Short Changeling Heroes

Chapters

Explanation Marks
The Upper Tuna Tree
Foot and Fat
Going Full Pony

Explanation Marks

“It is commonly believed that changelings behave as they do in order to feed upon love, which they claim to rely upon for sustenance; however, after observing a member of the species in the wild for several days, it has been determined that, when left to their own devices and otherwise untrammeled by ponykind, they gather nectar and mushrooms, upon both of which the observed changeling happily subsisted. We can only conclude from this observation that changelings behave as they do, imitating ponies in order to infiltrate and topple their social hierarchies, because they are chitinous little assholes.”

~Excerpt from The Audubon Guide to Equestrian Fauna

Deep in an unnamed stretch of woods, far from where any civilized being would wish to venture, a train station’s purloined flip-board clicked and clacked as it cycled to display a new message. Hundreds of marginally interested changeling faces turned upwards simultaneously to read the new line of text at the bottom.

Dig Holes—Five Jelly

A collective groan swept over the crowd and they turned their attention elsewhere. In the back of the massive hall in which the flip-board hung, one of the changelings nudged another in the ribs.

“Dude, did the sign change?” he asked. “Anything good?”

The nudged changeling rubbed his side and glared. “I ain’t your damn reader, brah. Read it yourself.”

“Drax,” the first whined pitifully as he squinted at the board. “C’mon, don’t leave me hangin’! You know I can’t see too good.”

“Slisk, brah,” Drax said, rolling his eyes, “chill out. They want us to dig holes.”

Slisk nodded as he processed this potentially life-changing revelation. “I like digging holes, dude. Let’s do it.”

“Hells, naw!” Drax dropped a heavy hoof on Slisk’s head. “Let someone else do that shit—five jelly ain’t worth it.”

Suddenly, the hall’s large doors slammed open, nearly crushing against the wall a few changelings who had clearly chosen a poor place to sit. The roar of conversation hushed to a mild buzzing as a pair of hefty guards tromped in and inspected the teeming masses of workers, who covered the unadorned room like a thick, writhing carpet.

"We need volunteers to dig some holes," one of the guards barked. When nobody answered, he grinned cruelly, cracking his neck in anticipation. "Guess we'll have to find some, then." The guards began a slow circuit around the room as they eyed up their choices.

“Let’s totally go dig holes, yo,” Slisk said in an obliviously loud voice. Drax reached for his mouth. “I like dimmph!”

“Shut up!” Drax hissed, glancing around to see if anybody important had heard his friend. “A handmaiden candidate doesn’t dig holes!”

Slisk reached up and pulled Drax’s hoof away. “Dude, didn’t they kick you out of that handmaiden thing, like, two days after you got in?”

“Three!” Drax snapped, but his friend ignored him.

“You’d look real weird as a chick, too,” he said, scratching his chin and eyeing Drax dubiously. “Dude—”

A booming shout that echoed throughout the entire room cut him off. The guards had halted in front of a small knot of workers and stood over them, glowering. “You four, get off your asses!” one of them yelled. “There’re holes to be dug, and you just got volun-told.” The cowed changelings scrambled to their hooves and followed the guards back out, heavy wooden doors slamming behind them. A moment later, the noise in the hall bloomed back to nearly deafening levels.

“Aw, I wanted that one…” Slisk said with a pout, earning himself a slap on the back of his head.

“Don’t be a dumbshit, brah.” Drax beckoned to him, and the two wound their way through their fellows towards one of the room’s smaller exits, which was nothing more than a hole knocked out of the concrete wall.

Slisk hesitated in front of the “door”. “I dunno, dude—won’t we get busted for bailing during our shift?”

“Nah, brah,” Drax said over his shoulder. “Queen's outta town, right? And She took half the guards along with Her.”

“If you say so…”

As they shambled off through a rough-hewn tunnel, behind them the flip-board cycled once more.

Far from the work-dodging duo, Princess Twilight Sparkle waited inside a real train station and chatted with her friends. A stack of luggage higher than she stood tall leaned precariously; likely the only reason that it hadn’t toppled already was Twilight's assistant, Spike, working overtime to hold it upright. She pony waved a foreleg emphatically in the midst of her conversation.

On the other side of the platform, a pair of particularly nondescript stallions kept their gaze focused squarely on the oblivious group, only looking away in order to glance impatiently at a clock on the wall.

“For shit’s sake,” one of them muttered, “how long until—” A high-pitched train whistle cut him off, and his companion chuckled.

Within seconds, a brightly colored train rolled in and came to a shuddering halt with a final, billowing chuff of steam. Twilight hugged all of her friends in turn, then helped Spike maneuver the assemblage of suitcases into one of the cars. Finally, after a teary farewell, she trotted inside and the doors slid shut behind her. Three puffs of steam and another loud whistle saw the train on its way.

“Okay, she’s gone,” said the impatient stallion. “Let’s go let Her know.” The two trotted stiff-leggedly down the platform, past Twilight’s friends, who stayed behind to see off the departing train.

“What’s Her intent with this one, anyway?” the younger stallion asked. “I mean, I get why She wanted to replace the sherbet-colored princess that one other time, but why the book nerd?”

“‘Ours is not to question why,’” came the reply, quoted straight from the Changeling Guard Creed, “‘unless you want to friggin’ die.’ Besides, once She’s in place, we’re to regroup at the Everfree and wait for further instruction. Not our problem, brother.”

On a bench across the tracks, a tawny pony wearing a trenchcoat lowered the newspaper that had concealed his face. From behind a pair of mirror Hay-Ban sunglasses, his eyes followed the departing stallions until they were gone. He sighed loudly.

“The chief isn’t gonna like this.”

“Yo, so, like, let’s go hang out by the jelly reserves,” Drax called back to his lagging friend. The confined tunnel stifled his voice. “We can totally bogart some sick jellyballs when they skim the tubs—hella jellyballs, yo!” He smacked his lips loudly.

Slisk loped a couple paces behind, dragging his hooves on the rough stone floor. “Dude, we’re gonna get in trouble again. We’re not off-shift until”—He paused in thoughtful contemplation—“like, later,” he finished in a lame voice.

“Brah, don’t get down. It’s not that bad. Like, even if they catch us, they’ll just yell at us and make us go back in the main hall again.” Drax paused to let Slisk catch up. “Besides, what are they gonna do, like, fire us?”

“Dude, last time we got caught, you ran away and one of those big dudes cracked my shell, yo.” Slisk stopped and ran a hoof over a puckered line on his exoskeleton. “Shit hurt, dude.”

Drax shrugged helplessly. “Brah, you know I had to cut out," he said. "They would have booted me out of haindmaidens for sure if they caught me, yo.”

“Still, dude,” Slisk muttered with a pout, “felt like hella stabs in the back.” His hoof continued to massage the scar.

“Yo. Brah.” Drax chucked him playfully on the shoulder. “Brah. Yo, I know what’ll cheer you up.”

“Dude, I dunno,” Slisk replied uncertainly. However, his face lit up at Drax's next words.

“Braaaaah. Let’s do us a mushroom roll.”

Eyes bright, Slisk hopped up and down like an aphid at a jelly park, nearly knocking his head on the tunnel's ceiling. “Oh, hells to the yes! Straight up choice, dude!”

“All them fine little mushrooms all stacked up in the mushroom chamber,” Drax whispered enticingly, “and I know those dicks ain’t guarding that shit now…”

“Dude, you know how I dig getting a good roll in some shrooms, doggie," Slisk said with a wide grin. "Feels like a million tiny little sponges all getting a grind up on your shell.” He shook from the excitement of merely thinking about it.

“Brah, get pumped,” Drax whooped as they rushed down the tunnel to the mushroom store, heavy stone door hanging wide open, “we’re doing this! This is a thing that is happening!”

They darted into the dark room and leaned against the door, pushing with all their might. The old, rusty hinges creaked as the ponderous door swung closed with a solid thunk. The two paused for a moment to let their eyes adjust to the relative darkness.

The store was a cavernous, dimly lit chamber, piled throughout with a hoard of mushrooms that the changeling drones had collected for the hive. These mushrooms represented the bulk of the hive’s sustenance, a bulwark against the famines of a harsh winter.

“Cannonball!” shouted Slisk as he prepared to dive into a nearby mound of mushrooms, only to be yanked backwards at the last second.

“Brah, no, we got to be like, careful and shit about how we do this,” Drax admonished, “like, over here in the back, yo. So, like, they won’t figure it out so fast.”

“Oh, right on, dude.”

Drax took a long moment to choose a likely pile and flopped unceremoniously onto it, legs spread-eagled. “Oh, yeah. Oh, that feels so tight, yo.” He let out a satisfied groan as he writhed atop the pile of fungus. The spongy toadstools squished and crumbled under his weight.

Slisk’s only reply was to slide into a heavenly mountain of his own.

“Brah, you remember when we did this as nymphs?” Drax said after a long moment.

“Dude, we got in so much trouble, ” Slisk answered. “You remember who found us, right?” He wriggled in pure bliss.

“Oh, brah, hells yes I do. Buzzing Zubzuk, yo.” Drax rolled over onto his side, brow furrowing at the memory.

“Grubber-buzzing Zubzuk,” Slisk affirmed, happily grinding a cluster of red-capped mushrooms between his shoulder-blades. “I heard that chubby bitch was the one who ripped off the flippy sign from Canterlot.”

Drax snorted his disdain. “Wouldn’t surprise me if he thought it was some kind of a big cookie or something—”

Suddenly the door burst open, a cone of light bathing part of the room. A massive changeling guard blocked the entrance.

“What in the flying buzz— “ he started.

“Oh, shit!” Slisk whispered as he shot to his hooves. “We’re gonna get smooshed for reals, yo!” He would have dashed for the door had Drax not taken hold of hind leg.

“Brah, shut up—maybe he’ll go away,” Drax said softly.

“Who goes there?” the guard bellowed, peering about in the darkness.

Drax's face scrunched up in concentration, then he pushed Slisk lightly. "I got an idea, yo—just go with it," he said as he jumped to his hooves and moved into the light, where the guard could easily see him. “Oh, thank the Queen you’re here, brah! Shut the door, though, he’s gonna get out!”

Having been prepared to beat whatever insolent worker had snuck in, this new development caught the guard by surprise. “I… what?” He found as his mind seemingly struggled to shift gears.

Drax didn't plan to give him the chance. “The door, yo, the door! Shut it!” he hollered, pointing at the door frantically. Confusion apparent in his eyes, Slisk looked up at him from behind his own pile of mushrooms. “Yeah, brah, we got the little sucker trapped over here. He, like, ran into a pile.”

“What?” the guard repeated lamely.

Suddenly, Slisk's eyes lit up and he gave Drax an exaggerated wink. “Dude, it’s, like, a mushroom snake!” he said to the guard.

“Quick, quick, get it, yo," Drax added, stomping into a mound of mushrooms, "before it breeds all over and shit!” Spongy bits of mushroom peppered the air around him.

This was something the guard could easily understand. He reared on his hind hooves and brought both his forelegs down viciously into the same pile Drax had his hooves buried in. “I’ll stomp it so hard!”

“Yeah! Yeah, dude! Stomp his snakey guts!” Slisk cheered. "Do it, like, for the Queen, dude!"

Panic abruptly contorted Drax's face, and he pointed a shaking hoof towards a pile next to the door. “Oh! Oh, shit, I just saw another one over there!” he yelped, slinking in that direction. “We’ll go get some reinforcements, yo!”

“Yeah, reinforcements and shit!” shouted Slisk, but his words fell on deaf ears. The excitement of the moment had driven the guard to manic glee as he stomped on phantom snakes, mushrooms flying hither and yon under his heavy blows.

“C’mon, yo, let’s go!” Drax hissed, grabbing Slisk by a foreleg, dragging him out the door and out into the anonymity of the maze of hive tunnels. Once out of the guard's sight, they darted away, and soon the sound of the guard's rampage faded from hearing.

Their pace slowed to a leisurely ambling as the adrenaline wore off. “Maybe we should, like, go back to the sign,” Slisk said.

“Brah, I can’t even,” Drax moaned, craning his neck to nip a piece of crushed mushroom out of his chitin. “They ain’t missed us yet, yo, so let’s just buzz off for the whole rest of the day.”

“C’mon, dude, let’s just check the sign one more time,” Slisk whined in his friend’s ear. “There might be another digging job, or shit.”

Drax threw his head back and groaned. “Brah, what’s your deal with digging?”

“It’s just fun,” Slisk said, suddenly bashful. “Sometimes you find stuff that nobody else wants. Like rocks. C’mon, we’re right here!” He waved at a branching tunnel, which led back to the massive hall with the flip-board.

“Fine!” Drax snapped. He stomped down the tunnel, Slisk bouncing happily behind him. “If it’ll make you shut up!”

At the path’s end, a piece of tattered cloth hung over the exit and served as a sort of door. Drax threw it aside and strode into the great room, almost immediately stumbling over a napping changeling.

“Look at this lazy asshole,” he muttered with a snarl at the still-sleeping worker, who rolled over and pawed listlessly at the air.

Slisk squinted in the flip-board’s direction. “What’s it say, dude?”

“For f—you’re the one who wanted to come here, yo!” Drax said, dropping to his haunches. “Read it yourself!”

“C’mon, dude. You know I can’t—”

“—can’t see good,” Drax finished in a mocking tone. “Brah, there ain’t nothing new up there. It’s all the same.”

Slisk had his mouth open to comment when another voice caught both of their attentions. “I see you two haven’t gotten yourselves killed yet.” They glanced to the side where an unusually plump changeling wearing a smug expression had swaggered over. “How’s life at the bottom of the hill?”

“Dude, is that Zubzuk?” Slisk said in a clearly audible undertone. “He got real fat, dude.”

“Yeah, brah,” Drax said, grinning maliciously Zubzuk, who bristled at the comment. “Prolly can’t even fit his fat ass in the tunnels anymore.”

“I absolutely can fit my—” Zubzuk cut himself off and coughed delicately. “I know what you two are doing—jealousy doesn’t become you.”

“You run a stupid job sign, yo, not the entire hive.” Drax fought to maintain his smile.

“Speaking of which,” Zubzuk said in a pompous tone, “it should be flipping to a really good job soon—” Right on cue, the top row on the flip-board shuffled to show the next available task. Or, at least, it probably should have. What it actually displayed was:

?????????, ?????? Jelly

“Pfft, nice explanation points, brah,” Drax said through his chuckles. Zubzuk’s mouth gaped open, unable to find anything remotely appropriate to respond with. “Super good job with that sign, yo.”

Slisk tapped him on the shoulder. “Dude, what’s it say?”

“This is what I get for leaving incompetent drones in charge.” Zubzuk faced Drax squarely and jabbed him in the chest. “I’ve got important things to do, so have fun being useless grubs for the rest of your lives.”

“What’s it say, Drax?” Slisk repeated.

“Die in a fire,” Drax chimed cheerfully at the departing Zubzuk’s back. As he stared at the board, something about the error nagged at him, drawing his full attention.

“I don’t have time for this,” Zubzuk muttered. He forced his mass through the crowd, disappearing in the direction of the flip-board’s controls.

Slisk rapped Drax on the shoulder. “C’mon, dude, what’s it say?” Drax’s gaze now focused with a laser-like intensity on the sign, leaving Slisk to repeatedly nudge his non-responsive friend. “What’s it—”

Suddenly, Drax shouted out and jumped, nearly knocking Slisk over backwards. “Brah. Brah.” He grabbed Slisk by the shoulders. “Listen.”

“Wh-what?” Slisk stammered. “Dude, don’t scare me like—”

“Shut up and listen, yo,” Drax said excitedly. “Brah, what if the sign isn’t actually, like, broken?”

Slisk cocked his head and shrugged. “Dude, you’re freaking me out.”

“What if the sign isn’t actually shitted up,” Drax continued, ignoring his friend’s confusion, “but a test?”

Eyes scrunched-up, Slisk glanced towards the board. “I think I can read it,” he said to Drax, who was in his own world. “Wait, dude, are those just a buncha question marks?”

“Brah, no, they’re explanation points, but hear me out.” Drax’s chitinous exoskeleton clattered in his excitement. “Brah, what if—brah, listen. What if—what if we’re supposed to, like, figure out what the job is, yo?”

“I dunno, dude,” Slisk said slowly. “How do you know?”

“Because, brah, it’s at the top,” Drax said, finally pulling his hooves back, fairly vibrating as his mind strained to bring the thought to fruition, “The top of the board! Like, that’s where the important stuff goes, right? The jobs that score you mad jelly? They don’t want to just say it, though, because they don’t want anybody dumb to claim it, so they made a test to, like, y’know, weed out the stupid ones, yo.”

Slisk’s eyes darted back and forth as he pondered this irrefutable logic.

“And-and, like, the reward, brah, see how it’s explantation signs, too?” The changelings around Drax frowned at his obnoxiously loud voice, but he paid them no mind. “That means it could be, like, anything! Maybe whatever we want!”

“Whoa.” A toothy smile slowly spread across Slisk’s face. “Dude, we could ask for, like, a lot of jelly.”

“Or another shot at that handmaiden gig,” Drax added. “But, brah, the job’s gotta be something real big. Like, real big, and it ain’t gonna be easy.”

Slisk glanced up thoughtfully. “So, like, they want us to dig a shit-ton of ho—”

“Just shut up about the stupid holes, yo!” Drax snapped, slapping the back of Slisk’s head. “The job—brah, listen to me—we’ll have to, like, be real smart and do preparations and shit to pull this off.”

“But I don’t even know what, like, any of that is supposed to be,” Slisk said as he rubbed his head.

Drax threw a leg over his friend’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, brah, I got us covered. Here’s what we gotta do, yo:

“We gonna kidnap Princess Twilight Sparkle.”

The Upper Tuna Tree

“Testimony from captured changeling workers suggests that a hive’s queen is revered with near-deific honor; she is born to rule, fed from birth on special royal jelly, pampered by a veritable brigade of nursemaids, and educated by the finest minds the hive can muster. She is then subjected to a series of life-or-death trials to assure her fitness to rule, so that by the time she assumes the throne, so they claim, she is a master philosopher, a seasoned military tactician, and a legal scholar. Efforts to place spies in actual changeling hives, however, have thrown some doubt on these assertions; our current belief based on confrontations with the changeling race is that the Queen is simply whichever changeling is tallest, and that changeling workers are bullshitty little liars.”

~Excerpt From The Audubon Guide to Equestrian Fauna

The sharp clack of hooves on marble echoed through the otherwise silent halls of the Equestrian Intelligence Agency as Canary Trap trotted purposefully towards his boss’s office. Held aloft by his magic, the field operations chief carried a thick brown manila folder packed to bursting with pictures and notes.

He wheeled to the right as he reached his destination, a heavy, ornate oak door, which said in large golden letters, “Dead Drop, Director”. Canary Trap knocked curtly and peered around the corner of the partially opened door. “Sir?”

The director glanced up and grinned. “Trap!” he bellowed, gesturing gregariously, “C’mon in! What’ve you got?”

Canary Trap dropped his folder on the director’s desk with a resounding thud. “She’s back,” he stated simply.

Dead Drop stared at his breathless subordinate uncomprehendingly. “Who?” He put down his pen and sat forward in his plush, upholstered chair, interest piqued.

“Ah.” With a heavy swallow, Canary tugged at his collar. “Chrysalis.”

The name set Drop back on his haunches. “What?” he barked. “How?”

“Two of our agents spotted her infiltrating Ponyville and assuming the identity of the princess.”

Dead Drop leaned back and shook his head in apparent wonder. “You’re shitting me. What’s she done this time?”

“So far, nothing much.” Canary Trap adjusted his glasses as his boss flipped through the pictures. “She’s run up a pretty extensive tab at the local bar and been involved in some, uh”—He shifted, adjusting his gold eyeglasses—“some fairly risque stuff. Sir.”

One of Dead Drop’s eyebrows shot up. “Details.”

“She, ah, tried to make out with one of the princess’s friend’s older sibling.” Canary pulled a wrinkled piece of notepaper from the folder and glanced at it. “A stallion named Big Macintosh. It went, uh, pretty poorly for her.”

The director waved a hoof in understanding. “So, what’s she after? Doesn’t she realize that Princess Twilight doesn’t really have anything to do with the running of the state?” He paused to consider a picture of Twilight’s doppelganger squeezing one of the real princess’s toothpaste tubes from the middle, her muzzle twisted in a manic, malicious cackle. “And even if she did have an important role, anybody important knows where Princess Twilight went—she wouldn’t be able to fool any of them.”

“Well, frankly, Sir, we’re not sure what her intent is, here,” Canary said with a shrug. “We can’t make any sense of it.”

Dead Drop harrumphed and leaned back in his seat, steepling his hooves. “So, what should we do about this?”

“Well, Sir, honestly it’s just Princess Twilight, so…” Canary shook his head helplessly.

“Ah. Yes.” Dead Drop glanced at the folder, then pushed it back towards his subordinate. “You’re right. Good. Keep watching her. Let me know if any of this starts to make sense.”

“Alright, my good brosephs, I think you all know why I called you here.” In his tiny, dimly lit burrow, Drax dropped a heavy cardboard box onto the ground.

Slisk and two other changelings, squeezed onto a small, sagging couch, jumped at the loud crash that reverberated through the small space. “I, for one, have no idea what you want with us,” one of the changelings said.

“Yo, I straight up told you why, Phillip,” Drax said, putting his forehooves on the box to use it as a sort of podium. “I can’t do this planning shit by myself, so—”

“Um, excuse me,” the other changeling huffed breathily, earnestly waving a chubby hoof high in the air. On his chest was plastered a sticker that read, Hello! My name is Blizik! “I was under the impression that there would be jelly, here.”

Drax glanced down from his perch. “Yo, like, I’m gettin’ there,” he grumbled. “Yeah, there’s gonna be jelly, but we gotta do a thing first, um”—His eyes darted to the sticker—“Blitzkreig.”

“Dude, tell them about the upper tuna tree, with the princess,” Slisk added helpfully.

“Brah, don’t be dumb, it’s an offertunity,” Drax said with a scowl, “and I’m going to tell them about it in just a sec, so stick to the script, yo.”

“I’m just sayin’, dude, like—”

“So, like, are you two ready for the, uh, buzziness”—Drax cleared his throat, throwing a savage glare Slisk’s way—“bwizz-ness offertunity of a lifetime?”

Slisk looked down at his notecard and read, slowly and deliberately, “I know that I sure am, my fried!”

“Friend, yo,” Drax hissed.

“Dude, it says ‘fried’, no joke,” Slisk whispered back. He held up the card, but Drax pointedly ignored it.

“So, like, I figured out this rad secret,” Drax said, reading from his own hastily scrawled note-cards. “And I want to share this amazing bwizz-ness offertunity with you. For only—”

“Hold on—what’s a ‘bwizz-ness offertunity’?” Phillip mimed air-quotes with his hooves.

“Brah,” Drax replied, steam fairly blowing from his ears, “it’s when you have a chance to, like, do something really rad and use yourself to make for your future later life to be good for yourself when you go up into the future, yo.”

“I don’t think any of those words you used make sense in relation to each other,” Phillip said through a snort.

Again, Blizik’s hoof shot into the air. “When are you bringing out the jelly?”

“Cut it out with the stupid jelly, yo.” Momentarily lost, Drax scanned his notes. “Er—this dope opportranny. If you act now to kidnap Princess Twilight Sparkle, I can get you into the basement—”

“Hold on!” Phillip said. “Why would we go into some pony princess’s basement?”

Drax felt the urge to strangle Phillip, but before he could reply, Slisk spoke up. “Dude, he doesn’t mean her actual basement. It’s, like, some kind of metamorphical statement.”

“Yeah, what he said,” Drax said, glaring. “It’s a met—mezzo—mentalmo—”

“Excuse me,” Blizik said as he threw his hoof up. “You said there would be—”

“I know I told you there would be jelly,” Drax snapped, “but, brah, lemme explain, like, there’s a lot of ins and outs here, yo!”

“Your mom’s got lots of ins and outs, doggie!” Slisk said with a cackle.

“Brah, we’ve got the same mom.”

Phillip stood abruptly. “I think we’re wasting our time,” he said, gesturing to Blizik. “C’mon, let’s go. These two are just idiots.” Phillip pushed his way out through the tiny hole that served as the burrow’s door, Blizik right behind him.

“Yeah, well”—Drax fought for an appropriate comeback—“at least my name’s not something all pretarded like ‘Phillip’, asshole!”

Silence fell over the room for a long moment. “Dude, that was kinda harsh,” Slisk said finally. “Poor guy can’t help his name.”

“Whatever,” Drax said under his breath. “Shit, we ain’t got anywhere, yo!” He stomped back and forth, muttering. Slisk stretched out on the couch, now that he had the room to do so. “How do we kidnap a stupid pony?”

“So, like, we don’t really have any jelly, right?” Slisk asked. His eyes roamed the tiny room, a search that didn’t take long. “Unless you’re hidin’ some, dude.”

“What?” Drax glanced up, preoccupied with his thoughts. “Nah, we ain’t got shit-all. You tapped the last jar last night, yo, remember?”

With a labored grunt, Slisk pushed himself to his hooves. “Then let’s go hit up the shop. Maybe some exercise’ll get your brain juices going.”

“How ‘bout something with a catapult, brah?” Drax clearly hadn’t heard a word. Sighing, Slisk pulled him out the door as his friend contemplated the aerodynamics of the average pony princess.

In his own burrow, one significantly larger than Drax’s, Zubzuk raised a miniscule paintbrush and lightly ran it along a plastic model of a pony soldier. Watching keenly through a magnifying glass, he pulled the brush back to examine his work, then nodded in satisfaction. Just as he moved in again to touch up the pony’s mane, a nearly deafening knock sounded on the door, and he lost his balance. Frantically, he got back onto his stool to examine the tiny model, only to sigh in relief when he saw that it remained unblemished.

Again, whoever stood outside knocked on his door. “For Queen’s sake, I’m coming!” he barked, laying his tools down with exaggerated care. He slid his considerable bulk off the stool and landed on his hooves, huffing breathily as he ambled over and pulled the steel door open. Standing in the hallway were two changelings that he vaguely recognized. “What is it?”

One of the two stepped forward. “Overseer, we’re here to file a complaint.”

“A—a what?” Zubzuk asked, dumbfounded. He had been complained at before, certainly, but nobody had ever actually come to his home to issue a formal complaint.

“It’s those two drones who’re always skipping out on work,” the changeling continued. “They told us—”

“Stop, stop,” Zubzuk said with a hoof held out. “Who are you, now?”

“Ah, I’m drone Phillip”—He pointed at his fellow—“and this is drone Blizik.”

“They promised there’d be jelly,” Blizik mumbled, genuinely downcast.

Zubzuk stifled a sigh. Just behind him, the very last model he needed to complete his extremely accurate recreation of the Battle of Grim Gorge sat waiting, nearly all painted and just begging for the final touches before it could be placed onto the battlefield. However, when duty calls…

“Fine—what is your complaint?” Zubzuk settled in for what he expected to be a long, tedious report.

“Uh, yeah, those two guys, they just lied to Blizik and me to get us to help them with their idiotic plan,” Phillip said with a scowl. He scuffed a hoof on the floor of the dusty residential tunnel.

“Yeah!” Blizik added in a passionate voice. “We didn’t get any jelly at all!”

Phillip nodded his agreement. “Then the one started shilling on about some kind of stupid business opportunity, except he didn’t know how to use any of the words, and—”

“Hold up a minute,” Zubzuk said, rolling his eyes. “This sounds like it isn’t my problem. Did they harm you or the hive in any way?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Then go deal with it yourself. Buzz off.” Zubzuk began to swing his door shut.

“Wait!” Phillip said as the door closed. “You’re just gonna let Drax do whatever he wants?”

Zubzuk’s hoof caught the door and yanked it back open. For a long moment, he stared at Phillip, eyes thoughtful. This had just become much more interesting. “What were the names of these two drones, hm?”

“Drax and Slisk,” Phillip answered immediately.

“Well!” The overseer stepped back and gestured to his entire room. “That changes everything! Why don’t you two fine fellows come in and have a seat! What can I get you, lads?”

“Do you think,” Blizik asked tentatively, “that I could get some jelly, perhaps?”

“Dude, so, like, how are we gonna nab this Twilight chick?” Slisk asked as he idly kicked at an empty jar in front of a poorly constructed wooden shack, on which hung a sign that read Jely Stor. The jar skittered across the lot and bounced into the gutter, joining several other abandoned containers. A worker on his way through the shop’s makeshift wooden door cast a dark glare Slisk’s way.

“Brah, well, pretty much we’re gonna have to, like, put her in a bag, yo”—Drax paused to take a stiff swig from his nectar jar—“and then, I guess get her back here, someways.”

“So what, like... “ Slisk swung his foreleg down sharply, miming a blow.

“Brah, oh hells naw!” Drax yelped as he recoiled in disgust. “She’s a lady, yo, you can’t just clonk her on the head like that! You got to appeal to her interests and shit, be all, like, cagey and what have you.”

Slisk nodded thoughtfully. “Huh. So, like, a bag full of makeup and shoes and shit, dude?” he said, scratching his chin. “I guess you still got the stuff from your handmaidens course, right?”

“Brah, don’t be stereotypical,” Drax grumbled, eyes narrowed. “And don’t bring up handmaidens again, yo, I’m still sore on that.”

“Dude, you would have been hella weird as a lady,” Slisk went on. “All, y’know, lady-like and shit.”

“Brah.”

Slisk didn’t notice Drax’s frown. “Like, you never did explain how all that, like, y’know. I mean, dude, were they gonna take your— “

“Brah!” Drax shouted, shoving his friend. “Yo, do I ask what you do with all the rocks and shit you collect out those holes you love so much, brah? No, I don’t. Cuz that’d be, like, rude and shit, yo. All up in your business and shit, all asking if you got, like, little hats for your rocks and make them be married or whatever it is you do, yo.”

“Sorry, dude. I just got, like, curiosities and shit, y’know?” They spent a long moment in awkward silence, until Slisk finally spoke up again. “So, like, what’s Princess Twilight interested in?”

“I dunno, word is that mare be all about some science, brah. That’s, like, all she does —it’s her main deal. Like, I heard she lives in a library and reads books and stuff all day.” Drax shuddered at the thought of reading.

“So, like, a bag full of science, dude?” Slisk asked. “It could be beakers ‘n bottles ‘n whatever.”

“Brah, no, don’t be stupid. You can’t even have a bag full of science, yo, science is a extract concept in this case. You just write it on the outside of the bag— let her imagine, like, all the great science shit that’s in there.”

“So she gets in the bag to look for the science and we, like, just snatch her up and carry her off?” Slisk asked.

“Naw, that ain’t gonna work, yo. Like, Ponyville’s miles away from here, We’ll have to, like, steal a cart or something, brah.”

Slisk wrapped his mind around that. “So we put her on the cart—”

“Yo, we should have the bag already on the cart,” Drax said. “Get two birds stoned at once.”

“So, like, she climbs up on the cart and we’re all, ‘Here’s a bag of science we found for you, your honor!’ and she just, like, goes in there, dude?” Slisk leaned back and cracked open another jar of nectar.

“Well, yeah, brah, cuz we’re gonna be all changed up into her friends and shit.” He reached back for his own drink. “All faking her out with our mad changeling skills, yo. If we’re her friends then she’ll totally be down to look in some bag of science they brought her.”

They both finished off their jars, then tossed them into the gutter, where the glass shattered loudly.

“Now we just gotta figure out the particulars, brah,” Drax said, scratching his flank. “Like, what her friends look like, and shit.”

Slisk grinned widely. “Dude, leave that to me,” he said.

“You sure, brah?”

“Hells to the yeah, homeslice,” Slisk answered, waving a hoof disarmingly. “I got sources.”

Drax’s eyes narrowed. “Who are they?”

“Don’t worry about it, dude, I got this. Have I ever let you down?” Slisk patted his friend on the back, and Drax relaxed.

“Fine, but don’t drop the ball,” he said slowly. “I don’t want shit blowin’ up in my face because we’re accidentally disguised as her dead parents, yo.”

Slisk had his mouth open to answer, but the shop’s door suddenly flew open and a changeling wearing an apron charged out. “What are you two shitsnacks doing out here?” he roared, waving a broom threateningly. Drax and Slisk darted out of range and down the tunnel. “If I catch you loitering again, I’ll have your carapaces for tableware!

“Grubby little asswipes,” he grumbled as he moved to the pile of broken glass and began the arduous task of sweeping it up. “As if I don’t have enough problems…”

Foot and Fat

Equestria is blessed with a bounty of sapient creatures among its fauna, and while this guide certainly does not promote the morally repugnant idea of the superiority of one sapient species over another, it does note that one can ascertain a great deal about a culture by its people’s language. For example, the griffons of Griffonia have a word that specifically means, ‘The feeling in your stomach when you have eaten too many rabbits and your family has brought home a basket of fresh fish for dinner.’ The minotaur nation’s language has fifteen words that mean ‘punch’, and none that mean ‘sorry.’ With this in mind, it should be noted that the changelings’ language has eighteen words for ‘cheat’ and no less than one hundred and twelve for various forms of shirking responsibility.

~Excerpt From The Audubon Guide to Equestrian Fauna

The first warning sign that Derpy, the mailmare, noticed upon arriving at Princess Twilight’s abode was the mailbox, packed full of scrolls, each unevenly rolled and tied with red string. She frowned and cocked her head, uncertain what to make of it. Rarely did Princess Twilight need to use the normal post service—after all, she had that little dragon who usually sent her mail for her. However, somebody had crammed at least a dozen letters into the library’s mailbox.

“Well, if the princess wants to mail a letter the normal way,” Derpy said, shrugging away her misgivings, “then who am I to argue?”

She leaned in and took hold of a few letters and tugged, but they wouldn’t come free. Digging her heels in, she pulled harder, even flapping her wings to provide extra power. Finally, with a sudden yank, the mailbox relinquished its contents, sending Derpy tumbling backwards with the abrupt lack of resistance.

Just then, as Derpy laid there on her back with a dazed look, the second sign indicating that something was wrong made itself known. Deafening music ripped through the air, coming from an open window on the library’s second floor. Derpy’s frown deepened. The polite, considerate, reserved Princess Twilight Sparkle did not have a reputation as a public nuisance.

Derpy sat up and shook the stars from her vision, then turned back to the scrolls. To her chagrin, one had unravelled when she had yanked it free. She reached down to roll it back up when a single word—the third sign that something had gone terribly, terribly awry—inked in jagged, harsh hoofwriting, caught her eye—ass. Twilight was not the type of pony to even think a word like that, let alone write it in a letter to (Derpy glanced at the address to confirm the intended recipient) her beloved Princess Celestia.

She stared at the word in disbelief for a long moment, then tore her gaze away, rerolling the letter and tying the string around it. “Can’t be reading other ponies’ mail,” she muttered with a shudder. “And now I have to let the princess know that her letter came open.”

At first thinking to knock on the front door, Derpy realized that Twilight would never hear that over the blaring music. So, she spread her wings and flew to the open window to see if she could spot the princess.

Glancing past the curtains, which wafted dreamily in the warm afternoon breeze, she caught glimpses of Twilight, doing… something. After a moment of staring, Derpy saw that she was dancing.

“Well, I don’t know why I came here tonight...”

And, apparently, singing.

For some reason that Derpy couldn’t fathom, Twilight held a pair of large eggs aloft in her magical grasp, floating in the air behind her as she shuffle-stepped across the room and back. She crushed them, then dropped the remains—shell, yolk, and all—into an open drawer full of clothing and accessories.

“I’m so scared in case I fall off my chair—”

Suddenly, the princess caught sight of herself in a large mirror and stopped, gazing intently at her reflection. A somber expression crossed her face, and she began to speak to herself. What she said, Derpy couldn’t hear due to the music. However, when the song hit a soft section, she could have sworn she heard Twilight say, “What am I doing with my life?”

Then, Twilight’s eyes glinted, and she grinned manically. “Oh, that’s right—rubbing Miss Pretty Princess’s toothbrushes in my nethers.” The song crescendoed, accompanied by Twilight’s wicked laugh, and she lifted one of her hind legs as her magic snagged a toothbrush from the nearby dresser.

Wide eyed, Derpy ducked out of sight before she saw something that would haunt her dreams for the rest of her life. She landed and fixed her eyes on the previously opened scroll. After seeing the princess’s odd behavior, her curiosity to see what was in it piqued. The string came off easily, and she unrolled the letter to read what was in it:

Dear Princess Cel-ass-tia,

Today I learned how to clop to the oldies—who knew chronic masturbation could be so fun (picture enclosed)? Still super glad you sent me to this hick burg. Seriously, thanks for that.

Your faithful student

Stick it up your fat, cake-munching ass,

Twilight Sparkle

P.S. Could you tell Luna that the test came back positive?

P.P.S. Because we totally did it the other night. We did it on your bed.

P.P.P.S. You should know that we are in the “L-word” with each other.

P.P.P.P.S. The “L-word” is lesbians. We are so in lesbians with each other that you don’t even know.

The scroll fell from Derpy’s slack grasp as her lower jaw trembled. She couldn’t help the tears that spilled from her eyes as, image of Princess Twilight forever shattered, she turned and ran off, wondering if enough alcohol existed in all of Equestria to make her forget what she had just read.

Amidst a field of blooming flowers, a large, ivy-covered rock shifted, then rolled away to reveal a hole. “Brah, so, like, these guys you know,” Drax said as he climbed out, blinking in the bright sunlight, “like, how do you know them, yo?”

“Y’know, like, they’re old friends and shit,” Slisk answered. As soon as his hind legs had cleared the tunnel exit, he rolled the concealing rock back into place. “Good dudes.” The two pushed through the chest-high foliage, moving towards a nearby dirt path.

“Yeah, but, like, how?” Drax asked with a frown.

They reached the road and followed it up a small hill. “They’re in my rock club, all fellow rock-ologists and shit.” Slisk wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. The sun beat down on them mercilessly.

“You mean there’s, like, more than just you that’s all into digging holes, brah?” Drax said, breath coming in labored puffs. He turned a scowl up at their tormentor.

“Hells to the yeah, doggie,” Slisk said with a toothy grin, “there’s a shit ton of us.” His steps halted for a brief moment. “Well, like, all around the world, they told me, I guess, but like in our little club it’s just the three of us.”

Finally, they crested the hill, taking the chance to catch their breaths. Down the hill the path continued to wind until it became lost to sight in the nearby Everfree Forest. Right outside the treeline sat a large, rickety-seeming shack, made from sloppily placed boards and painted in different shades of red, green, and blue with neither rhyme nor reason. Over the door, which wasn’t quite large enough to properly fit the frame, hung a sign that creaked as it swayed in the wind. Neither changeling was close enough to read it.

Drax pointed down towards what an optimistic person might call a building. “Is this the place they chill at?”

“Yeah, man, they hang there all the time,” Slisk said, finally finding his second wind. He led the way down the hill. “The Griff-Inn. It’s where we hold our rock meetings. Pretty alright place so long as nobody’s having a fight or whatever.”

“Brah, yo.” Drax eyed the Griff-Inn askance. “Like, so they’re gonna be all cool with just two changelings rolling up in there?” His eyes darted around as though expecting an attack at any moment. “Like, they’re that cool about shit? I don’t want to get jumped or nothin’, yo.”

Slisk waved a hoof disarmingly. “S’all good, dude. There’s, like, all kinds here. Ain’t all predigious up ins.”

As the two neared the front door, they could make out the low rumble of garbled conversation and soft music coming from within. Leaning against the outer wall, a minotaur wearing an eyepatch looked them both over and stared long at the bag over Slisk’s shoulder before he nodded and glanced away, all interest lost. Slisk pushed the door open and they both crossed the threshold to the bar’s shady interior.

Drax immediately sighed from the relief of leaving the glaring sunlight behind. The air smelled of stale drink, smoke, and sweat, a combination of odors that most would find mildly offensive unless one was accustomed to a far more putrid smell, such as that of a changeling hive. After a few moments, Drax’s eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, and he glanced around.

He had expected the place to be full of ponies, but while a few sat here or there, the room was a veritable menagerie of different races. A gryphon sat in the corner singing sea shanties and pulling deep draughts of his drink between lines. Two minotaurs arm-wrestled each other over a table in the center of the room. At a worn piano against the far wall, a trio of swarthy squirrels danced around on the keys and played a surprisingly coherent tune. Drax noticed that one of the squirrels had a peg leg. A zebra, dirty rag in hoof, stood behind the bar while a haggard pony barmaid darted back and forth across the room.

Slisk, who had been casting his eyes around for the past minute, finally spotted his target. “Oh shit, there they are— yo, my crazy sales brothas, what’s the happens, dudes?” He pulled Drax towards a pair of ponies, nearly identical in their blue-and-white striped shirts and straw hats; they sat at a rickety, round table, well away from the rest of the patrons. “What’re you drinking?”

The two stallions glanced over, and Drax saw that one of them bore a bushy mustache. “Slips, m’boy! How great to see you!” no-mustache said in greeting. “Guess we’re drinking whatever you’re buying, am I right, brother?”

“Haha, you guys crack me up,” Slisk said. He reached out to pat them each on the back. “Nah, doggie, it’s Slisk, not Slips.” He pointed to Drax, who watched on silently, eyes scrunched-up. “And this be my boy, Drax.”

“Two of whatever’s coldest, barkeep!” the other pony shouted towards the bar, reaching out and smacking the flank of the passing barmaid. She immediately turned and belted him across the face.

As the stunned, unapologetic pony rubbed his cheek, Drax’s eyes widened. “Wait, yo, wait wait,” he said slowly. “I know you two. Y’all them salesponies that came around that one time trying to trade shit near the hive. Foot and Fat, or some shit like that.”

“Y-yes, good sir,” said “Foot” with a nervous chuckle. He glanced at “Fat”. “I am Flim, and this is my dear brother, Flam.”

Drax nodded emphatically. “Yeah, yo! Yeah!” He loomed tall over the sitting Flim and Flam. “You sold me some shit to make my wings bigger. And let me tell you what— “

“Now now, friend,” Flam said, breaking into a sweat, “you have to understand that our products are guaranteed to work only if you follow the instructions to the letter—”

“Brah, yo, that shit totally worked like champ!” Drax said. Flim and Flam’s faces went blank. “Holy shit, my wings felt, like, so big on that shit I had to be all careful going through tunnels and all.” He plopped himself onto a stool across the table. “Yo, you guys are, like, straight up magicians and shit— oh, my Queen, y’all gimme a hoofbump. Right now. Bump them hooves.”

“Uh, well, we’re always surprised to meet fans,” Flim said as he reached across to shakily bump Drax’s proffered hoof, “uh—Draft?”

“Drax.” He turned to Slisk, who had pulled up a stool of his own, and said, “Brah, well, shit, yo, why ain’t you tell me it was these two?”

Slisk shrugged helplessly. “Dude, I thought you didn’t like rocks.”

“Well, I can’t say as I too much give a shit for rocks, brah,” Drax said with a grin, “but these dudes do sell the raddest of shit.”

The barmaid stomped up and slammed a pair of foaming mugs of cider onto the table with enough force that some of the brew sloshed over the rims of the mugs, then she gave Flame a withering glare and flounced away. He grinned at her back before turning to Slisk. “Speaking of which, Splish—”

“I’m Slisk, dude,” Slisk cut in.

“—right you are, Slosh.” Flam paused to take a swig of his drink. “You wouldn’t happen to have brought any, er, rocks with you, would you?”

Slisk’s eyes lit up, and he pulled up the sack and dropped it onto the table. “Oh, hells yes, dudes, but they’re pretty much the same shiny colory ones I always bring.” Flim upended the bag, out of which tumbled dozens of small diamonds and other precious stones. “That’s still cool, right?”

Reaching over, Flam wiped from his brother’s face a line of drool that was trailing down his chin. “Well,” he said, “I suppose they’ll do, but they just don’t trade well, isn’t that right, brother?”

After a moment, Flim’s eyes focused and he returned to the conversation. “Oh yes, brother mine, Why, just last weekend we were in Canterlot, and the princess, herself, came down to see the fine river rocks we brought to trade.”

“The princess, herself,” Flam repeated, waggling his eyebrows.

As the conversation on rocks gained momentum, Drax laid his head on the table and watched the mice to keep from falling asleep.

“So,” Zubzuk said, pacing in front of the seated Blizik and Phillip, “those two plan to kidnap a princess.”

“Er, that’s what I said.” Phillip raised an eyebrow. “Why are you repeating it?”

“No reason, no reason at all.” Zubzuk stopped in front of his model soldiers and loomed over them as he pondered. “I find myself asking… well, asking myself, I suppose”—He chuckled at his joke —“‘why?’ Why would they decide upon such a course of action? What tactical advantage do they achieve by this?”

Blizik, who cradled a massive jar of jelly in his lap, cocked his head. “Tankical whatsis?”

“Tactical advantage, my jelly-loving friend,” Zubzuk corrected absently. “What do they seek to gain? What, pray tell, is their motivation?”

“Well, um…” Phillip coughed into his hoof. “Aren’t they just trying to suck up?”

Zubzuk’s eyes widened, and he spun around, grinning. “Of course!” he said softly. “You know, sometimes it takes a simple mind to discover a simple explanation.”

“Hey, who are you calling simple—”

“Quiet! Can’t you see I’m planning, here?” Zubzuk barked. Phillip’s mouth snapped shut. “By our Queen’s chitinous backside, do you suppose General Buzzinhower had to deal with such nonsense?” He returned to his pacing.

Blizik swallowed a mouthful of jelly. “Why don’t you just do whatever they’re doing before they do?” he said, smacking his lips.

Zubzuk turned on him. “Did you not just hear what I said—wait!” His eyes shone with glorious epiphany. “By hive, I’ve got it!

“If I seized the initiative, I could take advantage of their lack of situational awareness! I could—I could exploit my knowledge of their plans, and interrupt their ability to further influence the field of battle! Then, I could adapt their very own strategy to ends of my choosing, thus turning the tides against them and seizing victory! Yes, it’s perfect!”

“Wait just a minute,” Phillip cut in. “Didn’t Blizik just say tha—”

“Silence, minion!” Zubzuk roared. He marched to the door and threw it open. “Just this once, I shall allow you two to join me in this glorious action! Now, go and prepare yourselves! We leave in an hour!”

Phillip crossed his forelegs. “No, I don’t want—” Zubzuk’s hoof whipped out and slapped the back of his head. “Fine, fine! I guess I don’t have anything else to do today.” Followed by a happily humming Blizik, he slouched out into the corridor, leaving Zubzuk all alone.

“Yes, yes,” Zubzuk said, rubbing his hooves together and cackling. “Soon.”

He stared down the hallways for a moment longer before he shut the door, then returned to finish painting his model.

Drax’s hoof batted an acorn as he gazed on, eyes half-lidded. Each time the nut neared the table’s edge, he would catch it and send it rolling the other way. His jaw opened wide and he yawned. The brothers and Slisk were already an hour into their conversation about acquiring rocks, but they seemed only to be picking up speed. The piano-playing squirrels had gone out back on break, so Drax couldn’t watch them to keep himself entertained, either. Finally allowing the acorn to fall from the table’s edge, he coughed loudly.

“So yo, brah,” he said to Slisk, cutting him off in the middle of a story concerning the digging of holes, “like, this is interesting and shit, but tell them about the special shit we need, yo.”

Slisk, thrown-off by the sudden change in topic, nodded slowly. “Dudes, we’re in some need of some gear.”

“Gear, you say?” After glancing at each other, the brothers simultaneously leaned in and lowered their voices. “What’ve you got in mind, friend? Crowbars and masks? We call that one our ‘Property Acquisition Set’—”

“Man, naw,” Slisk interrupted, “we need some stuff for hauling, yo. Like a cart.”

“Yeah, we got, like, a list, brohams,” Drax added, passing over a grubby scrap of paper.

Flim and Flam looked the list over, whispering to each other as they did, until Flim finally glanced up. “This is kind of a tall order, gents, but we can get most of this. Bag, paint, cart—by the way, you don’t plan to take that cart through the city of Des Manes, right?”

Drax waved the question away. “Yeah yeah, that’s great, yo,” he said, “but what about the special shit? We need that special shit, brah.”

“I assume you mean the glassware and photographs,” Flim said, poking his brother, who had his nose buried in his drink.

Flam sighed in satisfaction, then rejoined the conversation. “Beakers and flasks we can procure with ease,” he said with a nod. “Pictures, though? No sale.”

“Don’t have ‘em,” Flim said.

“No profit in pictures, boys.”

“Completely unprofitable.”

Thrown off by their rapid speaking, Drax held out a hoof to interject. “Brah, it’s not just like any pictures, yo. We need pictures of, like, that one princess’s friends.”

Flim had his mouth open and a response ready, but he snapped it shut with a loud click and pulled Flam close to whisper hurriedly in his ear. Only a second later, the two sat forward once more. “And which princess might you be talking about, hm?”

“Like, that one in Ponyville,” Drax said. “Her name sounds like toilet—”

“Princess Twilight, dude,” Slisk offered.

Drax’s face lit up. “Yeah, Princess Twilight!”

“Yes, yes, I see,” muttered Flim, again pulling Flam close to have a hushed conversation.

Drax watched them whisper for a few seconds more before a scowl spread across his face. “Brosephs, like, you gonna fill us in, or what?”

Flam glanced at him shrewdly. “So, you gents need pictures of Princess Twilight Sparkle’s friends, eh?” he said. “Suppose we did have something like that. What, might I ask, do you two plan to do with them?”

“Yo, we’re gonna straight up—” Slisk began, but Drax cut his words shut with his hoof.

“Naw, brah, we can’t just yell it out, yo,” he said knowingly. “Like, someone’s gonna hear, and shit!”

“Now that he mentions it, brother,” Flim said, “the less they say, the better, eh?” He gave an exaggerated wink. “What we don’t know can’t get us labelled as accomplices.”

“Right you are, brother mine!” Flam answered with a feral grin, then turned back to Drax and Slisk. “Shall we assume that the pictured ponies are going to meet with some sort of… rough stuff, perhaps?”

“A little bit of wet work, maybe?” Flim added.

“They’ll be... taken care of?”

“Without prejudice?”

“Uh… yeah, yo,” Drax said slowly, frowning. “We’re gonna, yknow…uh, take care of them.” He glanced at Slisk. “We’ll take care of them real good, right, brah?”

“Dudes. Real good,” Slisk said with an enthusiastic nod. “They’ll be just so taken care of.”

“Very well, then,” Flim said. His horn lit and a large book materialized on the table, right in front of the surprised changelings. “Have a look, boys.”

Slisk crowding in over his shoulder, Drax carefully lifted the cover open. The first page had a number of photographs pasted down, all showing the same stetson-wearing earth-pony mare. He turned the page only to find more pictures of her.

“Man, you got enough pictures of this one, brah?” he said with a frown as he quickly flipped through the album, finding more of the same.

Flam fidgeted with his mane. “But the pictures are of the highest quality, wouldn’t you say?”

“Dude,” Slisk said, leaning forward to inspect one photo in particular, “is this one of her in the shower—”

“Ah!” Flim shouted as he reached over and tore the page out. “Th-that one shouldn’t be in there!”

Drax sighed. “So what’s this dumb pony’s stupid name?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Flam said with a cough, stuffing the torn page down his shirt. “She’s Applejack, proprietor of Sweet Apple Acres, and so honest you could swear-in a witness on her.”

Flim rolled his eyes. “Terrible businesspony, too,” he added.

“That’s great and all, yo,” said Drax as his scowl deepened, “but we can’t both be the same pony. That’d be, like, suspicious as hell, brah.”

Flam reached over and flipped through the album. “There’s another pony somewhere in here, I’m sure of it. Hold on just a second, now.” After a moment of searching, his eyes brightened. “Ah! See, there? I told you so!”

Drax and Slisk glanced at the photo in question, which showed Applejack speaking with another earth-pony mare.

“Take a look at that one, there,” Flim said, jabbing a hoof at the second mare. “She’s one of the princess’s friends, too.”

“Indeed she is, brother. She goes by, uh…” Flam’s face scrunched up in concentration. “Pinkie Pie, I do believe.”

“Bubbly little number,” said Flim.

“Lives up to her name, so I hear,” added Flam.

“Loves parties!”

“Loves cake even more!”

“Loud as the dickens—”

“Brah!” Drax snapped, cutting them off. “Yo, like, I know you got this weird brother-talking-vibe thing going on, and that’s cool and all, but it’s making me twitchy, y’all going back and forth and shit like that!”

Eyes ablaze, Flim stood and glared down his nose. “Say, friend, who’s doing a favor for who, here?”

Before the situation could further deteriorate, Slisk leaned between them and waved a placating hoof. “Dudes, yo, he didn’t mean nothin’ by it. We’re all, like, friends here and all.”

After a long, tense moment, Flim nodded and lowered himself back onto his stool. “Alright, alright,” Flam said, carefully peeling the photograph of Applejack and Pinkie Pie free and laying it on the table. “You’re paying customers. Where do you want to meet to pick up your equipment?” His horn flared again and the album disappeared in a shower of sparks.

“Y-yo,” Drax said, thrown off by the display of magic, “like, we need it soon, like, ASAT, brah.”

Slisk nodded. “Like, can you dudes just meet us back here with it tonight?”

“Very well, then, m’boys,” Flam said. Flim, who still glared at Drax, remained silent. “We’ll return at seven o’clock, sharp. Be there.”

“Laters, dudes,” Slisk said, waving as the brothers stood and bowed (Flim forced to do so by Flam). They traipsed to the bar and dropped onto the counter a pair of diamonds, which the scowling bartender accepted as payment. A moment later, they were out the door.

“Alright, brah,” Drax said. He hopped to his feet and stretched. “So, like, I gotta practice some as Applepants, cuz she ain’t gonna be easy.”

“Hold up a sec,” Slisk said, snatching up the photograph. He followed Drax to the door and outside, where already Flim and Flam had disappeared from sight. “You mean I gotta be that pink one?”

Drax led him towards the forest, where they could practice out of sight and in the shade. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“Dude,” Slisk whined, shoulders slumped as they walked, “you know I hate pink, man. I wanna be Applejack. Why do you always get to pick?”

“Brah, because this Applebees is totally the more ladylike of the two.” Drax pulled the photograph out of Slisk’s grasp and held it up. “Look at that hair. That’s all me, yo. I’m all over that shit. It’s, like, in my nature and shit.”

“Why I gotta be Missus Pink, yo?” Slisk grumbled, then straightened up. “Dude, isn’t her name Applejack?”

Drax threw his forehooves in the air. ‘Brah! That’s what I said, yo, don’t be correcting me and all!”

“Sorry, dude…” Heavy silence hung between them for a few minutes, until Slisk spoke up. “So yo, like, when they said take care of her, did they mean like…”

“Brah,” Drax said with a knowing nod, “as soon as I saw those pictures, I knew what was up — it’s obvious they got some kind of history with Applehat, so, like, they want us to take care of her.” He winked conspiratorially. “Y’know, like, take care of.”

Slisk’s face remained completely blank. “What?”

“You know, like, in a makin’ larvae way,” Drax said, poking suggestively at a hole in his foreleg.

“Uck!” Slisk reared back and stuck his tongue out. “Dude, that’s buzzin’ weird.”

Drax shrugged. “That’s just how ponies are, yo, all like affectionate and shit about ponies they met once.” He glanced around and nodded his satisfaction. “This should be far enough, brah.”

“So, like, what?” Slisk asked in a trembling voice.

“Yo, you saw the pictures he had of her all wet like that,” Drax said as he found a stump to sit on. “Ponies get crazy when they get all wet. And they rub their shit together, and wham.” He smacked his forehooves together for emphasis.

A shudder ran through Slisk’s chitin. “And it happens if they just rub anything together?”

Drax shifted, trying to get into a more comfortable position. “Naw, brah, they can’t help but rub their butts together if they get wet, and wham.”

“What, like hitting?” Slisk asked.

“There’s like an explosion when they’re done, brah,” Drax answered as he stretched his hind legs. “The chick swells up and boom. Screaming foals everywhere.”

Slisk pretended to gag. “Hah, man, mammals are so hella gross, yo.”

“So these are, like, their special lady friends,” Drax said in conclusion. “Now gimme a sec to do my stretchin’, brah.”

“Fine, but I ain’t doin’ the jumping jacks,” Slisk said, dropping onto his back and kicking his legs in the air.

For almost a minute, Drax remained silent. “Yo,” he said at last, “so, like, lemme axe you a question, brah. Was it me or did those two dudes basically mess up our names all night?”

“Yeah, dude, that’s, like, kind of a thing about them,” Slisk said. He reached to touch his hindhooves.

“What,” Drax said, voice growing heated, “so, like, they think that shit’s funny? Cuz I mean I got mad respect for their product, but that shit was just, like, straight up rude, yo.”

Slisk sat up and fixed his friend with an uncharacteristically serious look. “No, dude, no. They got, like, problems and shit.”

“Problems?” Drax’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “What, like, they have Asparagus Syndrome or they’re artistic or something?”

“Yeah, dude, exactly,” said Slisk, nodding vehemently. “You gotta learn to be nice to people with brain problems, yo.”

Drax scratched his chin and hummed. “You right, brah. I mean, it’s got to be way hard living life being all stupid and shit.”

Going Full Pony

For creatures that are not particularly strong or clever, changelings are unusual in that they have no known natural predators: for example, manticores, which are known to eat other species of large insects, will not approach a changeling. This is due to the fact that underlying the changeling’s chitinous exoskeleton is a poisonous flesh awash with a veritable sea of toxic alkaloids and neurotoxins. Even the basilisk, feared for its ability to turn creatures to stone with a single glance, will avoid a changeling; this is because the changeling brain lacks the proper neural structure upon which the basilisk’s petrifying gaze acts. In this sense, changelings are not only inedible, but also quite literally too stupid to die.

~Excerpt from The Audubon Guide to Equestrian Fauna

Hauntingly lilting in the warm, Everfree air, a night bird's song trilled out for all to hear. The bird sat nestled amidst a cluster of leaves on a low branch, barely hidden from view. A chorus of chirps rose up to join it along with a swarm of fireflies that danced under the canopy. All in all, it was as picturesque a setting as one could expect to find in the Everfree Forest in the darkness before dawn.

A smooth, round stone rocketed out of the darkness and struck the bird broadside; it dropped from its perch and fell to the ground in a heap, dazed by the attack.

A pair of heavily-built changelings strode forth from the murky shadows that concealed their observation post and stood over the felled creature. “Buzz you, noisy-ass bird,” one of the changelings, the larger of the two, grumbled, spitting contemptuously to the side.

“Nice throw, Glarzk.” The other changeling snickered into his hoof. “I think you killed it.” With one last glance at the bird, which had wisely chosen to feign unconsciousness for the moment, they ambled back into their hiding place in the shadows, taking care to avoid stepping into a roughly dug hole. The hole appeared as an aperture into the void, so dark was its interior. A soft rumbling echoed up from the hole’s depths.

“Chrysalis almighty, these woods give me the creeps,” said the rock-thrower, leaning up against a tree. “I mean, there could be anything out here.”

His fellow eyed the canopy. “At least there’s not griffons, thank the Queen.” A shudder shook his frame.

“Shut your jellyhole, Bazoop. I’m being serious.” Glarzk rolled his eyes, then ripped a hunk of bark from the tree’s trunk. “And this bark isn’t actually terrible, by the way.”

“That’s Corporal Bazoop, Specialist,” Bazoop snapped, “and I am being serious. Griffons won’t come near this place.” Leaning in and sniffing at the bark, he wrinkled his nose in disgust. “No room to spread their wings, what with all the branches.”

Glarzk loudly swallowed a mouthful. “Seriously, Bazoop, we were in the same basic training company,” he said with a scowl. “Don’t pull this corporal shit on me. And what, like this festering shithole full of basilisks and hydras and whatever the hell else isn’t bad enough that you’ve got to start bringing imaginary critters into it?”

“I—” Bazoop paused, head cocked. “What?”

“Bug,” Glarzk said slowly, “you know griffons aren’t real, don’t you?”

“Are you serious?” Bazoop said with a wooden expression.

Glarzk barked a laugh and slapped his knee. “Hah! Oh shit, you’re a grown-ass guard and you actually believe in griffons.”

“Are you for buzzin’ serious?” Bazoop snapped, wings flaring. “You don’t think griffons are real?”

The other changeling paid the question little heed. “I’m gonna go call the promotion board when I get back,” he said through a chuckle. “Tell ‘em, ‘Hey, your newly minted corporal believes in griffons!’”

“Dude, did you not pay any attention at all in basic?” Bazoop asked. He folded his wings back up and breathed deeply. “If I remember right, you spent damn near all of grub phase doing pushups for being a dumbass.”

“Bug, shut up.” Glarzk ripped off another hunk of bark. “Don’t change the subject. Everyone knows there’s no such things as griffons. I don’t even know why you’d think such a thing.”

Bazoop rolled his eyes. “We had training on what to do for griffon bites, you retard. Like, how can you not remember this?” He waved a forehoof for emphasis. “They’re dangerous as all hell—can snap a changeling in half with their tentacles!”

“Yeah,” Glarzk said with another guffaw, “their big, scary, imaginary tentacles.”

“Dude, whatever,” Bazoop said, glancing skyward as though expecting a horde of tentacled monstrosities to swoop down at any moment. “They’re huge! They got these big, snapping beaks, and tentacles like the size of your head, and they can change color to blend in with their surroundings, and they hate changelings, just like hate us worse than ponies!” His breaths came in short, fast puffs.

Glarzk paused for a long moment before his eyes lit up. “Bazoop— for real,” he said in a voice dripping with barely contained glee, “are you scared?”

“Hell yes, I’m scared of griffons!” Bazoop shouted. He immediately slapped a hoof over his mouth, then continued in a much softer voice. “Anyone with half a brain’s gonna be scared of something like that!”

“Oh my buzzing hell, this is hilarious.” Glarzk chewed up another piece of bark.
“Bug, what other big, imaginary monsters are you scared of? Don’t say buffalo—I’ll buzzing shit myself and die if you say buffalo.”

“Fine, I’ll buzzing prove it, you shitheap.” Bazoop stomped to the hole and crouched down over it. “Hey, Sergeant. Sergeant!”

The soft rumbling, identifiable with some difficulty as a snore, spiked with a sharp snort that ripped through the otherwise peaceful Everfree night. When the snores quieted again, Bazoop glanced at Glarzk, who only shrugged.

Bazoop stuck his head as far into the hole as he could without actually falling and took a deep, deep breath. “Sergeant!” he barked.

The snores abruptly cut off. “Whuzzafbbf?” grumbled someone from the darkness of the hole. A bird, startled into wakefulness, flew away in a flurry of feathers. “Whuh?”

“Sergeant, wake up,” Bazoop said, backing away cautiously.

The ground suddenly thrummed with a deep buzzing, one that the two guards could feel in their gut, and a monstrous changeling slowly rose out of the hole. He hovered there for a moment, scanning the perimeter for threats. Finding none, his wings ceased to flap and the deafening buzz ceased. A resounding thud issued forth as he lit heavily upon the forest floor, his hooves sinking into the soft soil. The sergeant eyed the other two changelings up with a critical eye. “Corporal,” he said in a soft voice laced with irritation, “are we under attack?”

Bazoop swallowed heavily and stood at attention. “No, Sergeant.”

“Then go back to”—The sergeant’s gaze flicked over Glarzk, who gnawed listlessly on a nearby tree—“go back to mentoring him, before the poor nymph hurts himself.” He turned back towards the hole, but paused when he noticed that Bazoop had not moved. “Is there something else, Corporal?”

“Ah, yes, Sergeant,” Bazoop said, licking his dry lips. “We need you to settle a dispute.”

The sergeant sighed. “And you felt the need to wake me up for this,” he said dryly. “Very well—tell me about this dispute.”

“He,” Bazoop said as he whipped an accusing hoof Glarzk’s way, “doesn’t believe in griffons.”

The sergeant frowned and cocked his head. “What?”

“Yeah, Sarge,” Bazoop said. “He was giving me a ration of shit, said they’re imaginary animals.”

“That’s—” the sergeant began.

“Yeah, I know, right?” Bazoop interrupted, rolling his eyes. “I told him about the tentacles and everything!”

“Tentacles?” the sergeant said. His frown deepened.

Glarzk snorted loudly. “Sergeant, you can stop playing,” he scoffed. “I know there’s no such thing as griffons, so there’s no sense in trying to fool me.”

“See how stupid you look when one comes thundering out of the underbrush!” Bazoop flailed his forehooves to accentuate his point. “You know, tentacles all grabbing and smashing everything it sees!”

Glarzk’s mouth was open to reply, but the sergeant apparently had had enough. “Okay,” he snapped, rubbing his forehead, “both of you dipshits shut up. You make my brain hurt.” He strode over and jabbed Glarzk in the chest. “You—idiot number one. You’re wrong. Griffons are extinct, not imaginary. And before you ask, no, that’s not the same thing at all.”

“Told you—” Bazoop began, but before he could finish, the sergeant wheeled on him, furiously knifing the air inches from the startled corporal’s muzzle with his hoof.

“And you—idiot number two, stop being a little sissy grub,” he said in a hushed growl. “Besides the fact that hive operations hasn’t reported a griffon-sighting in a thousand moons, everyone with half a brain knows they didn’t have tentacles. They were big, scaly motherbuzzers that breathed fire and would cook you alive in your shell as soon as look at you.” He paused to take a deep, wearied breath. “Are there any further questions, you pair of numbnuts?”

Glarzk lilted. “No, Sergeant—” Suddenly, his ears perked up and twisted. “Hey, did either of you hear that?” A faint cry warbled through the air.

“It’s just a bird,” the sergeant said, still glaring at his subordinates. “Now, if there’s nothing else—”

“I don’t think that’s a bird,” Glarzk cut in. The cries slowly, steadily grew louder, soon accompanied by a series of intermittent crashes.

Bazoop’s eyes widened. “It’s a griffon!” He ran in circles, ears laid flat against his head. “You two just had to say they weren’t real, didn’t you?!”

“They aren’t real!” Glarzk said.

“No, they’re extinct!” the sergeant snapped. However, as the screams and crashing grew almost deafening, he shrank back. “Although there’s no shame in being careful. Into the hole, troops!”

The three changelings dove into the hole and poked their heads out just in time to see the monster go careening through the clearing. Its two wooden wheels bounced and crashed over the uneven ground, and long vines and strands of ivy clung to its fuschia body and flailed like party streamers behind it. Two mares rode on top, hooting and screaming as they rocketed past.

Within seconds, it had vanished, leaving only treadmarks in the grass to tell of its passing.

After a long moment of silence, Glarzk finally mustered the strength to speak. “So, Sergeant,” he said slowly, “should we investigate that…?”

“Queen told us to stand by until we received our order,” the sergeant said. He dropped back down to the bottom of the hole. “and I’m making a command decision to file this one under ‘Someone Else’s Problem’, boys.”

“Yes, Sergeant!” Glarzk said, saluting sharply. “Bazoop, what do you think that thing was?”

“I-I-I d-don’t kn-know,” he said through chattering teeth, body completely rigid. Glarzk chuckled as he climbed out and reached down to retrieve his fear-stricken comrade.

The sergeant’s snores once more echoed from below.

Already disguised as Princess Twilight’s friends, Drax and Slisk barrelled through the undergrowth on the back of their borrowed cart, fighting to keep from losing their seat and tumbling off. As Slisk shifted his weight, the cart turned, narrowly bypassing yet another tree.

“Dude,” he shouted, turning the cart again, “I coulda swore I saw changelings back there in that hole!”

Drax whooped and pumped a hoof into the air. “Brah, I knew I was right about this kidnapping thing, yo! Oh hells yes, she’s even got guards out here to, like, keep an eye on the scene and report and shit!”

“Dude,” Slisk said as they both ducked to avoid a low tree branch, “but, like, why wouldn’t they just, like, y’know, do it themselves?”

“Huh. That’s a good question, yo.” Despite the chaotic conditions, he managed to put a hoof to his chin and adopt a contemplative expression. “Like, I bet it’s one of those things where they’re not allowed, like, ‘Friends and families are exploded from this special offer’ kinda deals, brah.”

Turning the cart to dodge through a cluster of bushes, Slisk nodded. “Oh yeah, dude, cuz they’d have, like, advantages and shit.” Slisk pondered for a moment. “Hah—though, dude, like, we’re all family kinda, y’know, cuz of the queen and shit.”

Drax shuddered. “Brah, don’t even joke like that, cuz otherwise when you and Charlene from B-comb were swappin’ spit, it’d be, like, in-sext, yo.”

“Dude, but what’s wrong with being insects?” Slisk said.

“Brah, I’m not even gonna— “

The wagon ramped off of a mound of dirt, almost reaching three feet before landing and nearly unseating its passengers.

“Yo, this cart isn’t as shitty as it looked,” Drax shouted. “Those brothers know their shit, brah.”

“They spelled ‘science’ wrong on the bag, though.” Slisk lifted a burlap sack and passed it to Drax, who managed to unfold it. Crudely written in black marker was the word, “syntz”.

“Brah, like, how’s it supposed to be spelled?”

“Like, the q is silent, or some shit like that,” Slisk said.

Suddenly, the cart topped the crest of a particularly steep hill and took flight, soaring majestically over a golden field of wheat, bathed in the striking oranges and purples of dawn’s first light. For the two disguised changelings, time seemed to stop.

“Whoa,” Slisk said slowly, eyes wide. “Dude, like, whoa.”

Drax sniffled. “Shit’s pretty as hell, yo.”

Unfortunately, time had not actually stopped, and within seconds the cart slammed down into the field, throwing its occupants off before itself flipping upside down. Then, all was still, silent save the whine of the cart’s still-spinning wheels.

Surrounded by stalks of wheat, Drax groaned and rolled over. “Slisk, brah,” he said, rubbing his backside, “you still alive?”

“Never again, dude,” came Slisk’s voice. The stalks parted as Slisk pushed through, knees shaking, but otherwise seemingly uninjured. “Never again.”

Drax groaned again as he forced himself to his hooves. His fine amber mane fell across his face and into his mouth. “Brah, I hate this stupid hair,” he said, spitting it out. “All gettin’ in my mouth, and shit. Quit buzzin’ around, yo, and help me find the cart.”

“It’s right over there, doggie,” Slisk said. He pronked happily as he led Drax through the wheat and into a small clearing, in the middle of which sat their fallen cart. One of the wheels seemed marginally more wobbly, but other than that, it had come through the crash no worse for the wear. The burlap sack lay on the ground beside it.

“Brah,” Drax moaned, “why you suddenly gotta be all hopping everywhere, yo? That shit’s, like, tiring just to watch.”

Slisk shrugged helplessly. “Dude, I dunno. Just kinda, like, happened I guess.”

Together, the two changelings managed to flip their cart upright. The sun had risen over the wheat and beamed down, stinging their eyes.

“Yo, when we were airborned-ed, I’m pretty sure I seen Ponyville over that way.” Drax said, pointing in the town’s direction. “We should get going—” He paused when Slisk picked up the sack and the sound of glass clinking on glass rang out. “Brah, what’s in the bag?”

Slisk cocked his head. “The science shit, dude.” He opened the bag up to look inside. “You know, beakers and stuff.”

“Nah, brah, I said we ain’t need that,” Drax said. He moved between the cart’s stays and began to pull it towards Ponyville. Its bearings creaked loudly in the otherwise quiet morning air. “Ditch that shit somewhere and let’s go.”

“No way, yo.” Slisk shook his head vehemently. “Flim and Flam said we gotta give all this stuff back or else I’ll lose my reposit, dude.”

“Just get it out of the sack before we get there,” Drax replied as he muscled his way through the wheat and out of sight.

Slisk considered the bag. “Where can I put it?” he mused, then realized that he stood in the clearing alone. “Dude, wait up!”

Brushing the poofy mane from his face, he took off after his friend.

High over Ponyville, a trio of pegasi sat on a cloud and kept close watch over the Ponyville Library. One of them began to drift into unconsciousness, but the largest slapped him on the backside of the head.

“Minion Phillip, you will remain vigilant or else I will have you brought up on charges,” Zubzuk, disguised as the large pegasus, said haughtily.

Phillip scowled. “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever been a part of,” he snarled. “And I’ve been part of a lot of stupid things.” His reward was another slap.

“Silence!

“Are either of you hungry?” the third “pegasus” said. He reached back to scratch his flank. “I could use something to eat.”

“There will be time for rations later,” Zubzuk said, returning his gaze to the library below.

“Why don’t you ever hit him?” Phillip grumbled. He barely managed to roll aside and dodge a third slap.

“Because I like Minion Blizzik more than you.” Suddenly, Zubzuk’s eyes widened. “Look! Someone approaches the princess’s abode!”

Lazily glancing down, Phillip could see a pair of mares with a small, two-wheeled cart had indeed stopped in front of the library’s door. “So what? That could be anyone.”

So focused was he, Zubzuk didn’t even think to smack his subordinate. “Call it instinct,” he murmured. “Let us watch and see.”

“And then we can eat,” Blizzik said, too softly for either of them to hear.

Lapsing into silence, they waited for the show to begin.

“Dude, this mare really does live in a tree, yo,” Slisk-Pinkie said, prodding Drax-Applejack in the ribs.

Before them loomed the Ponyville Library in all of its leafy glory, windows dark and shuttered, door firmly barred against the outside world. Even in the bright morning sunlight, a pall of gloom seemed to loom heavily about the place. At least a dozen ponies had passed by in the time Pinkie and Applejack stood outside, but each took care not to venture too close, almost as though going out of their way to avoid it.

The decrepit cart slouched beside them, bag laid out inside.

Applejack scowled and rubbed her side. “I told you that shit already, brah,” she said. “And stop jabbing me.”

“Dude, like, won’t she be asleep?” Pinkie asked. Bouncing in place, she craned her neck to try to get a view through one of the upper windows.

“Nah, doggie,” Applejack said knowingly. “Ponies all wake up early n’ shit. They, like, sing songs at each other I think, or something.” She glanced over at at her friend, and her scowl deepened. “Brah, I told you to cut it out with all that bouncing n’ shit.”

With more effort than should have been necessary, Pinkie stuck her hooves to the ground. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Feels good, is all.”

“Brah.” Applejack grabbed the cart’s stays and pulled it right up to the library’s door. “I’m gonna knock, brah. I’m doing it, yo—cuz I’m knocking. Right now.” Her hoof hovered inches away from the thick oaken door as Pinkie peered over her shoulder.

“Dude, did you knock?”

‘Does it look like I buzzin’ knocked, yo?” Applejack snapped, “No, cuz I didn’t. I gotta think of some classy shit to say to her, brah.” She cleared her throat, then took a deep breath. “Alright, yo. Now I’m gonna knock. I got some real cleverness here.”

“You okay, dude? Cuz ponies are starting to, like, look.” Pinkie waved a hoof behind them, where a couple ponies had stopped to watch in curiousity.

“Brah, they’re starting to look cuz you keep asking me shit, yo,” Applejack said. She turned a glare Pinkie’s way. “Y’all be, like, making them look at me, all standing here being a dumbass with all these questions and shit.”

Pinkie shrugged. “Okey-dokey-lokey, yo.”

“Slisk. Yo.”

“What, dude?”

Applejack shook her head helplessly. “Whatever. Alright. Go time.” Reaching out, she smartly rapped the door twice.

The two waited for a minute, but nobody appeared, and no sounds could be heard from inside. “Maybe she’s not home?” Pinkie suggested. Her legs began to bend and unbend unconsciously.

“She’s gotta be home. yo!” Applejack said. She reached out and knocked again, this time with even more force. “Like, where else she gonna be, brah? This is where all the books are, right? In the library?” She repeatedly laid powerful blows down upon the door, hard enough to shake it in its frame. Suddenly, the door flew open. Applejack nearly fell forward when her hoof hit only air.

As she regained her balance, she found herself looking down at a pony’s hooves. Her gaze slowly travelled up a leg, then the chest, and finally the neck before she found herself gazing right into the face of an extremely nonplussed Princess Twilight Sparkle.

“Can I help you? Princess Twilight said in an acidic tone. Applejack opened her mouth, but a cold fear stole down her spine, only allowing her to make strangled noises.

Fortunately, “Pinkie Pie” hopped forward, bag slung over her shoulder and a grin plastered across her face. “Hiya, Twilight!” she chirped. “Whatcha doooo-in’?”

The overly cheerful greeting set Twilight back. “I was sleeping,” she said slowly. “Look, if you two don’t mind—”

“Nope!” Pinkie said. She grabbed Applejack’s leg and pulled her forward, past Twilight and into the library. “Don’t mind at all!”

“Wait! I didn’t invite you—” Twilight growled. “Look. This isn’t the best time, uh”—She stared hard at Pinkie for a long
moment—"uh, you. Porky Pig. I’m still sleeping off last night’s—”

“I have something super-duper fun for us to do!” Pinkie interrupted. She nudged Applejack in the ribs. “Right, Applejack?”

“Brah, I told you to stop doing that,” Applejack muttered, then turned to face Twilight. “Th-that’s r-r-r—” Terror threatened to rip control away from her. “That’s right, u-uh— Poker Face.”

Groaning loudly, Twilight ran a hoof down her face, then gave them a strained smile. “Very well, Poker. Show me this fun thing of yours.”

“Why don’t you explain it to her, Applejack?” Pinkie said, once again nudging Applejack.

“Brah!” Applejack snapped, rounding on her friend. “If you do that one more time—” She suddenly remembered where she was and cleared her throat. “Y’all. Uh, r-right. W-we have this, um—th-this bag of—of ssss—”

“A crazy amazing bag of science!” Pinkie stepped in to cover for Applejack’s inability to speak. “Doesn’t it make you wanna have a look? Doesn’t it?”

“Nope,” Twilight said, smile fading. “Can I go back to sleep, now?”

This possibility had never entered into their calculations. “Aw, c’mon, Twilight,” Pinkie goaded. A bead of sweat appeared on her forehead. “We brought it here, extra specially just for you! Won’t you just take an eentsy-weentsy peeky-week?”

“Nope,” Twilight said again. She pushed them both towards the door, which still stood wide open. “I think we’re done here.”

“Applejack, say something!” Pinkie said as she dug his hooves into the ground.

“Y’all,” Applejack croaked miserably, “Dag-nabbit. Yee-haw.”

“Applejack sounds like she’s having a stroke,” Twilight said, unable to budge Pinkie further. “You should take her to the hospital.”

“Ah’m Applehat, yo!” Applejack added in a daze.

Suddenly, Pinkie spun out of Twilight’s grasp and hopped around her. “Both Applejack and I got to look in the science bag!” she said. “And neither of us even really know any sciences!”

“Then go learn some,” Twilight said with a scowl. “Just so long as you don’t do it here.”

“Darn-tootin’? I loooove me some apples!”

“Just oooooone second, Twilight,” Pinkie said, pulling Applejack to the side. She whispered, “C’mon, dude, pull yourself together! I can’t do this by myself!”

Applejack’s breathing came in ragged puffs. “Sorry, brah. It’s—this is freaking me out n’ shit, yo.” She gritted her teeth, then took a deep breath. “Okay, I got this.” They turned back to Twilight.

“Sorry about that!” Pinkie said, patting her friend on the back reassuringly. “Applejack’s feeling much better, now! Aren’t you?”

“Look in the bag!” a wide-eyed Applejack said loudly.

Twilight stared at the dubious bag, still slung over Pinkie’s back. “Is ‘science’ normally spelled that way?” she asked in a skeptical voice.

“What,” Applejack said, “y’all too good to look in the science bag? Gotta be questionin’ the spelling?”

“Is that true, Twilight?” Pinkie shot in. “It’s me, Pinkie Pie! Don’t you trust me?”

“Yeah, like, can’t you trust me—Applepants—yo?” Applejack sat down and crossed her forehooves. “Well, alllll-righty then. Ah guess y’all ain’t gonna get to do y’all’s favorite thing to do, ever. Which is look at science, yo.” When Twilight didn’t respond, she added, “Ah reckon Ah’m gonna have ta tell the main princess that y’all hate learnin’ and shit, now.”

Twilight considered the bag and the two cheerful ponies that stood before her. “If I look in the bag, will you two leave me alone?” she asked slowly.

“Absolutely-positootley!” cheered Pinkie.

“Well, too bad.” Twilight scowled. “Piss up a rope.”

“But—” Applejack began.

Twilight’s eyes blazed. “I said no!” she snapped. “Now, get out!

Applejack’s pupils shrank to the size of neutrons as something in her mind, already strained to the breaking point, failed catastrophically.

“Hey, what are you looking at—” Twilight started to say, but a blood-curdling war-cry cut her off. Applejack lept wildly into the air, bringing down an elbow with sledgehammer-like force on the base of her skull. The princess crumpled to the ground like a sack of science. Breathing heavily, Applejack loomed over her.

Pinkie slowly walked over and gazed down upon the fallen Twilight. Finally, she found her voice. “Oh, shit, yo!” she shouted, grabbing Applejack by the shoulders. “Dude, shit! What the shit, dude, you just clocked her!”

“Brah, I know, right?” Applejack said as she stared disbelievingly at the guilty hoof.

“Like, right on the head, dude!” Pinkie went on. “Like, you just hit a princess!”

“Brah! I know!”

Pinkie gripped herself on the cheeks. “Dude! You knocked out a—”

“Shut up and lemme think, brah!” Applejack snapped. “I’m trippin’ the buzz out, here!”

“Why’d you do it, yo?” Pinkie asked in softer tones. “What happened to treatin’ ladies right, n’ shit?”

“I-I dunno!” Applejack paced back and forth, eyes wide. “It just—it just, like, happened, yo! One moment she was saying, ‘no, I don’t wanna look in your stupid bag,’ and the next, I, like, smashed her square on the dome!”

The silence hung heavily in the air. A breeze blew in through the open door. “So, like, uh,” Pinkie said, nudging Twilight, “dude, are we gonna do this thing?”

“What?” Applejack said as she halted her pacing. Then, realization hit. “Oh, yeah, brah. Hells yeah! Let’s haul her out and get her on the wagon.”

Working together, they managed to lift Twilight and carry her to the door. “Dude, she’s heavier than she looks,” Pinkie said, holding her hind legs.

“Yeah, I know, brah, that’s why I wanted to like get her in the bag on the wagon, yo,” Applejack huffed, “Too late for that now, though, like, water over the bridge and shit. You wanna put her in the bag first?”

She looked to Pinkie for an answer, but her friend’s mouth only gaped open, eyes fixed on something outside. Applejack craned her neck to see what it was.

“Brah, what are you—” She, too, lapsed into silence. Standing outside, keeping a distance from the library, was a crowd of over a dozen ponies. Each bore a shocked expression. “Slisk,” Applejack muttered, “brah, get ready. We’re gonna have to straight book it.”

“Dude, there’s, like, a hundred of them,” Pinkie said in a shaky voice. Before she could say anything further, however, a clap cut through the air.

At the front of the crowd, a filly applauded, her hooves ringing out clearly. After a moment, another pony joined her, then another. Soon the entire crowd was stomping and cheering.

“Dude, what—” Pinkie started.

Appplejack sharply hushed her. “Just keep walking, brah. Smile.” Smiling widely, the two carried Twilight to the cart.

The applause petered out. “It’s about time somepony did something about her!” one of the ponies cried.

“She peed all over my carrots!” shouted another.

A third added, “Please tell us you’re taking her to a rehab clinic.”

“Uh—” Applejack cleared her throat. “Yeah, y’all. Daaaaaarn-tootin, yo.”

“We’re using science, everypony!” Pinkie said through a giggle.

In an undertone, Applejack said, “Brah, help me get her in the bag and let’s go, yo!” She maneuvered Twilight as Pinkie held the bag open. “And stop that giggling and shit, brah, it’s freaky.”

“Sorry.” After a few seconds, they managed to get the bag around Twilight’s upper half. “Good enough,” Pinkie muttered. Lifting the burden to her shoulder, she grunted, then lobbed the sack into the back of the cart. “Now let’s—”

From the sack came the clear, unmistakable sound of shattering glass.

“Aw nuts, Draxie, my deprofit—” Pinkie began, but Applejack slapped her on the back of her head.

“Shut up—we’re going,” she hissed, grabbing the wagon’s stays. To the crowd, she said loudly, “See y’all later! Don’t forget to eat yer apples, yo!”

One wheel squeaking furiously, the cart rolled away from the library and the dumbstruck ponies arrayed by its entrance. Pinkie glanced around and cocked an eyebrow. "Draxie, are you sure this is the right way?"

"Brah, whatever way is the right way, yo," Applejack whispered. "We gotta ditch outta here before these yokels figure out we ain't really ponies, and shit!" He hitched the stays and upped his pace.

They traveled without conversation, although Pinkie hummed a jaunty tune the entire time. Finally, they cleared the town's outskirts and wheeled the cart to the side of the road, along which ran a long wooden fence. Applejack took a deep breath, then spun on her friend.

“Brah!” she snapped at Pinkie, who cowered beneath the verbal assault. “I told you to, like, get that glass shit out of the bag, yo!”

“Awww, don’t be a grumpypants, Drax! Lookie what weee’ve goooot!” Pinkie sing-songed, poking Twilight’s flank.

“What’s going on with—” The color drained from Applejack’s face. “Oh, brah, no. No. You didn’t.”

“Hee hee!” Pinkie bounced circles around the cart, then hopped on and dropped to her stomach beside the half-bagged Twilight. “I want cupcakes!”

“Brah,” Applejack said slowly, “you went full pony, didn’t you?”

Pinkie giggled. “Didn’t have a choice, Draxie! You were”—She paused to blow a raspberry—”turr-ah-bullllll.”

“Oh no, no no no. You never go full pony, yo.” Applejack pulled the cart just inside the forest where nobody could see them. “Brah, I’ma change back real quick. Hang on.” As she shut her eyes, a green flash revealed shiny chitin where before there had been a pony’s coat. Wings popped from her back, and her pupils vanished. By the time he finished the transformation, all of the color had left his friend’s face.

“Tee hee,” Pinkie said weakly, rolling onto her side. “Oh, dude, I’m gonna be sick.”

Drax helped her prop herself over the edge of the cart. “Brah, you're just real change-sick is all. Get it all up, yo.” He patted her quivering back reassuringly. “Eat some grass or some shit. Get all that nasty ‘ol pony out your bod’, brah.”

A rictus grin covered Pinkie’s green-tinged face. “Come on everypony, smile-smile-smbleeeeuuuuraaaagh!” She convulsed, vomiting up a pink, sparkling slurry.

On the cart, Twilight groaned and shifted, movement accompanied by crackling glass. “Oh, I know your bitch-ass ain’t waking up!” Drax shouted as he held Pinkie’s poofy mane up and out of her face.

“From these happy friends of miii—” Pinkie paused mid-note to expel another bolus of the foul-smelling glittery sludge. “D-dude, I ain’t never going pony again.”

Before Drax could respond, a shadow loomed over him from behind. “Who’s th—” Something slammed down onto the top of his head. He fought to stay on his hooves, but a second blow from the attacker laid him out. Pinkie groaned, unable to so much as lift her head.

Right before the darkness took him, Drax heard someone laugh cruelly. “And that, minion Phillip, is how you run a military campaign.”