"Woah!" Sonata said. "Déjà vu!"
It was the first thing Adagio heard as she emerged from the common bedroom, still shivering a little from a forgotten nightmare. Sonata and Aria, already awake, were seated on opposite sides of the small main room, and each was staring at a monitor.
"Sonata, if you're gonna sit there and chat with your imaginary boyfriend, at least do it quietly." Aria barely moved as she said this.
"He's not imaginary!" Sonata's tone reminded Adagio of a protesting child. "He's typing to me right now! He says, 'BRB, gotta get mah hot pockets out.'"
Until recently, Adagio might have chastised them for bickering. But there was little point. The trio's new lair was not big enough for those two. She looked forward to when she could move them into one of the houses she had recently acquired. But for now, those had to remain a secret. The Controller insisted.
She felt the Controller begin to pull her toward the door, one step at a time. They had work to do.
It had begun speaking to her the night after the sirens had lost their powers. Its voice was not of words, but of notions that passed through her mind. In her desperation, she had accepted its help, and it immediately began pulling her this way and that. It was not like the subtle manipulation of siren song, but rather a tugging sensation, as if Adagio were a marionette pulled by a thousand invisible lines attached to every muscle in her body. It didn't hurt, but was always more than a little unnerving.
Adagio knew there was far more to this arrangement than she could see, for after the agreement was made, she had begun having frequent nightmares from which she awoke in a cold sweat and could not recall.
Still, she thought, she could do a lot worse for a partner. As she passed the streets of south Canterlot at a jog, she smiled as she noted the properties they had acquired under assumed names.
First you get the money. Then you get the power. Then...
"Revenge." The word was sweet on Adagio's lips.
She wondered about the Controller's motive for helping her. Was it doing some sort of justice that only it understood? Did it have some great cosmic objective Adagio couldn't begin to guess at?
Or did all this somehow amuse it?
The Controller steered her toward a long, narrow alleyway between two tall, decaying buildings. Today, they would take new territory. Violence would be necessary.
In the course of thousands of years, she had never needed mortal weapons. But now, she kept a small submachine gun in her belt, a long knife in her boot, and a snubnosed revolver in her padded bra. They were crude tools compared to siren song, but the Controller had an affinity for them, and Adagio for once had no better ideas.
As she stepped into the refuse-strewn corridor, some six or seven mean-faced men and women emerged from shadowed doorways in either wall. They were dressed in shabby denim and wore red bandanas, either on their heads or around their upper left arms. Each carried one of the poor man's implements of carnage: crowbars, baseball bats, hammers, and even a chainsaw.
A rough voice shouted, "You're dead, bitch!" And as one, they charged.
On the Controller's impulse, Adagio drew the submachine gun, leveled it, and raked the alley with bullets. She barely knew how to use such weapons, but the Controller was a deadly shot, and in a matter of seconds, a mess of perforated bodies was all that remained of the enemy.
Adagio knew there would be others, for there always were. The Controller reloaded, chambered the first round, and began to direct her forward, checking in each doorway and behind each obstacle. But it didn't notice the small, dark figure that silently dropped down behind her from the fire escape where it had been hiding. The figure's hands gripped the hilt of a long, curved blade that whistled as it moved through the air.
There was a flash of sunlight on steel, and Adagio heard a horrible shlupping sound. Something warm and wet sprayed against the underside of her chin. She looked to the ground at her feet, and what she saw there made her think of raspberry jam.
* * *
Button Mash grunted in annoyance and hit the option that read, "Reload from checkpoint." Again he guided Adagio from the common bedroom and set out to claim that last stubborn slice of south-side territory.
"Woah!" he heard Sonata say. "Déjà vu!"
The Cutie Mark Crusaders Meet H.P. Fearcraft
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The Cutie Mark Crusaders Meet H.P. Fearcraft
"'Scuse me, Mister. Are you H.P. Fearcraft?"
A tired-looking grey stallion looked up from his salad and regarded the three fillies. His expression and manner were those of one realizing he had made a mistake by seeking peace and quiet at an outdoor cafe on a busy street. That is, he was struggling to not respond snappishly.
"In the flesh," he said. "And for that matter, the bone."
For a moment, the Crusaders paused at this unusual introduction, before Apple Bloom, who had been the first to speak, said: "We heard you have a scorpion for a pet."
"And you wear this freaky white mask when you write..." Sweetie Belle said.
"And you eat red meat!" Scootaloo said, grinning at the thrill of an encounter with the strange and unusual.
"The first two rumors are true," Fearcraft said. "The third was started by me."
Apple Bloom cocked an eyebrow. "Why in th' world would you do a thing like that?"
"It is a small town. I wanted to see how long a scandalous rumor would take to get back to me." Fearcraft's eyes narrowed a bit, and his voice gained a bitter undertone. "In this case, about six minutes."
Awkward glances passed between the Crusaders before Fearcraft spoke again.
"Unless you're avid readers of weird fiction, I assume that's how you know about me. And I believe I've heard of you three—the, ah, 'Cutie Mark Crusaders'."
"That's right," Apple Bloom said. "We were just wonderin', well..."
"About this?" he gestured to the marking of the horse's skull and crossed hip bones on his left flank.
The fillies nodded in tandem.
Fearcraft glanced at a small cloth satchel that sat on the table beside his plate. Then he turned back to the Crusaders with his eyebrows arched and a devilish smile on his muzzle. "Alright," he said, "here is the story, to the best of my recollection.
"My family lived on an estate in Hollow Shades. To the south of town, rising out of the forest, there stood a lone hill upon which no plant ever grew. There, the powdery, pale grey soil exuded a foul smell—like burning rubber mixed with rotting meat. If you went to the hill alone and stood at the top, and waited quietly, you might begin to feel as though some presence were watching you. But when you looked around, you saw you were alone.
"The village children used to dare one another to stand alone up there, but I was the only one who did so regularly, and without being asked, for I was unafraid—relatively, at least.
"One night, I went to sleep with a heavy heart, because I had been asked by the schoolmarm to write a short story, and with a dearth of inspiration, had run out of time. The story was due the next morning, and I was doomed.
"But that night, I had a vivid dream. I found myself at the edge of town, and something compelled me to go into the woods. Soon, I found myself climbing the dead hill. There was no wind, and so the foetor was stronger than on any of my previous visits, and twice I nearly gagged. At length I reached the top, and stood at the centre, facing south.
"I waited—I didn't know what for, or for how long. I felt no wind in my hair, and heard none of the forest's usual night sounds. There were neither moon nor stars, but a sourceless ambient glow made this night clearer than most.
"After few minutes, movement from above caught my eye, and I looked up to see the clouds swirling in a great vortex above me, as if they were being drained away from the skies and into some aether beyond the equine eye's ability to see. The heavenly whirlpool glowed with bloody red light.
"Then, I felt a sharp pain in my right fore ankle, and I will never forget what I saw when I looked down. A talon made of of long, thin white bones, reaching out of the dirt, had fastened around the limb.
"I tried to scream, but choked on the pervasive stench. I scrambled backward, and though the thing that gripped me did not hold me back, neither did it let go. As I retreated, I pulled more of the macabre limb from the ground. I remember it being long, thin, and intricate, which was odd, given the strength with which it held me. Whatever was down there, I was helping it out of the earth.
"After I pulled a considerable length of bone from the ground, something halted my progress—as if the thing had snagged. I gathered my strength and gave a mighty heave. There came a cracking from below, and the greater part of it burst forth in a shower of dust. I saw what must have been ribs, a spine, shoulder blades... not a single one of which quite resembled that of any creature known to the modern world.
"But the skull! I will take its unnatural features to my grave. To this day, I still sometimes see it when I close my eyes. And it looked something like...
"This!" In a flash of off-white light, Fearcraft flung open the satchel on the table and drew forth a grotesque mask. It had a flat face, sharp teeth, and a carnivore's jaw, and Fearcraft glowered at the Crusaders through its empty eye sockets.
Sweetie recoiled, wide-eyed. Scootaloo grinned and leaned forward. Apple Bloom rolled her eyes.
"Well, at any rate..." Fearcraft returned the mask to its bag, and continued. "I awoke then, covered in cold sweat. It was just past the witching hour. I ran to my typewriter, and when the marm called for the stories that day, I was ready.
"Unfortunately, she was a mare of limited imagination, and tried to have me expelled, saying I was disturbed, and must be dangerous. I was obliged from then on to attend the school across town. And although the image of bones on my hide often makes introductions dubious, I've been told it suits me.
"When I found this mask in a Manehattan junk shop many years later, I recognized its shape from my dream. The merchant told me he bought it from a zebra pedlar, but no zebra I have ever spoken to has recognized it—or so they have said.
"At any rate, it has been useful. Some ponies have thinking caps, and I have a thinking mask. But someday, I hope to learn what I saw in that fateful dream."
Those present sat silent for a moment. Then, Scootaloo perked up, ruffled her wings, and said, "That was really cool, Mr. Fearcraft!"
"Ah, yeah. 'Cool'." Apple Bloom only partly resisted rolling her eyes again.
Sweetie said nothing, but something in the distance caught her eye, and she tapped on her friends' shoulders, then pointed to where she was looking.
Scootaloo frowned and said, "Uh, thanks, Mr. Fearcraft, but we've got lots more to do today, so..."
The three made hurried goodbyes and trotted away, side by side. Fearcraft turned his attention back to his plate.
A moment later, a new voice piped up from almost the same place as the Crusaders' had. "Hello, Mr. New Guy." The tone was flippant.
Fearcraft grunted with annoyance, and turned to see two fillies wearing expensive jewelry and impish expressions.
The one with the tiara spoke again. "We saw you talking to those three blank-flanks. Obviously, you haven't heard."
"Heard what, exactly?" Fearcraft's tone suggested he had had about enough of curious fillies.
"Well, a grown-up like you should know: It's bad to be seen hanging around with losers." She emphasized the last word. "Ponies might say things about you."
"I'll take it under advisement," Fearcraft said. "Say, do you want to know how I got these skulls?" He indicated his flank.
Diamond Tiara opened her mouth to respond, but Fearcraft went on. "Two snobbish fillies were making fun of my blank flank. I dropped a rather large rock on them." A fiendish grin again covered his features. "If you ever find that rock, don't look under it."
The Complete Microfictions of Horse Voice
After getting killed for the hundred and eighty-seventh time, Luna typed, "THIS I SWEAR, 'SUPAKILLA': WHEREVER THOU ART, I SHALL FIND THEE AND WREAK VENGEANCE MOST STERN."
Miles away, Button Mash typed, "Say that to my face and see what happens."
* * *
The last pony on Earth sat alone in a room. There was a lock on the door.
The brony outside said, "Little pony, little pony, let me come in."
* * *
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," said Horse Voice, though he wasn't Catholic.
"What is this sin, my son?" asked the minister.
"I kind of like pony stories with humans in them," Horse said.
The minister punched through the confessionary wall and strangled him.
* * *
"Greetings, exalted sovereign," the explorer said. "I am Grokknaw, from the planet Xutar. I come in peace."
"Greetings yourself," the figure on the throne replied. "I am Princess Molestia, and I come all over the place."
* * *
"There's a dark, handsome stallion in your future," the fortune teller said.
"What a bunch of unscientific nonsense!" Twilight Sparkle said.
King Sombra appeared out of nowhere and killed Twilight.
* * *
After secretly practicing for years, Horse Voice revealed he was actually a musician, who had only pretended to be a writer. His new subgenre, Pony Shock Rock, got his band invited to play at Bronypalooza.
On stage, he wore a greatcoat with suspiciously large pockets. Right in the middle of the performance, he began reaching into them, pulling out fistfuls of spaghetti, and flinging it into the audience.
Thus ended Horse Voice's musical career.
* * *
One night, you dream your favorite pony is giving you a lap dance.
She asks you to close your eyes. She says she has something special for you. You close them and wait.
Then, you open them.
She's been replaced by a real horse.
* * *
While descending the stairs one day, Rarity tripped on Opal.
A week later, the Ponyville fire department broke down the door and discovered a rather fat white cat, and a half-eaten mare with a broken neck.
* * *
Once, when Horse Voice was very small, he saw a medical skeleton in a Doctor's office, and was told that the ribs were real.
And his life was changed forever.
* * *
Cheerilee had a foal.
Its first word was, "Eeyup."
* * *
For sale, Lyra plushie, never used.
