The Ultimate Fate Of All Evil
“I don’t quite see it,” said Jet Set, adjusting his glasses. “I mean, I see it. But I don’t see it.”
The crowd nodded and made some noises that, if interpreted vaguely enough, could have been agreement. Or dissent. It was hard to tell. Jet Set didn’t quite have the clout yet for unanimous approval.
The It in question was a particularly odd exhibit in the Canterlot Statue Gardens: a rather gauche sculpture of a... Well, a something. It was a mishmash creature of some sort, with an eagle’s claw, a lion’s paw, and quite a few other things besides. It looked as if it were trying to sing, but with the way all of its discordant features had been arranged, there remained the distinct possibility that it was howling in agony. All said, it looked completely hideous.
And the sculptor was unknown, which didn’t do it any favors.
The popular view on the statue was somewhat mixed. A sizeable number of ponies considered it outright revolting. Others were of the opinion that, seeing as it was art, and as artists were generally insane, there was probably a good reason as to why it was such an eyesore.
The last few were just hanger-ons who’d seen a crowd at the Canterlot Garden Party and decided to join in by force of habit.
“It’s not necessarily bad,” Jet Set continued. “But then, it’s not necessarily good, either.”
That sounded vague enough to get some nods out of the crowd.
“Yes,” murmured Upper Crust, a tan-coated unicorn who just happened to be Jet Set’s wife. “Completely right.”
A few of the ponies next to her to murmured similar thoughts. But not too loudly, in case she turned out to be wrong.
Photo Finish, an enormous star in Canterlot fashion circles, chose this moment to speak up. “I, Photo Finish, declare this... Well, ah, let Photo Finish put it this way, darlinks: no, no, no, no, no. No. Terribly out of style. No grace at all. Look at those crooked teeth, that awful goatee, and tell me they are not the worst you haff ever seen. No! If Photo Finish had been put in charge of this, it would not have happened.”
The crowd rewarded her thoughts with enthusiastic applause. Plenty of HmHms and YesYesses were delivered all around.
“My thoughts exactly,” said Jet Set. “Just what I’d been trying to say: no grace, no grace.” He then realized it wise to zip his lips, before anypony pointed out that he had not, in fact, said anything like that in the slightest.
“Indeed,” Upper Crust mumbled, and she followed suit in shutting up.
The crowd had just about decided that the statue was indeed sinfully ugly, and was about to move on to the next exhibit, when Fancy Pants cleared his throat.
And that, of course, got just about everypony’s attention. You did not ignore the throat-clearing of Fancy Pants. Not unless he explicitly wished you to do so. In which case, you ignored it and tried not to look bad in the process.
“I think it’s got a haunting sort of beauty to it,” he said, with that charming old-bean accent that made all the mares swoon. “There’s definitely a purpose here. It represents something. Perhaps confusion? Evil? Chaos? Hum.” He studied it for a few moments more and declared, “At any rate, it’s certainly not something to be judged by looks alone.”
“Well, darn, now I don’t know what to think,” Upper Crust whispered to Jet Set.
The crowd, for its part, seemed to be confused also. Photo Finish, who was herself near the top of the pyramid, had displayed her obvious disapproval, but then... Fancy Pants. Nopony wanted to be caught disagreeing with either of them, but then, agreeing with one would certainly LOOK like disagreeing with the other...
A quandary indeed.
“I think he might outrank her,” Jet Set whispered.
Upper Crust shook her head. “Let’s not risk it.”
Most of the other ponies seemed to have picked up on this advice as well, and they remained in relative silence. Stalemate set in. The Canterlot front went quiet.
This might have gone on the rest of the night, had Prince Blueblood not glanced away from his mirror and commented, “You know, I think I look particularly good standing next to this statue.”
The crowd cheered and issued congratulations to Blueblood for his insightful, not to mention neutral, remarks. Indeed, if more ponies had been as self-centered and ignorant as he, the dreaded awkward silence might have never occurred at all. That was something for all aspiring in-the-know ponies to think about.
“Purpose shmurpose,” said Photo Finish as the cheers died down. “What is the point if it is not pleasing to look at first? There is no substance to it. Whatever might have been there was all cut out when the artiste added those terrible horns.”
“Well, that would be the point,” Fancy Pants countered. “It’s supposed to shake you out of your comfort zone. Make you realize that not everything is right in the world. Look at it. Don’t you see there, how the head is that of a pony’s? I think it’s a message about how, in a way, it’s all of us who are the real monsters. If we take a good long look at ourselves.”
He coughed. “Not saying I’m inclined to agree with that, obviously, but there you go.”
Groans erupted from the crowd, which were quickly silenced and replaced with more socially acceptable veneers. The groans, of course, had not been in response to either Fancy Pants’ or Photo Finish’s arguments, but rather, the renewal of the stalemate, and the crowd took great effort to assure both sides of that truth.
“Well, then, I, Photo Finish,” began Photo Finish.
But at precisely that moment, it was announced that Princess Celestia would be making an appearance by the punch bowl presently. The crowd considered this the ideal development. Everypony agreed it politically expedient to declare both sides completely right, and that it would be best for the illogical nature of this conclusion to be overlooked. That matter resolved with finality, they could hurry over to the punch bowl and await the arrival of the most important pony in Canterlot. Hopefully she would have less controversial views on modern art.
In the meantime, the nigh-omnipotent spirit of chaos that resided within the statue in question sighed, and could not help but wonder if they’d all missed the point.
