Diana is the pink mare otherwise known as Pinkie Pie, maybe she wanted to protect me from what others would say, if they got wind of these facts.

How can one be the daughter of a fictional character, when she is a mare, when I do have my mother here? Is this why she merely refers to her as Diana?

There is this strange detail about a birth mark resembling a box. I just reasonably noticed the blue balloon on one of the sides of this box. Had the mark been in any other place, I could have ignored it, but it clearly is on my flank, or thigh as we Humans call it.

If only I could be permitted to have the fortune to see her again and for her to hold one of her signature Parties?

Published 2014-12-30 05:30:08 UTC
Last updated 2015-02-03 03:34:40 UTC

Episode: 1

Author's Note

Diana's POV

Episode: 1

Yesterday was my fifteen birthday, and it had been a blast. The balloons, the streamers, the cake and the games. All the things Mum had told me a party could not work without. She had managed to produce everything for the party, wherever she got it from and whomever made it all happen, but it was just right for me.

It isn’t the gifts I had been given, as much as I may love some of them. It is in the friends who had been there and the fun we had had. It is what it all comes down to, the fun and the laughing you had or did with your friends.

Although I had been given a few books I will price above all else. If I can bake a Muffin or cake, but I will love and treasure the book as a memento of who and what I am. Will I ever throw a party? I still will love and treasure the book written by her, on the subject.

Naturally, I had to wake up, bright and early, remembering the entire party, second by second as if I had still been there. It had been a blast well worth remembering, a memento as it were.

I lie quietly, just looking at the fading image of the dream of the final moment of the night. I don’t really have to try to remember it, I know I can’t forget an instant of it. As the last of the image faded away, I open my eyes and fold the quilt to the side before I slide my feet out of bed and down to the floor.

As I sit up, a thought hit me. What if I was to try to replicate the move? If I have a balloon on my flank to, could I pull it off and inflate mine, just as she did?

I raise to my feet and look around; everything is where it should be, where my memories dictated they should be, I am utterly certain of it. The sliding door is at the foot end of the bed, opposing the window with the bright pink curtains and a small desk crafted out of white beach wood, a comfortable, modern office chair behind it.

On the final wall I have my wardrobe, opposing the bed. I have all my clothes in there. The shot to the wash bin in the basement is also there. I don’t have enough clothes to fill the wardrobe so I have my books lined up in the wardrobe too. I don’t have all that much room for them in my small room anyway.

Naturally, the wallpapers are pink with balloons, streamers and little Ponies on them. The balloons are blue and yellow, while the streamers are in all the colours of the rainbow.

I had managed to convince them to cover the door with the wallpaper as well, they had to cut the paper in order to liberate the door, but that is no problem. At least the entire wall is now covered with the wallpaper, only the furniture and the window obscure a small space of the motif.

The one thing that stands out in my room right now is an enlarged, framed photo of Pinkie Pie. It is a poster size image, much the way I could have had a signed photo of any Idol or loved relative. I had been told it was taken as she visited my mother, months before I was born, which would be the only time it could have been taken.

I stand with my hands on my hips as I watch the photo. Just moving my right hand to the flank as I pulled the blue balloon off of my thigh. Astonished and momentarily dumbfounded I just stare at the electric metallic blue signature balloon as it shimmer in the morning light for a good long minute.

“Ooooh!” I moaned, as it sank in and I finally realized I had actually pulled the trick and the balloon off.

A moment later I tentatively blow the balloon up. I stop as the balloon has grown to about a foot in diameter, before I tie it together and let go of it, only to see it leisurely floating up towards the ceiling where it just stopped, before sliding to a spot, roughly over my pillow where it lies now.

“Okay, what just happened?” I pondered for a moment.

“I guess I passed that test since I could pull the balloon off of my flank and blow it up!” I continued.

“That was fun, but I need breakfast right about now!” I finally concluded as I walked to the door.

I walk to the door of my wardrobe and open the door, looking into the small room where my clothes are hanging, or lying neatly folded, awaiting the instant I choose to pull them out since I need them. Now I allow my panties to fall to the floor and kick them up and grab them in my right hand in a fluid motion, before I drop them into the wash-bin. Pulling out a pair of fresh panties and step into them, tentatively tugging them into place before I pull out a bright pink skirt, almost identical to the Mare who originally gave me not only the books, but the joy and life I am now living, stepping into it, merely giving it a tentative tug, before I pick a matching top, holding it up over my head, feeling it slide along my arms, before I tug it into place.

Taking a few steps to the door, pushing the door to the side and walk out into the small hall between the bed rooms on the second floor, closing the door behind me. I pass the doors on my way to the flight of stairs and then walking down to the ground level and into the hall. From here I continue into the kitchen, rummaging the fridge, pulling out the desired food items, before walking to the table and slap the food down before my seat and sit down.

First I pour up Cider from the pitcher, before I pull place it on the table and pick up the glass, slowly sipping the fizzy liquid for a long moment, just enjoying the taste and texture of the cider I just poured myself.

As I set the glass down onto the table, I had empties it. Now I slip my left hand down to the rim of my skirt, lifting it just enough to see the mark I had discovered, only to notice that I still did have a balloon where it should be, both on the right and the left side. Just the one balloon on one side of the cubical box.

For a moment I pondered the consequences and effects of what had happened and what I had done, just before I dressed up and went down to have my breakfast. I had to explore this further.

I then picked up a delicious looking red apple and threw it into the air and caught it in my mouth, chewing it vigorously before swallowing the last of the juicy mass the apple had turned into. From there I continued by picking a Muffin and pulling the paper of from under it and slipping it into my mouth, chewing it leisurely, enjoying every last bite of it.

A Slight Detour: 2

Since I had enjoyed my breakfast, it is time to do something else. The weather told me to go out and enjoy myself. With that I walked out to the hall, picking up a pair of socks, matching the ensemble I wear, slipping the socks on, right and left, only lifting my feet in order to manage. Then I pick up a shiny pink shoe and slip my foot in, before I pick up the left and slip the other foot in. With that I open the door and walk out.

“Diana, are you going out?” Mum inquired as she heard the door.

“Yeah, can’t stay in moping all day in this fine weather!” I responded.

“Okay, then I know you are out. Are you back for lunch?” she continued.

“I think so!” I continued.

“Then I will have lunch for you in a few hours!” she pointed out, just before I closed the door.

As I look up, I can clearly see the sun, just a few summer clouds chasing one-another over the clear, bright blue sky. This is the perfect day to be outside. Certainly not a day to be indoors, I could do that any day.

I could have gone out, barefoot, but I do love my pink shoes. Once I had chosen to wear the shoes, I could as well wear the socks under as well, while I am at it.

A pair of simple looking girls’ shoes and white socks is all that is between my bare feet, not all that much. I still do feel the ground as I step out.

From time to time, I cast a glance up towards the sky, imagining the sun followed a path dictated by the Princess my Mum had called Celestia, at the times she spoke of the tails Pinkie Pie told her of the place she came from and later returned to. I guess that was inevitable. She couldn’t abandon her friends and leave the village desolate and in the despair she had seen as she had her mark mixed up.

I had just discovered the balloon in the box on my flank, then I had managed to pull it off of my flank and inflate it, as if it had been an ordinary balloon you bought in any shop? It felt so personal and intimate, I can’t just show it off as if it was the latest hype. I know girls doesn’t have these marks, and they can’t pull balloons off of their flanks either.

I know I am special, I always knew that much, just not quite how special. I am the one known daughter of Pinkie Pie, yet living in the world of regular Humans. What was I to do and how could I make my own place here?

With the mark of the balloon manifested, maybe I could throw parties, just like her? Could I make them happy and laugh and smile, just as Pinkie Pie was known to do? I know I am not her. I am a different individual in a very different realm. Possibilities and options are different, not directly limited.

Either way, I have to throw a party, to try to make a few friends happy, even if I couldn’t explain the reasons behind my drive to throw this one party. With that, I had to buy a few things, like balloons, confetti and streamers. Then I had to buy all the other things we did not have at home, required for the party.

If they don’t know I have my own supply of balloons, I need a cover to show them. For now, I have neither streamers, nor confetti, so I need to buy these supplies for the party as well. Maybe the next side of my box on the mark will contain confetti or streamers, but until I have them in my hands, I need to buy them as well.

Good thing I live in a reasonably large community, they have more than one store selling the items I am looking for. I just need to go through the entire stock of the respective item in the available stories in order to pick up a few different packages to see what they have.

The little city is great, I love my suburb. The little villas lined up, house by house on both sides of the road. The beautiful green lawns on the front, the paths laid with stone tiles or bricks, the neat decorative fences and the flowers planted before their respective homes. For some reason, I have a special love for the pink roses.

I live on a street connecting to the southbound road to the center of our city. I never did read the signs, I just know where to go, as if I had had an internal GPS, which sounds like a silly expression, but they seem to love selling them with the mobile phones, these days.

The first store I came across from where I live is Toys’R’Us, they are known to sell all kinds of toys for children of all ages. Even for the older boys, known as men. They profess having toys for any who may desire them, which I guess they do. Just as they have toys, they have a small compliment of fairly high quality balloons. I only look at the once crafted out of actual, pure rubber. I don’t like the plastic variants. They just don’t have the quality I need. If the colours are better, who cares?

I found a few streamers and confetti as well. I chose to take a package of shiny pink balloons in the average size and the regular shape. Then I picked a package of confetti and another package of streamers.

Once I had made my choices, I slowly made my way towards the exit and approached the counter, where the girl sits, waiting for her customers to check out the items of choice, which is where I promptly paid for the three packages.

“A very fine choice, high quality. You really love the best, I take it. Planning a party, I take it!” she suggested.

“Yeah, I love quality. I’m toying with the idea of throwing a party, so I need to see the items firsthand in order to see how best to use them. It will be a blast!” I responded.

“Throwing a party with quality, that is bound to be a blast!” she responded.

“That is why I pick the best I could find. I may need a few more for the party, I will be back to pick them up in time for preparing that. Although I may have to ask to see more specific items for the party, in time before I open the doors to my party!” I responded.

“Quality always makes the difference. Now you make me wish I could be on the party. I fear I am too old and busy, though!” she added.

“Sure is worth to pay a little extra for quality. The difference is worth more than just adding more items. If you can’t go in person, there is the chance you know someone who could enjoy the party?” I offered.

“Like a daughter?” she inquired, in a more curious tone of voice.

“Sounds just about right. For now, I consider to have it on a weekend. Best time since you are supposed to relax and have fun!” I responded.

“Yeah, that is exactly what the weekend was intended for. A laid-back party with friends, what could possibly be better?” she put forth.

“Exactly!” I responded, just as I had gathered my items and continued on my way, out of the store.

With that, I walk out the door, pondering which store was next. I like the items I had found, this far, but it never hurt to at least see, what the other stories could offer.

Author's Note

Diana's POV