Sunday, Bloody Sunday

legalize, MPL:FIM is owned by Hasbro, please support the official release so that we can keep doing what we do. Also thanks to Twystron500 for the character Quick Fix and the date rape set up, it worked too well not to go in here as well.

Berry Punch was staggering home again.Nothing new, thought the world at large, was anypony going to help her? But no pony did. she just staggered and wandered, stopping now to let most of the vile drink she had consumed spill out of her mouth. It was really better going down all things considered.

But now, as she stood there, vomiting in the alley way, some pony decided to help her, or at least help themselves to her. Quick Fix was sauntering over to her quickening doom, but again, the world only thought who cares, this has happened before, it will happen again. With out a word, Fix pushed Berry forward, a dirty move. She was too weakened by the drink, not to mention the drugs Fix had slipped in those drinks when Berry turned her back, to stand a chance at defending her self.

Fix was at the ready, an advantage of evolution one sick soul could say, that they wore nothing, so there was nothing to remove. He pushed into Berry, even as she yelled against him. She screamed, but no pony would listen. This happened all the time here in Canterlot. Regal city, but only to the untrained eye. She cried, she pleaded, but again, Fix just pushed his filthy member in and out of her. Berry was a brave soul though, she fought back, and all it got her was a busted eye socket, two loose teeth, and a womb full of rapist seed.

She cried, and cried. This was not fair, she thought, I just wanted to see my friend, I only wanted a quick drink, I stopped after 3 drinks.

But the world didn't care. It just turned it's eyes from the scene all together. All eyes that is, except those of a lone artist, who happened to be moving in the morning, and had been unable to sleep from the excitement. This pony had no real interest in helping Berry Punch, though. He didn't like what he saw, he hated it to be honest, but not for the reasons other ponies would hate it. He thought Berry had rather nice symmetry, and that worthless idiot down there just ruined it. It was like painting a phallus on the Mare-a Lisa.

No pony could get away with such crime. He waited though, and watched, biding his time til just the right moment. He knew the best time to strike. He wanted to yell at the bastard, this pony did, to tell him off for what he had done. And there in the alley way, he would have his chance.

So it was a shock when Fix bucked the artist in the face as he came around the corner and made his declaration. Or at least the artist thought so. He was no weak pony, he was a sculptor, and painter, a Renascence pony so to speak, So he was rather mad to be struck by the very destroyer of art he had come to correct. The Artist rose up, jaw aching, and ran full speed at the dealer Fix. He collided with the scum with such force that Fix had two broken ribs, not to mention being shunted through a three pane window, with all that entails. The artist jumped through, and savagely beat the foul horse with his fore hooves, yelling at him the while.

"You Bastard! You scum. You ruined the art that woman had! I was painting her, I even had a name for it, 'The lost soul of the alley.' It was a master piece! But now, all I see looking at it, is the travesty you made of her flawless face, the perfect check bones, the brow! All ruined! You disgust me. Isn't it bad enough you have to deal drugs to the foals here, but destroying the natural beauty of her? It was a crime!" He yelled as his hooves fell, time and again.

He saw a shard of glass, at least 8 inches long, coming to a point. The Artist Picked it up gingerly in his mouth, and brought the razor sharp edge to slash the hide of the dealer in several sharp, quick blows, twisting his head this way and that, blood droplets flying through the air. The glass cut into the mouth of the Artist, his blood pooling around the edge of the impromptu knife and dripping rather pleasingly to the floor. The steam rising of of the dealers now clearly visible entrails was almost thick enough to cut in this cold, empty storefront. There was no shortage of crime in this part of town, but now, there was art.

"Oh my..." The artist said looking around him now, seeing the spray of the blood from his hooves, to the cascading arches made by the glass. They where random, yet delicate. Placed where ever they wanted, but meshing together in the eyes of this beholder in a perfect pattern. It was like nothing he had ever seen, The closest medium he could think of was Jackcolt Pollock, But that had just been paint and a rag in comparison to this.

This was life itself ending. So much more beautiful than life or chaos, but rather the aftermath of their glorious union in this dusty room. The smells, the feeling of the cooling blood on his deep blue fur, the way his silver mane now flowed over his brow, drenched with sweat and blood. It was madness, it was passion. This was art.

The Artist threw his head back and laughed. Over and over he laughed, his whole body shaking from the jubilant quivering of his diaphragm, the shaking of his lungs, the dance of his Adams apple in his throat. He sang to it even.

"The splatter, the Splatter/

Running down the wall, Oh what a ball/

My glorious art, cut straight from his heart/

The splatter the splatter, oh what a clatter/

To the grave with his life, save his blood by my knife/

The splatter the wonderful splatter/

His days were waste, of him I made haste/

The splatter oh thy wonderful splatter/

Cutting through his skin, leaving only a pool so thin/

The splatter, the lovely splatter/

Ponyville be upon high call, Jean-Luc Pastel will cut through them all/

To make the splatter, the glorious splatter, to me it is no matter!"

He laughed and danced his way to his second story studio, where the Stallion grabbed his things, when back down, and painted the scene he had carved of the damn drug dealer. He laughed all the while, barely sitting still as he put to canvas the rage he put to the carcass.

Why, oh why, has no pony ever thought of this before me? Art from life, this has opened my eyes, I was a foal before, I was blind, but Now I see the glorious Red writing on the wall! He laughed, slashing with his brush just as he did the glass, red oil paint flying and splashing on his canvas the way he had made the blood behave. But when it was over, he was angry. It was not the same.

"Not the same not the same not the same. This is just a drawing of what I made from life itself. It has no soul on the canvas... It does not fit the canvas! That is my problem, for sure. Only the real deal will do. I must make more art!" Jean-Luc cried to the sky.

No pony was listening, this was not their problem. Besides, guards poking around meant trouble, just to shut up one dumb pony that was being loud. No pony knew he was telling the truth, no pony cared to know here.

Jean-Luc went back to his studio, and plopped down with gusto as he let the adrenaline subside. He knew it could not be just anypony he carved into his works, most ponies where beautiful, living art. But there is scum out there, Jean-Luc thought to himself now, Scum that destroy art, carry no beauty in their souls. They should be the ones I transform into my masterpieces. They are the ones for whom my knife will seek.

He was too wired to sleep, and for once, too bored to paint. So he packed, And looked up Ponyville again to see what sort of art they had out there, He was traveling there because he had heard the country did wonderful things for an artist soul. He laughed, his soul was alive now, what could this little town offer next to this? But he had already agreed to move, and had a nice studio waiting for him, so it would do while word of his master piece here spread.