Not another One-Shot-Ober

by Admiral Biscuit

Chapters

Lipogram Day
Luna Orders Room Service
Would It Matter If I Was . . .
Luna versus the Photocopier
Starlight Glimmer gets Murdered by an Angry Mob
The Narrator Hears Twilight
Twilight Sparkle Has A Peach On Her Ass—A Uranusverse Fic
I bet you didn't know I'm a violin player, too
The Stallion with Bows in his Mane, part 1
Birdwatching
Dinner Party
Pinkie Visits a Detail Shop
Town Meeting
Flash Sentry Steals Everybody's Waifu
Undisplaced
The Fall of the Crystal Empire
Dr. Roentgen Steed
Air Accident Brief--Midair Collision Northwest of Ponyville
Dear Princess Celestia
The CMC's Deepest Secrets
Novelember
Pinkie Pie Raises the Sun
November
Bonus: It's Only a Flesh Wound
The Noise Under Pinkie Pie's Sink
Fluttershy's Bathroom is Flooded with Pandas
Slice of Life
The Stallion with Bows in his Mane, part 2
Updates
❤
Retirement
Solo

Lipogram Day

Admiral Biscuit

"Morning, Twilight!"

"Good morning, #1 assistant. It's a good day, isn't it?"

"Yup."

A knock rang out.

"Good morning, Twilight Sparkl."

Twilight blinkd. Sh last rmmbrd bing in hr bdroom, and wasn't sur whn sh'd gon downstairs. It was Mayor Mar, who lookd pissd.

"Wait . . . you mispronouncd my nam," Twilight muttrd. Hr voic soundd wird.

"I can't say 'Sparkl'."

"You just did."

"Ys, I can say 'Sparkl', but not 'Sparkl.'"

"That clars things up," Twilight muttrd. "What's going on?"

"Rmmbr your ida to hav a litratur apprciation month?"

"Ys?"

"And rmmbr how today is Lipogram Day?"

Twilight Sparkl brightnd. "Yah! What's that got to do with . . . this?"

"Discord took it sriously. Vry sriously. Nopony can us th lttr '_'."

"Oh." Twilight sighd. "Wll, it's only for a day. Ponis will gt usd to it, and tomorrow's anothr day. Things will b back to normal."

"Asy for you to say," Mayor Mar said.

"I'vε got it! Poniεs can just usε backwards 3's, likε you do on thε mεssagε sign outsidε thε town hall all thε timε."

"That's just bεcausε thε Cutiε Mark Crusadεrs stolε most of thε _s." Thε mayor sighεd. "It will havε to work."

"Problεm solvεd," Twilight Sparklε said, thεn slammεd thε door shut. Whilε shε wasn't normally givεn to rudεnεss, if Discord kεpt his shεnanigins up until tomorrow, thεrε would bε a rεal problεm. Tomorrow was schεulεd to bε onomatopoεia day.

Luna Orders Room Service

Admiral Biscuit

The landing craft settled gently to the lunar surface. The astronauts on board finished their after-landing checks, made sure their suits were properly fastened, and then made their way to the airlock.

The mission had been put together in a hurry when a strange new formation had been spotted on the moon. They hadn't been able to get a good look at it with earth-bound telescopes, so NASA had pulled a page out of its old playbook and dusted off a leftover Apollo spacecraft, and . . . well, here they were.

After drawing straws, two astronauts boarded the lunar rover and bounded across the pock-marked landscape.

When they got to the crater's edge, the two dismounted from the rover and looked down into the crater. "Is that a hotel?"

"It looks like it. How did it get here?"

SOMEWHAT EARLIER

Luna stretched out on her luxurious Queen-sized bed. Princess Celestia had convinced her to go to Bronycon, promising that it would be filled with humans who would love her . . . that hadn't been a lie. From the moment she'd set hoof in the convention hall, she'd been mobbed by eager fans who wanted to touch her, hug her, talk to her, or just watch her dreamily. She ate up the affection—never before had she been so loved by so many.

Unfortunately, unlike a changeling, she couldn't survive on love alone, so once she finally made her way back to the hotel room, she'd ordered room service. Now, with her stomach grumbling, she wondered how long it would take to arrive.

A polite knock on the door was her answer. She used her TK to pull it open and admit the server.

He hesitated on the threshold for a moment, before she beckoned him in.

He was a consummate professional. If the sight of an alicorn stretched out on the bed with her regalia strewn about surprised him, he gave no sign. He simply set the large tray with its enticing silver covers on the desk and quietly took his leave.

As the second-most-powerful magic user in all of Equestira, Luna felt no need to get out of bed. She simply lifted the plate covers, stacked them neatly, and brought over the plates one at a time, only feeling vaguely hedonistic.

When she finally reached the end of her repast, she floated over a large piece of paper which she thought was a napkin, but instead turned out to be the bill.

Her eyes went wide as she saw the total at the bottom.

How could it be that much? The sandwich shop across the tracks only charges $6.00 per sandwich. Her eyes flicked across the menu. Fifteen dollars for a salad? Plus a twenty percent delivery charge? Anda thirtypercent gratuity?

Her eyelid twitched, then her eyes flashed white with rage, then the Baltimore Inner Harbor Hyatt Regency Hotel was gone.

Would It Matter If I Was . . .

Admiral Biscuit

“. . . a peach?”

Twilight's eye twitched. “Fluttershy, you're not a peach. You're not a changeling. You're not a tree. You're a pony.”

“Oh.”

Luna versus the Photocopier

Admiral Biscuit

Night Court was boring. That was a fact. Ponies preferred doing important things during the day.

Luna was bored. That was an inevitable consequence of the first fact.

Like the moon, Luna's moods waxed and waned; currently, she was in a playful mood. She had left one of her thestrals guarding the throne in case anypony showed up, while she herself had absconded from the throne room to explore the antechambers which surrounded it in the hopes of finding something that might provide entertainment.

It was not too long before she discovered the secretary's office. The door had been locked, but a Princess of the Night observes much, including how to pick locks. Between dreamers and personal observation (not all the ponies who were about at night had wholesome motivations for being about) she had more or less the required skills and more or less the required tools, and if there were some scratches and slivers left on the lock, who would dare accuse the younger Diarch?

Her eyes lit upon a device which she had never seen before. It was a large box, nearly the size of a pony, and it said Xerox on the front. She vaguely remembered a Greek philosopher who had had that name, and was curious about what sort of office device he had philosophized.

Poking around the machine provided no meaningful clues. It had trays on the bottom which held paper, and underneath the lid was a glass plate with various delicate-looking gears and wires contained beneath. She shrugged, and pushed the green button labeled “Start.”

The machine made a strange humming noise, and a moment later, a ribbon of blinding white light shot out of the glass and progressed across it, turning off when it reached the far side. Seconds later, an all-black sheet of paper came out of a tray at the bottom.

She blinked the spots of light out of her eyes and looked warily at the machine. Surely, its function had to be more complex than simply turning a white sheet of paper black. A toaster could do that, and it wasn't nearly as large.

Closer examination of the Xerox revealed helpful little icons, including one which showed a sheet of paper with writing upon it face-down on the glass. A quick survey of the secretary's desk netted her a sheet of paper which probably had little value if it were somehow destroyed by the machine. She put it on the glass and hit “Start.”

Unsurprisingly, a perfect copy came out, since that is the function of a photocopier. Luna looked at it in wonder and then looked around the office for what else she might photocopy. Inevitably, she eventually became bored of routine objects and determined to find out what else it could copy. Equally inevitably, she hit upon the idea of photocopying herself, and—as usually happens when one decides to photocopy one's own anatomy—it was not too long before she plopped her perfect pony princess plot on the glass and hit the start button.

The resulting image was all she could have hoped for. Never before had she seen her own hindquarters (cameras, mirrors, and reflective surfaces had been invented while she was on the moon), and it was a shame. It was worthy of adoration; nay, it was worthy of worship. It was also worthy of a whole ream of paper and she would have gone through two but the photocopier ran out of toner.

The Next Morning

Luna proudly set a stack of papers down on the breakfast table, right next to her bleary-eyed sister. Celestia floated the top sheet in her aura and gave it a cursory examination before her eyebrow jumped up into her mane and her cheeks turned bright red.

“Luna?” she squeaked.

“Yes, sister?” Luna leaned forward in anticipation.

“Is that a picture of your butt?”

“Yes.”

Celestia looked at the stack of papers and began shuffling through them. “Are these . . . are these all pictures of your butt?”

Luna's eager grin was answer enough.

“Why? In the name of all that is holy, why did you make so many copies? Were you planning to leaflet Canterlot?”

“Even better!” Luna leaned forward and grabbed the stack, holding it just in front of her sister's muzzle. “I made a flip-book!”

“Did you . . . wink?”

“. . . maybe.”

“I think I'm going to be sick.”

Click for Lunabutt!

suckers

Starlight Glimmer gets Murdered by an Angry Mob

Starlight Glimmer gets Brutally Murdered by an Angry Mob

Admiral Biscuit

“But . . . the staff has all the magic we need!”

Starlight Glimmer leaned over Night Glider. “The staff is a piece of wood I found in the desert!” She continued her rant as she moved from pony to pony, sending them cowering back in fear. “I created Harmony!”

“You lied to us!” Double Diamond pawed at the ground and snorted.

“So what? E-Everything else I said is true! The only way to be happy is if we're all equal.”

Party Favor pinned his ears back. “Except for you.”

I'm losing them, Starlight thought, a faint fear creeping into her heart. Only one way left. Make an example of Party Favor and everypony else will fall in line. She lit her horn, just as Twilight spoke.

“Everypony has unique talents and gifts, and when we share them with each other, that's how rea—“

“QUIET!”

“You can't have a cutie mark, Starlight! Either we're all equal, or none of us are!”

Starlight looked around frantically. They're all against me. After all I did for them. . . . Without another word, she galloped to her house and slammed the door shut, barring it with magic. If only it wasn't for those six meddlesome fillies.

From outside the house, Starlight heard the worrying clamor of an angry mob. Presently, hooves were rattling against her house, while pegasi were smashing into her windows in a foolish attempt to break in. Pitchforks scraped against the walls, and the eerie flickering light of torches made the shadows in her living room dance about menacingly.

She cantered up the stairs and grabbed the six special jars off her shelf, tilted her bed to the side, and was about to flee through the secret passage to freedom when what felt like an iron club smashed into her skull. Head ringing, she lost hold of the magic, and the jars tumbled down the stairs as she turned to face a soot-covered pegasus.

“Night Glider! I—“

“Save it.” The pegasus' voice dripped with venom.

Starlight shook her head and began to cast a spell, when the same iron-shod hoof crashed into her horn. Her vision exploded into stars and whorls, and she was only dimly aware of being dragged by her tail down the stairs and out into the street.

“She has our cutie marks—all of them.”

“Make her give them back!”

“Get her!”

A moment later, the mob descended. As the element bearers watched in horror, powerless to help, the angry herd stomped her to death in a misguided attempt to get their cutie marks back.

Five minutes later, when tempers had calmed somewhat and the cutie marks had not yet reappeared, Sugar Belle finally quietly suggested that maybe they should just go to the cave. But it was too late for poor Starlight.

The Narrator Hears Twilight

Admiral Biscuit

It was a dark and stormy night. All throughout Ponyville, the weather pegasi were working their tails off to keep the rogue storm from tearing any more roofs off, but it was already a losing battle. The creek that ran through town was foaming at its banks, an angry undulating—

“Rise and shine, Spike! We need to get in town in plenty of time to start Winter Wrap-Up.”

—um, uncontrollable force of nature. Several strong earth ponies, dressed in rain slickers, were hefting sandbags up in the low spots. Big Mac watched in horror as the frothing current devoured a swath of the town park. A bench grimly held on briefly, before it, too, was engulfed in the unstoppable tide.

“I did let you sleep in. It's four a.m., and I'm already dressed in my scarf, hat, and boots.”

He grunted and doubled down his efforts, bucking bales with twice the ferocity that he—

“Fine, I'll just leave you wrapped in the blanket. Up you go.”

—that he . . . dammit. Twice the ferocity of before. But it was all for naught; the—

“Let's see. Checklist. Check. Checklist checklist. Check again. Everypony has been assigned, with alternates for sick ponies . . . or malingerers.”

Dammit, Twilight. Stop talking. You're kind of ruining the mood.

“I bet Thunderlane will come down with 'Feather Flu' again.”

I can hear you muttering, you know.

“And his special somepony—ponies. How come he gets two sexy someponies and I don't get squat?”

Did you say that out loud? Spike's on your back, you know. And green isn't your color. Get it? I made a joke there.

“What's that Spike? Did you say something?”

So you can hear me. Well, hear this: shut up! I'm trying to tell a story.

“Hm, must be hearing things. Good morning, Mayor! I have the assignments right here. Went over them with the team leaders last week, and we did a dry run two days ago.

“Yes, on the second scroll. Applejack said that might be a problem.

“Really, only fifteen? I thought—

“No, we'll just reassign Caramel.”

I can't hear what anypony else says. Argh.

“I guess we'll just wait for everypony to show up.”

A moment of silence! All right. Where was I? Oh right the park flooded and despite their best efforts the sandbags weren't enough and then the whole town flooded and ponies were stuck on the second floors of their houses and the first day it was really miserable but then they kind of turned it into a party and pegasi ferried food and stuff from house to house, including one particular house where a certain seafoam green unicorn and an ivory earth pony mare were trapped together. Huddled together, for warmth because it was really cold with all the water and kind of scary so maybe they were huddled together in fright but that's how love blossoms and

“That's dumb.”

Well you try writing a shipfic, Miss Purple Smart. Didn't I hear you say earlier you couldn't get any?

Yeah, that's right. You've got nothing.

You know what? I'm going to make this into a clopfic. Just to spite you. Ah . . . right. That's how love blossoms, and soon the two of them were snogging, their lips locked like a pair of remoras who had accidentally found each other. It was really romantic, despite that awful simile. When they broke apart, Lyra turned to Bon Bon—

“And then she said, 'I'd rather gnaw my own hoof off.'”

Dammit, Twilight. Way to ruin the mood.

“Who's that over there?” If the mayor moves a little, I can see—yes!

Whoa. Now I'm getting thoughts too? Twilight! You dirty little mare! What are you. . . .

. . . That's what that means? I did not need to know that. I need some brain bleach, stat!

Dammit Twilight, don't . . . Twilight . . . Twilight, no! Don't . . . oh, God, I'm scarred for life. Why would you—Spike is still on your back, isn't he? Think of the children, Twilight. Think of the children!

“Don't worry, he's a very heavy sleeper.”

That doesn't make it better, Twilight. THAT DOESN'T MAKE IT BETTER.

Twilight Sparkle Has A Peach On Her Ass—A Uranusverse Fic

Admiral Biscuit who totally blames Obs for this.

It all started one evening when Twilight Sparkle was bathing. That was something she did.

Sometimes.

Ok, not as much as she should.

Once upon a time, she had been a conscientious bather. Proper grooming was important, after all: a mare wanted to look and smell her best.

But the first time she'd tried after having wings suddenly thrust upon her, the feathers had absorbed about half a bathtub's worth of water nearly instantly, and try as she might, they wouldn't wring out. Rainbow hadn't been much help—she wasn't a good enough flier to have a cloud bath—and Fluttershy flew so infrequently, if baths gave her wing problems, she'd probably never notice.

But the truth was she was beginning to smell . . . beginning to stink. Things had come to a head when the Yaks had visited. She'd thought the strange odor pervading the castle had been them. Once they'd left, though, it had persisted. Neigh, it had gotten worse.

The last straw had been when she was walking through town and waved at Lotus. (Or was it Aloe? Seriously, which one is which?) The mare had made a sign against evil and then fled for the safety of the spa. Humiliated, Twilight forwent her shopping and slunk back to the friendship castle.

Rarity was summoned, and a bath was drawn. Noteworthy dragged a whole cartful of beauty supplies along, and presently, Twilight was neck-deep in nearly-boiling water, while Rarity—suitably dressed in a very stylish Hazmat suit—scrubbed her with a long bristle brush.

After two hours, she emerged, practically sparkling. Rarity was ready with piles of plush towels, and began patting the alicorn dry in an overly friendly manner. Suddenly, the alabaster unicorn stopped, her gorgeous blue eyes locked on Twilight's shapely flank.

“Twilight?”

“Yes, Rarity?”

“I . . . is it possible to scrub a cutie mark off?”

“No.” Twilight dropped the dozen towels she was holding in her field and turned to look at her own butt. “Hmm, that's odd. Does it feel like a cutie mark?”

Rarity tentatively put her hoof on Twilight's backside. “Yes, darling, it does.”

“Does it taste like a cutie mark?”

Rarity's cheeks colored slightly, but she was a brave pony.

“Well?”

“Mm, yes, darling, it does taste like a cutie mark. Let me give it another lick just to be sure.”

“This calls for research!” Twilight shouted.

Rarity looked deep into Twilight's flawless lavender eyes. “Yes, it does.”

THE NEXT MORNING

“You may be wondering why I called you all here this morning,” Twilight announced from her slightly-taller-than-the-rest chair.

“Ah'm wondering why Rarity looks all mussed up, yet smug at the same time. Almost like y'all—“

“Moving right along, I took a bath last night. And I discovered that my cutie mark had changed.” So proud she was, she stuck her butt in the air like she just didn't care and waved it around in front of the other five. Rarity in particular paid it close attention.

“I thought it was another planet, perhaps.”

“Yeah!” Pinkie jumped up on the table. “Like Uranus.”

“No, that's Luna's anus.”

“But the more research I did, it didn't match up with any known planet.”

“Did it match up with any unknown planets?”

AJ raised her eyebrow at Rainbow.

“No, something much closer to home. A peach!”

AJ raised her other eyebrow and turned to Twilight. “We ain't friends no more.”

“So here's what we're going to do.” Twilight turned to them all eagerly. “Since I'm not the Princess of Friendship any more, I have to make some changes. AJ, you're going to be replaced with Peachy Keen.”

“Yup.” AJ touched the brim of her hat and walked out of the castle, head held high.

“Rainbow, you're being replaced by Peachy Sweet.”

“Fair enough. Does this mean I don't have to bring back the Daring Do books I borrowed?”

“No.”

“Pinkie, you're going to be replaced with an actual peach.”

“But—“

“I'm just tired of having you jump out of flowerpots and stuff. It's freaky as hell, girl. Fluttershy?”

“Eep.”

“You can stay. You're practically a peach.”

“Um, you said I wasn't. Or that it didn't matter if I was.”

“Well, you are from now on.” Twilight looked around the mostly-deserted table. “Rarity, you can stay. But you must only use peach-flavored grooming products henceforth. Everypony is dismissed.”

And thus dawned a new day in the peachy Uranusverse.

I bet you didn't know I'm a violin player, too

I bet you didn't know I'm a violin player, too.

Admiral Biscuit

The two mares were walking side-by-side, on their way home from a dinner out, when they saw the pegasus filly slumped on the street, and open violin case next to her. She was dejectedly looking at the instrument, plucking a hoof across the strings.

“She's got a cutie mark like yours,” Octavia whispered, before trotting over to see what was the matter. “Why the long face?”

The pegasus' sniffles stopped as she spotted Octavia, with Vinyl Scratch just behind her. Her eyes lit up and she wiped the tears off her cheek with a fetlock before speaking. “I just bought this violin and it sounds terrible. I can't make it work at all.”

“Well, we'll just see about that. Vinyl, if you would help me?”

The unicorn nodded and reverently lifted the instrument out of its case. She stood on her hind legs before necking the violin just under her cheek, brought up the bow, and drew it lightly across the strings. A discordant shriek which sounded much like a cat being stepped on pinned three pairs of ears back.

“Out of tune,” Octavia muttered. “Way out of tune.” She turned to the pegasus filly. “What's your name?”

“Medley.”

“That's a good name,” Octavia remarked. “Okay, first, you have to tune it. See these little knobs here?”

The pegasus nodded.

“That's how you tune it. You can do it by hoof, or maybe you can use your wing.”

Vinyl sat down, so that the little pegasus could see what Octavia was doing more clearly. As she made adjustments, the unicorn would occasionally draw the bow across a string, letting the filly hear the tuning process.

“It's a good violin. A Hoofner. It's just been neglected.” Once she was satisfied with her adjustments, she nodded her head at Vinyl, who drew the bow slowly across the strings, this time producing a pleasant tone.

“See?”

The filly nodded eagerly.

“Do you mind if Vinyl tries it out?”

Medley gave the unicorn a skeptical look. “She's not going to smash it on the ground when she's done, is she? My friend told me that she saw a concert one time where the guitar player did that.”

“She's very careful with string instruments,” Octavia reassured her. “Go ahead, Vinyl. See what it can do.”

Vinyl nodded and set her dark glasses inside the empty instrument case, then stood back on her hind hooves. She once again placed the violin under her cheek, making minor adjustments until it sat just right, before closing her eyes.

Twice, she drew the bow across the strings, slowly and experimentally, while her left hoof rested lightly on the neck of the instrument. Unseen by her, ponies had begun to notice the little gathering and were stopping to watch.

Is she—Octavia knew that stance. She knew the shift of the hip, the tail set just so; that had been Vinyl's position during her final exam. It was like going back in time, away from the streets of Ponyville and into the hushed auditorium of the conservatory. She dared not breathe as the bow twitched and then descended on the strings, its movement sure and steady.

The violin sang. Ponies watched, mouths agape, as Vinyl Scratch performed. Too soon, the song was over, and the observers stood in complete silence as she put her shades back on, gently placed the violin back in its case, and nuzzled Medley's head. Then the crowd erupted in cheers and hoofstomps, much to the embarrassment of the little filly.

“Come over,” Octavia invited once the noise had died down. “Vinyl can teach you how to play like that.” Then the two of them continued their interrupted journey home.

As they rounded the corner, Octavia leaned over to Vinyl. “Caprice Number 4 in C Minor? Really?”

Vinyl shrugged innocently.

“Show off.”

The Stallion with Bows in his Mane, part 1

The Stallion with Bows in His Mane, part 1

Admiral Biscuit

You'll see him around town sometimes, and maybe when you first look at him, you'll think he's a mare. A big mare, a bulky mare, but a mare nonetheless. Then he'll get a bit closer, and you'll see the square muzzle, and you'll know for sure. Despite the uncropped tail and the long mane, it's a stallion.

He's a bit sensitive about his gender. That's all I know. Showed up one day on the train, had the look of a pony who's sort of lost, on the run, maybe. Not a hunted look, exactly . . . I can read ponies pretty good, and I didn't get the sense that he was fleeing from a crime or anything like that.

'Course, I sent a telegraph to Canterlot anyway. Just in case.

Anyhow, he was kinda unsteady on his hooves, but polite enough. Said he'd heard that there was land here for them that wanted it, and I showed him around town. Told him where he could build and where he couldn't. Told him to keep away from the buffalos and they'd keep away from him. Once he'd settled on a spot, a coupla townsfolk knocked together a little house for him and helped him get started with a garden, and . . . well, that was pretty much that.

He ain't much of a farmer, but he does alright. Sends a lot of letters back and forth to Twilight Sparkle in Ponyville. I heard she became an alicorn. Visited here once, and she wasn't an alicorn then.

Where was I?

Oh yeah. So, after he'd been in town for a bit, a couple of mares started kinda moving in on him, but he didn't really show much interest. Fact is, he seemed kinda distressed by their attention, and it wasn't too long before word got around. Some folks said he was probably a colt-cuddler, but I've never seen any stallions out at his place, so I don't think that's it.

So I just sorta keep an eye on him. Sometimes share a lick of salt, or a pie the missus made. I figure one of these days, he's gonna open up to somepony, and then we'll know what makes him tick.

Birdwatching

Admiral Biscuit

For forty long, agonizing years, Sir Loin had marched with the minotaur army. He never set down stakes; he was lucky if he camped in the same place two nights in a row. Finally—finally!—he had retired, and had promptly purchased a small house on the edge of town.

The first week was good. He provisioned his new brick campsite, getting everything just so inside the house. The second week was all right; he moved a few things around, decided that he didn't like the curtains in the living room and exchanged them for different ones, and just settled in.

The third week, boredom set in. He was a bull of action. Sitting in one place with no demands on his time at all wore on him more than any night awake in a rainstorm ever had.

A quick recon mission among other retirees showed him what he was missing: a hobby. Something to pass the time.

He gratefully took suggestions from other pensioners, which ate up much of a month. By the end of it, he was despairing at finding a hobby he might enjoy. Shipbuilding was too fiddly, and they usually broke when he tried to stuff them in bottles. Crossword puzzles were out; he'd never learned to read. Stamp collecting was just dumb; there was no challenge into visiting the post office and buying stamps; coin collecting was likewise silly. His neighbors complained about his attempt at gardening, and painting was likewise a failure.

As he stormed down his front walk to the waste bin, an easel under one arm and a collection of mostly squeezed-out tubes of oil paint in his fist, he happened to glance up at his neighbor's house and noticed for the first time the small birdfeeder hung out front, and the cluster of birds around it. A faint smile brightened his face: he'd always liked watching birds. They'd gather around the camps, chirping cheerfully no matter what. Even the crows that sometimes followed the army . . . they had their place, too.

He marched down to the hardware store, pausing only long enough to toss his painting supplies in his dustbin. An hour later, he marched back, shopping bags bulging with birdhouses and bird feeders and even a birdbath.

The site of his former garden was quickly turned into a paradise for feathered friends. Small birdhouses hung from trees and from his eves; several types of feeder were hung, all within sight of his living room window and overstuffed armchair, and the birdbath occupied the very center of the arrangement, a small pump ensuring that there would be a continuous supply of fresh water. Satisfied with his day's work, he went back into the house and waited.

The birds didn't come right away, but that was okay. He knew that birds were flighty, and might take a while to get used to the new feeders.

* * *

When he woke, he started his day as he always had. Get up, make the bed so a quarter-bit can be bounced off it, shower for three minutes, brush his teeth for two minutes, and then drink a pot of coffee. Suitably prepared for the new day, he opened his front door, located the newspaper which was wedged between the branches of his yew, and take it back to the living room to examine. He wasn't sure why he got a newspaper, but it had started coming when he'd moved into the house.

He unrolled it, tossed the unread paper in a pile with all the rest, and walked into the kitchen, where he put the short length of twine into a drawer in case he needed it later for something. Just then, he looked up and noticed that his backyard was full of birds. Bluebirds were eating out of one feeder, chickadees were at another, and a pair of robins were pecking at the seed that had fallen on the ground. As he watched, a bluejay soared in, scattering the smaller birds.

All that day he observed the birds, and things were going quite well until the late evening, when something large and unexpected swooped down and landed in his birdbath. Something that wasn't a bird, but rather a pegasus stallion.

Just after it landed, two pegasus mares swooped in, landing on the ground and picking at the fallen seeds. The stallion, seeing them, fluffed out his wings and began bobbing his head in the age-old courtship ritual. Promptly, the two mares started paying attention to him, one of them flying up and awkwardly perching on the edge, while the other hooked her hooves over the lip and observed.

Sir Loin sighed and grabbed his broom.

Dinner Party

Admiral Biscuit

“And for you?”

“I'll have the crab, thank you.” Rarity folded her menu and neatly passed it to the waiter, only then noticing the look on her dining companion's faces.

“Crab?”

“I will have you know that the crab here is excellent.”

“Yes, but. . . . “ Twilight wrinkled her brow. “Ponies are—“

“Vegetarian!” Pinkie finished. “I said that in a song once.”

Rainbow blushed slightly. “Pegasi eat fish, sometimes. It's a high-protien, high-density food.”

“My mother and father insisted that I have a diverse education, and that included diversity in diet.” Rarity tossed her head back. “As I am sure you are well aware, seafood is a component of many culture's cuisine, and I am simply respecting that. I will discuss this no further.” She raised her glass of white wine to her lips and took a dainty sip, while her five dinner companions shrugged.

TEN YEARS EARLIER

Rarity stood on the beach, her cold blue eyes locked on the ocean and the giant carapace which was slowly emerging from the deep. She held her ground as the two great claws cleared the tops of the surf, clicking together menacingly in the open air.

All around her, she could hear ponies screaming, beachgoers fleeing for their lives, but she would not flee. These were her sworn enemy, after all.

It snapped towards her, and she darted off to the side, narrowly avoiding its claw, and then she answered with her sword, even as she was curving a spear towards it with her field.

THE PRESENT

“Are you okay?”

“Hmm, oh yes, darling. I just got lost there in an old memory for a moment.” She picked up her fork and took a small piece of crab on the tines, bringing it to her mouth and chewing thoughtfully.

“What does it taste like?” Twilight asked.

Rarity blotted her lips with her napkin before answering. “Victory.”

Pinkie Visits a Detail Shop

Admiral Biscuit

Pinkie was happily pronking through town when she suddenly saw a business she'd never seen before.

She stopped, mid-air. Her mouth dropped open and her pupils shrank. A new store was . . . it wasn't quite the same as a new pony, you couldn't invite a new store to a surprise party and remember its birthday and bring it presents and cakes and the like . . . but you could bring the owners all those things, and that was nearly as good.

She dropped lightly to the ground, and turned her head sideways, puzzling out the sign over the door. Ponyville Detail Shop, it said.

Not really enough to go on.

There were no displays in the window to give away what it was.

No giant wavy-arm thing bringing in ponies.

In fact, in some ways it was kind of . . . off.

She turned her head the other way. The only fresh thing about the building was the sign. The trim could have used a coat of paint, and one of the shutters hung slightly askew. It could have used a bit of freshening up, and then no doubt ponies would be lined up around the block to visit.

Maybe the owner doesn't have enough bits, she thought. Maybe she's waiting for a customer.

With this new thought in mind, Pinkie re-examined the business. Now it just looked sad and forlorn, being on a back street as it was where not too many ponies went anyway.

She straightened her head and squared her shoulders and rump, then marched up to the door.

No jingling bell announced her arrival, and she had a moment to look around. The inside was clean. Worn, yes. The building had seen better days inside, too. The couch was threadbare, and the ficus next to the door could have used some good old-fashioned earth pony magic. Even the calendar on the wall was out of date, although to be fair last May had been a particularly good May and perhaps the owner of the shop just wanted to remember it.

“Hello?”

A moment later, there was a shuffling noise at the back, and moments later, a stallion emerged. He had a rather obsequious look to him, and a kinda oily mane, and his eyes glittered with just a spark of madness, and the lab coat he was wearing had stains on it. Pinkie shuddered for a moment, before regaining her equilibrium.

“Hi! I'm Pinkie Pie! You're new in Ponyville and so is your business I was just walking no trotting no really more hopping by and anyways I saw your sign and I thought that I'd never seen your sign before and that meant that—“

He held up a hoof to forstall her. “Yes, I am new. Please, pony speak too fast.”

She flicked her ears. She couldn't quite place his accent.

“What is it you do here?” She spoke slowly and carefully. She had run into the same problem with the Spa twins.

“Is a detail shop.”

“Yes.” Pinkie sighed. “I read the sign. What does that mean?”

“Come in back. I show pony.”

“Okie-dokie-loki!” Pinkie happily pronked into the back of the shop, following the strange stallion.

* * *

Five minutes later, she emerged, head down.

In her mouth, she held a simple cloth bag, which contained the product of the shop: her own tail. Hopefully Aloe or Lotus could stick it back on.

Oh well. I guess if they can't, I can play pin-the-tail-on-the-pony with myself. She began skipping down the road: Pinkie always looked on the bright side of things.

Still, somepony is only going to get one cupcake for his birthday, that's for sure.

Town Meeting

Admiral Biscuit

The entire population of Ponyville was gathered around the town rotunda. Unicorns and Earth Ponies and Fluttershy were crowded together, flank-to-flank, while all the pegasi except Fluttershy were hovering overhead or sitting on clouds they'd dragged over.

The mood was fairly jovial, with some light bantering between the stallions and gossip between the mares, but everypony fell silent when the mayor stepped up to the podium. A few light hoof-stomps greeted her, and she nodded to the crowd before pulling out a stack of papers.

Once upon a time, she'd simply posted notices on the town's bulletin board, and that had been sufficient, but as the town grew, it became unworkable. Not everypony remembered to check the bulletin board, and then things got chaotic, and the one thing Ponyville didn't need was more chaos.

“Good afternoon, everypony!”

“Good afternoon, Mayor Mare,” the crowd answered back.

“It'll be a short meeting today,” she began, a statement which was met with a thunder of hooves and a few cheers. “Yesterday—Tuesday—we had a minor monster incursion from the Everfree. It was quickly dealt with, and the only damage was to the flower trio's garden and to Mr. Wattle's roof. Thunderlane, Flitter, and Cloud Chaser will be fixing the roof; the flower trio can replant their own garden.”

There were muted cheers from the crowd at this announcement.

“Next, by a narrow vote at the town council meeting, quesadillas are banned in Ponyville from this point forth.”

“Aw, man.”

“Harsh break, Jesús.” Jeff Letroski leaned over and put a hoof around his friend's back.

“Tacos are still allowed, aren't they?” a feminine voice piped above the grumbles of the crowd.

Mayor Mare banged the gavel on the lectern. “Finally, I have two name changes.” She pulled up an official-looking paper with a grinning blue square seal. “Starlight, you're now lucky star.”

“What about my monogrammed towels?”

“It's still the same letters,” another pony helpfully pointed out. “S.L. or L.S. What's the difference?”

“Starlight is all one word! My towels just say S.”

“So add an L.”

“Then they'd be uneven.”

Mayor Mare banged her gavel again. “Magnum, I'm sorry, but due to a potential copyright claim, you will now be called Hondo Flanks.”

“That's horseapples! I had a trading card with Magnum on it. They can't retcon that.”

“Those won't be reprinted.” Mayor Mare sighed. “I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do about it, except give you the form to contact the legal department. Maybe they can find a way, like they did with Dr. Hooves-which-is-okay-if-it-doesn't-have-a-W.”

Flash Sentry Steals Everybody's Waifu

Flash Sentry Steals Everyone's Waifu.

Admiral Biscuit

He came through the portal in the basement of Twilight's tree. It took him a moment to adjust to the darkness—it had been daylight when he stepped through the statue on the EqG side.

As an aside, he wasn't quite sure why they'd put the portal under the horse's ass rather than the horses's mouth, but it reminded him vaguely of a metaphor. Something about looking a Greek horse in the mouth.

He marched up the stairs. He was a man on a mission. He'd fallen hard for Twilight Sparkle, and he was going to find her. They'd shared something special back there at Canterlot High.

The stairs led up to an empty library. Well, empty in the sense that there wasn't anybody in it. The weird dog that Twilight had was there, napping in a basket, but that was it. Flash thought about going over and petting it, but he didn't want to wake it and have it raise a commotion.

He wrinkled his nostrils. The inside of the library smelled kind of like a stable. It wasn't unpleasant, but it was there, mostly masking the musty odor of old books.

Ahead of him were doors, and doors led to the outside, and outside would be people who knew where Twilight was.

Without a moment's hesitation, he pushed the door open and stepped out of the library. He was not prepared for what happened next.

He had but a moment to notice that everyone was a pony. Many of them looked vaguely familiar, like some of the girls at Canterlot High. They had the same color manes and their coats matched the skin of his friends. They even had little designs on their butts that looked like the charms so many of the girls wore.

But that was all he noted before he was assaulted by a mass of mares. He should have seen that coming; he should have heeded Sunset's warning. This was a world of young, naked, fuckable ponies who were inexplicably attracted to a wiry orange human with tousled blue hair, rock-hard abs, a leather jacket, a Camaro with racing stripes (which he'd left behind; it wouldn't fit through the portal), and perfect guitar-strumming fingers.

And blue eyes.

They mobbed him, tails raised. They buried him under their bodies and tore off his clothes with their hooves and teeth and ravished him right there on the street. (They let Twilight go first, of course; that was the friendly thing to do.) And they wouldn't let up. Before too long, Flash was in a relationship with everymare in Ponyville.

Twilight (of course). Applejack. Rainbow Dash (not a lesbian). Fluttershy. Rarity (sorry, Spike). Pinkie Pie. Lyra (hands > Bon Bon). Minuette. Derpy. Sparkler. Mrs. Cake. Braeburn. Carrot Top. Lyra + Bon Bon (threesome FTW). Mayor Mare. Granny Smith (ew). Everypony.

The whole town ground to a halt in the wave of this orgy. It was worse than heat season—worse because nomare wanted to do anything except fuck Flash, and nostallion was getting any. Flash had stolen your waifu, and my waifu, and everypony's waifu. Even the princesses fell for him, and it was obvious to all that Equestria would soon be doomed by Flash's unparalleled good looks and phenomenal stamina.

And that would be the end of our story, except that an axe-wielding pony finally chopped him up into little tiny bits, and that's how Equestria was saved by Incidental Background Mare #9.

Undisplaced

Admiral Biscuit

I used to be somepony.

I know you don't believe me, but hear me out.

...Yeah, I'm sure you hear a lot of mares bragging like that in the bar. But I'm not trying to pick you up, dude.

I guess you're cute enough. But trust me, I'm not interested. Do you wanna hear what I've got to say?

Alright. Keep this under your horn, okay? I swear to Celestia, this is true.

I used to be somepony . . . I used to be Radiance.

Sheesh, are you alright? Cough; get all that whiskey out of your lungs.

You gonna make it?

Guess stallions can't handle their liquor. Anyway, yeah. I used to be Radiance. Up until about a month ago.

See, here's what happened. We'd heard that Pharaoh Phetlock was going to try a daring raid at the city art museum. They were hosting a big show and had the traveling Saddle Arabian crown jewels . . . it was a really big deal. The city police department had put extra ponies on duty, but we knew that it wouldn't be enough . . . he'd find some way to steal the artifacts and make his escape.

Of course, we couldn't just be there in our superhero outfits. Hay, the mayor told us we weren't supposed to be there at all, but we had to be. We just had to.

So we all went in street clothes. Heh, it was weird going out in public wearing a dress. I don't think I'd worn a dress since . . . well, I don't remember. I'm sure I did when I was in school. Probably prom or something.

Yeah, I went to school. What, do you think superheros just appear as full-grown mares, ready to save Maretropolis? How would we even know how to begin if we didn't have a good education? It's not all spells and fighting; there's a mental element as well. Do you know how many hours The Masked Matter-Horn spent going over blueprints, trying to figure out how Pharaoh Phetlock was going to pull off his heist? She's got a doctorate, for Celestia's sake.

Where was I?

Oh yeah, so we all went in street clothes. I was in the lower lobby; there were a couple of fire exits that could have been used either to get in, or as his escape route. Wearing my dress. My outfit was in a Barneigh's shopping bag.

Hey, you'd be surprised how fast you can get one of those on with practice.

Anyhow, the plan was to observe and report. Whoever saw him first would try and delay him, while the other five got dressed and dealt with him. Fili-Second had figured out every permutation, and we were sure it was a perfect plan.

As I now know, it wasn't. We hadn't accounted for the artifact he triggered, the centerpiece of the display. Whether he knew what it was or not is moot; the last thing I heard The Masked Matter-Horn say was “It's a displacement spell,” and then, boom. Here I am.

Prove it?

Well, that's the problem, bub. I could give you all sorts of information that wouldn't prove it to your satisfaction. You want to know Fili-Second's horseshoe size? Trust me, we all knew that; she wore through those things like nopony's business. I could tell you that The Masked Matter-Horn's doctorate is from Vanhoover University. Or that Mistress Marevelous secretly hates pears. But that ain't going to get you to believe me.

No, you want to see me do something. Something only Radiance could do.

Well, I can't. That's the problem with being Displaced. You wind up with all the powers of whatever you're dressed up as.

So yeah, in my case, I've got an average unicorn's field strength, and average spell knowledge. I've basically inexplicably become a normal unicorn mare. See this? Yeah. This shot glass is about all I can lift in one go.

So that's my sad tale. I'm stuck here as a boring normal unicorn until somepony captures Pharaoh Phetlock and sets things back to normal.

The Fall of the Crystal Empire

Admiral Biscuit

Twilight shuffled forward, keeping pace with the pony in front of her. The leg irons chafed at her coat, and the magic suppressor on her horn gave her a wicked headache. She would have cried, but all her tears had been shed already; now she was just an empty husk, living for the moment and holding out a vague hope that the Princess would show up to save them before it was too late.

“It wasn't your fault, Spike,” she whispered. He wasn't there to hear her, of course, and perhaps that was for the best. She still needed to say it. “It wasn't your fault.”

A week earlier

Twilight lashed out at the crystal prison, but it was indestructible. Her magic just flowed around it uselessly. And the crystal heart was so close.

Her ears flicked as she heard distant stone cracking. There is no more time. Her head dropped, and she called out over her stone prison to Spike. “You have to be the one to bring the Crystal Heart to the Faire.”

“Me?”

I have failed. But that didn't matter, did it? It was more important to save the Crystal Empire. “Go!”

“But—“

“Gooooo!”

She heard his claws scraping against the crystal, and then she heard a loud crack and felt the tower shift underhoof. It didn't matter. Spike would save them all—he had to.

Another loud crack, and then the tower began to buckle. Twilight crouched and waited, feeling for the shift, and when it came, she jumped, stretching for the top of her crystal prison. Her only hope was to get her head above the top of the jagged crystals; maybe then she could cast a spell that would help. If not . . . well, that didn't bear thinking about.

The noises outside were getting louder and more menacing.

Her hoof slipped, and she dropped back to the floor, tears flowing down her cheeks. Spike will save us.

But he didn't.

It wasn't his fault.

He was a dragon, and he had his claws around a powerful crystal artifact. Despite all his years with Twilight, despite her patient teaching and tender parenting, he was still a dragon, and could not entirely repress his draconic nature, so he did what any dragon would do in his position.

He ate the Crystal Heart.

Dr. Roentgen Steed

Admiral Biscuit

Dr. Roentgen Steed was the most famous doctor in the entire Crystal Empire. It was said that he could simply look at a patent and cure her in minutes.

So when the noble Prince Blueblood fell ill, it was only natural that hasty telegrams were sent to the Crystal Empire.

The doctor hastily telegrammed back that he would not come; he had never once set hoof outside the Crystal Empire, and had no desire whatsoever to do so.

Back in Canterlot, there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth, as well as a few quiet 'I told you so's' passed around. Rumor was the doctor had not left his house in decades. Patients came to him.

Bits talk, and a huge pile of them talks rather loudly. Eventually, a price was negotiated. The doctor would come, in his own private coach, in the company of his nursing staff. Upon his arrival in Canterlot, he and his staff would be whisked to Blueblood's residence in a private coach.

Arrangements made, the doctor busied himself with packing, while his nurses hastily moved abound appointments. The next morning, they were ready to leave.

On his way to the train station, the doctor magnanimously diagnosed three sick ponies, and informed the clerk at the station that the reason for his current indigestion was the unripe crystal berries he'd eaten for lunch. Then he boarded the private coach, followed by a gaggle of nurses.

☤ ☤ ☤

The next morning, he arrived in Canterlot. There was much fanfare at the train station, and many ponies crowded around, hoping to get a glimpse of the famous doctor. Alas, Blueblood was true to his word, and the coach was pulled so close to the railcar that nopony knew he had left until the carriage whipped out of the station, en route to Blueblood's palatal estate.

He was met warmly at the door by a crystal mare who Blueblood had imported specifically for the duty of greeting Dr. Roentgen, and after a perfunctory 'how was your trip' and an offer of brandy to settle the dust, the doctor and his retinue were led up to the sickbed.

In front of the rapt eyes of all present—none more rapt than Blueblood's—the doctor boldly whisked back the comforter and focused his piercing silver eyes on his patient. For forty long agonizing seconds he stared, as the tension in the room mounted. Finally, he blinked.

A slow sigh was released from everypony present.

Again, the good doctor focused his miraculous intellect upon the patient. Nopony dared breathe, fearing that so doing could distract him from some vital sign.

Hope rose as he took a pair of pince-nez glasses from his breast pocket and planted them on his muzzle. His brow furrowed, and he leaned in close. Then he whipped the glasses back off and stuffed them into his pocket with an authoritative finality. “I can do nothing,” he pronounced.

Nopony understood him for a full minute. In their minds, he had given a cure . . . and then, finally, one of the chambermaids spoke up. “Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“You . . . do not know what is wrong with him?”

“He is sick. Obviously.”

Several heads nodded. Blueblood was sick.

“With what?” one of the maids asked weakly.

“How should I know? I can't see inside him. He's not crystally.” And with that, he stormed out the door, his nurses in tow.

He paused only once at the door, leaning his snout against the doorpony's ear. “Congratulations on your daughter. She will be born in ten months.”

Then he was off, leaving a baffled crystal mare standing in the doorway behind him.

Air Accident Brief--Midair Collision Northwest of Ponyville

Admiral Biscuit

Accident No: AAB-PZ-04-1003 A.N.M.M.

Accident Type: Midair collision

Location: One mile NW of Ponyville

Date and Time: 82nd day of Spring, 1003, about ½ hour after sunset

Vehicle 1: Pedal-powered helicopter

Vehicle 2: Pegasus-pulled cargo wagon

Injuries: 2 uninjured, 1 minor, 1 serious

Accident Description

Just before sunset, the pedal-powered helicopter departed from Ponyville for a brief air tour of Ponyville, with the pilot as the sole occupant. It took a northward course from the pilot's residence, heading in the general direction of the accident site.

Meanwhile, a pegasus-pulled moving van was unloading a cloudowner's belongings at her residence. Due to rain earlier in the day, they had gotten a late start, and were still unloading the wagon. Upon finishing, the crew secured the cargo doors on the wagon, then set a course back to Ponyville, where they intended to leave the wagon overnight.

Shortly after the wagon's departure, it was struck by the helicopter. The helicopter's main rotor struck the left rear wheel of the wagon and suffered catastrophic rotor damage, causing it to plummet uncontrollably to the ground, striking several clouds on the way down.

The pilot was able to evacuate her craft and parachuted to safety, although she suffered some minor injuries from flying debris and the hasty evacuation of her stricken craft.

The two-pony team pulling the moving van were uninjured in the collision; their supervisor, who was behind and below them, was struck by a large piece of debris torn free in the collision, and fell, unconscious, to a nearby cloud.

Wreckage Information

The investigating team recovered the remains of the helicopter. Due to the extensive collision damage, it was unable to be determined if the mechanical systems were operative at the time of the accident; however, close laboratory examination of the critical mechanical systems revealed no evidence of pre-existing damage to the flight controls. The fractured rotor blades showed damage consistent with striking an object, and no defects were found in the airframe. Navigation lanterns were found with the wreckage.

The wagon was impounded and inspected on the ground; aside from the loss of half of one of its wheels, it was undamaged. The navigation lanterns were found, stowed, in a forward compartment on the wagon.

Helicopter Pilot

The helicopter pilot stated that she was experienced with her helicopter. Although it was of her own design, she claimed that she had flown it hundreds of times with no problems, and her neighbors corroborated that statement, indicating that she typically flew once a day if the weather was clear. She stated that she would not fly if she knew storms were scheduled.

She stated that she had gotten a full night's sleep before the accident, and described her health as 'excellent.' She did not take any medications and was not being treated for any illnesses.

On the day of the accident, she got up shortly after sunrise, and spent most of the day working on her farm. She said that she ate a late lunch, since she intended to go flying before dark. About a half-hour before her departure, she said that she got her helicopter out of her barn and said that she inspected it and carefully lubricated all the moving parts. Her last task before flight was to place her navigation lanterns.

Haul Pegasi

The two haul pegasi were both mares who lived in a cloud apartment southwest of Ponyville. They stated that they went to the Supervisor's house to pick up the wagon, and then towed it on hoof to a spot near the work site, since it was raining at the time. They said that the supervisor did not like to load or unload the wagon in the rain, due to the risk of its contents being damaged, and due to the possibility of static discharge.

They both napped in a tree until the rain stopped, then fastened themselves to the wagon and went to the first work site, which was a cloud apartment northwest of the city.

They stated that they had just left their second work site and were intending to return home when the accident occurred. The left-side mare stated that she was unaware of the collision before it occurred; the right-side mare stated that she had looked back just before the accident and saw the helicopter, but that the collision happened before she could give warning.

Neither of the haul pegasi were aware that the wagon had navigation lights aboard, nor did they understand the purpose of the hooks on the corners and roof peak.

Supervisor

The supervisor said that he was at the work site when the haul pegasi arrived with the wagon. He had three more pegasi with him that he had hired to help load and unload the wagon at both jobsites. None of them were present when the accident occurred.

He stated that he had left his place of business early in order to find pegasi who would help him after the scheduled rain, and to finalize arrangements with the cloudowner. He saw the helicopter about ten minutes before the collision and pointed it out to his temporary workers; after that, he did not pay attention to it.

When asked about the lack of navigation lights on the wagon, he said he never used them because they were “dumb,” and because he felt that “any competent pegasus would see the wagon and not run into it.”

Emergency Response

After the collision, the haul team reported seeing the sole occupant of the helicopter leap from her aircraft and parachute to safety, but they could not locate the supervisor. Not wanting to be hampered in their search by the wagon, they flew it to the ground and then unhitched from it, before resuming their search. They located the supervisor, unconscious, on a cloud.

Meanwhile, the cloudowner had called for help, and when the pegasus rescue brigade arrived, they quickly located the haul team, who had been attending the injured supervisor.

The pilot and a local farmer both put out small fires around the wreckage of her aircraft—caused by the navigation lanterns—and then the pilot walked to Ponyville to seek medical treatment for her minor injuries.

Exclusions

The weather at the time was clear, although visibility was diminished due to nightfall. Both the wagon and the helicopter were in good mechanical condition. The haul team was familiar with their equipment, and noted no exceptions during the day. Likewise, the pilot was familiar with her craft and reported no mechanical problems before the collision. Nopony reported falling ill, and nopony had any known pre-existing medical conditions which might have contributed to the accident. The rescue attempt was timely and effective.

Discussion

As the number of aircraft increase, so too does the potential for accidents. All airponies—whether they are flying by means of their own wings or some making—must exercise caution when airborne, making sure that the environment around them is safe to fly in. Extra caution must be taken when visibility is limited for any reason.

It is for that reason that the board has recommended time and time again the establishment of aerial zones. The sky is not the exclusive province of the pegasi any more; behaving like it is only increases the probability of a tragic accident. While in this case, nopony was fatally injured, if the helicopter had struck the front of the wagon or had the pilot not been wearing a parachute, this accident could have ended far differently.

The board also notes that the moving company in question has a spotty safety record; besides the supervisor's apparent disdain for navigation lights, he has also been cited in the past for accidentally dropping cargo on ponies on the ground. The board must once again state that falling objects not only pose a risk for pegasi, but also for ponies on the ground.

Probable Cause

The accident was caused by the supervisor failing to place navigation lights on his wagon, as required by law. Contributing to the accident were the pilot's decision to fly close to a cloudhome near dusk, and the haul team's lack of awareness of the requirement for navigation lights.

Recommendations

The board reiterates that it is required for all airborne equipment to display navigation lights from one hour before sunset to one hour after sunrise.

The board recommends that all airborne machines should stay at least a thousand feet away from any cloud structure whenever possible.

The board recommends that all aerodromes have a clear-air requirement above them, with a half-mile radius in all directions. This will help ensure the safety of pilots and pegasi.

Dear Princess Celestia

Admiral Biscuit

Dear Princess Celestia:

Today Last night, I learned a valuable lesson in a new type of friendship. Pinkie Pie calls it Friendship with Benefits.

I apologize for the brevity of this letter, but I am about to go back to my bedroom and carry out some further experiments.

Your faithful student,

Twilight Sparkle.

The CMC's Deepest Secrets

Admiral Biscuit

“I don't get why we have to do this.” Scootaloo crossed her forelegs and huffed.

“We don't have to,” Apple Bloom said. “I just think it might help us get our cutie marks, that's all. When Babs realized that she was tryin' too hard an' being mean because of it, that's what helped her get hers. Maybe we're all hidin' something from each other that we oughtn't to.”

“Sweetie Belle? What do you think?”

“Oh! Um.” Sweetie stopped batting at a dust bunny and looked up at her friends. “Yeah, what Apple Bloom said sounds good.”

“Fine.” Scootaloo fluffed out her wings and dropped back to all four hooves. “But afterwards, it's my turn to pick again, okay?”

“Sure.” Apple Bloom sat on her rump. “I guess, 'cause it was my idea, I ought to start.” She looked around at her two friends. “But ya can't tell anypony, alright? I ain't ready to have this get out.”

“If it's something bad, you—“

“It's just . . . I don't think my family'd understand.” She sighed. “I hate apples. An' apple trees, an' everythin' that goes with havin' an apple farm. It's all-consuming, and I hate it. From the moment I get up, it's apple this, apple that; the breeze that comes through my window in the mornin' smells like apples an' I just can't stand it. I don't even care what my cutie mark is, so long as it don't have nothing to do with apples.”

“How can you hate your family like that?” Scootaloo wondered. “They're always doing stuff with you and for you.”

“I don't hate my family. I love em with all my heart, and I wouldn't never do anything to change that. I just can't stand the thought of spendin' all my life workin' with apples.”

“Miss Cheerilee says you can't get a cutie mark in something that you don't love,” Sweetie assured her. “How could your special talent be doing something you hate?”

“I guess so.” Apple Bloom scuffed her hoof on the ground. “Thing is, I worry that they might disown me if I get a cutie mark and it ain't an apple. I guess it sounds silly here and now, but sometimes I stay awake at night thinkin' about it.”

“It doesn't sound silly.” Sweetie wrapped her in a hug. “I . . . I'm kinda afraid of getting mine, too. I wanna be like Rarity, 'cause she's so smart and beautiful and makes such beautiful things and I can't even make toast without burning it . . . I can't make anything without burning it.” She sniffled. “I'm . . . aw heck, I'm really good at burning stuff.”

“We know.” The other two fillies thought back to the chocolate chip cookie incident. Said cookies had, by mutual agreement, been re-purposed as skeet in yet another failed cutie mark attempt.

Sweetie shook her head. “I kind of like it. I think that I might be a pyromaniac.”

“What the hay's a pyromaniac?”

“Somepony who likes startin' fires.”

“We both already knew that.” Scootaloo ruffled Sweetie's mane. “Remember how many times you 'accidentally' lit the fireworks too early?”

“Yeah, and that look in your eyes when the hardware store was burnin' down was kinda creepy.”

“What if that's my special talent? Setting things on fire?” Sweetie sighed. “Rarity's all about making stuff, not destroying it. What's she going to think when she sees me with matches for a cutie mark?”

“Aw, she'll still love you. That's what sisters do.”

“There's lots of stuff that needs to be set on fire anyway.” Scootaloo fluffed her wings again. “Like boilers and trash piles and weeds and stuff like that. I bet you could work firing train locomotives or something like that. Maybe steam ships: you could travel around the world setting stuff on fire! That would be awesome!”

Sweetie looked at Scootaloo hopefully. “Really?”

“Filly Scouts' honor.”

“Thanks guys.” Sweetie pulled them both into a hug. “You've made me feel a lot better.”

“Ew. Sappy.”

“What about you, Scoots?”

“Yeah?”

“Fine.” Scootaloo slumped her shoulders. “I . . . this is kinda going to come as a big shock to you, I guess. I can't fly.”

Sweetie rolled her eyes.

“It'll come in time,” Apple Bloom said. “Not all pegasi learn how to do it right away.”

“I'll never fly.”

The three sat in silence for a moment, before Sweetie Belle filled the silence. “Have you got some kind of birth defect?”

“You could say that.” Scootaloo reached under her belly and fumbled around; a moment later, her wings fell off. “They're fake. Good fakes; they've got a magic crystal in them that responds to my emotions, but they're not real. I'm really an earth pony.”

“I wasn't expectin' that.”

Sweetie touched a hoof to the contact plate between the wings. They popped out, and she jerked back in surprise.

“I just really love the sky and the idea of flying and all that, so I got these for Nightmare Night one year, and . . . well, I guess I never took off my costume.”

Novelember

Admiral Biscuit

It was nearly midnight on November 30th. Twilight was about to go to bed when a knock sounded at the door of her treebury. I wonder who that could be?

Rather than walk over to the door, she just reached out with her magic and opened it. Applejack came in, tipped her hat, and then trotted over to the small worktable Twilight had set up.

“Well, Ah got 'er done.” The farmpony reached back and flipped open her saddlebag with her snout, then stuck her muzzle in the bag, coming out with a thick stack of papers. “Ah think Ah might've gone over the word count a mite, but when Ah got in the groove, Ah just couldn't stop.”

“Really?” Twilight's eyes brightened. “Congratulations! You're the only one to have completed the challenge. Lyra dropped out, said she was having relationship issues; Rarity wrote the first chapter about thirty times, Pinkie gave me a flip-book . . . I'm impressed.”

“Well, when Ah say Ah'm gonna do something, Ah do it.”

“Do you mind if I read it?”

“Go right ahead. Ah'm gonna head back to the farm and get some sleep. Ah'll stop by later in the week to see what ya think.” Applejack gave the unicorn a wink. “Less'n ya intend to read it all tonight.”

“Of course not,” Twilight said. “I'm so tired, I'd probably fall asleep.”

* * *

True to her word, Twilight read the whole thing.

Twice.

Once for flow, and once for errors.

She was still contemplating a passage when Applejack came into the library, unannounced.

“Ah see yer givin' it a shot.”

Twilight slowly nodded. “It . . . caught me by surprise.”

“Were ya expectin' that Ah couldn't write well, on account of my manners of speakin'?”

Twilight twitched, which was all the answer that Applejack needed.

“Betcha were more surprised than a snake at a honey badger convention. So, what'd ya think?”

“This . . .” Twilight shook her head to get back on track. “This is . . . here, let me read a piece of it, okay?

“Do you really think you have a chance against us, Ms. Cowpony?” Flam released the transmit button and waited for a reply.

One floor up, I stayed crouched behind the neighponese paper wall, my stolen gun cradled in one hoof and my radio in the other. It only took me a moment to consider my answer, and I only had a moment to deliver it. I could hear the elevator annunciator chiming, telling me that there was about to be another hoofful of bad ponies with guns, and if they heard me speak, the game was over. But Flam deserved a response. “Yippie Kai-yay, motherbucker.” Then I pushed my way back through the door to set up an ambush.”

“Pretty good, ain't it? Keeps ya on the edge of your seat.”

“It's fanfiction,” Twilight said bluntly.

“So?”

“And it's a self-insert, to boot.”

“Ah gave my protagonist a different name.”

“It's still obvious it's you,” Twilight insisted. “Flam calls her 'cowpony,' she has green eyes, blonde mane, and gamboge coat, and she wears a cowpony hat. And she calls her hind legs Bucky McGillicuddy and—“

“Kicks McGee.” Applejack frowned. “But Ah changed which leg was which.”

“The point is,” Twilight said, effortlessly slipping into lecture mode, “this has no possibility of commercial success. No publishing house would give you a single bit for it.”

“So?”

“So . . . so why would you spend so much time writing it if you weren't planning to sell it?”

“Ah, there ain't much else ta do on the farm in November. Crop's in, an' Big Mac handles all the maintenance around the place. 'Sides, if Ah had fun writin' it and you had fun readin' it, who cares if Ah make a single bit off'n it?”

“I guess.” Twilight looked down at the manuscript. “You know, this is the kind of thing Rainbow would really like reading.”

“Ah already gave her a copy.” Applejack put her hoof on the table. “Be honest with me: ya liked it, didn't ya?”

“It was pretty good.”

“Ah'm writin' a sequel. It's got airplanes in it. Ya wanna read it when Ah'm done?”

Pinkie Pie Raises the Sun

Admiral Biscuit

“And that's why I think that we could increase friendship by at least three percent by making the night on average five minutes longer.”

“It is an interesting proposal,” Luna said, before covering a yawn. “Excuse me, I am not often about at this hour.”

“I'm sorry!” Twilight folded her ears.

“I am getting used to it. If we must share responsibilities, we must both be available whenever we are needed. Since today is the Summer Sun Celebration, our sister could hardly be on the throne.” A faint smile played across Luna's lips. “Tell me, have you calculated out the loss in crop yields?”

“Not even one percent, and that's within the margin of error. There would be a slight decrease in evaporation, which would help the weather ponies.”

Luna tapped her hoof on the floor. “If we are to make this change, we ought to decide quickly. We could experiment this year, and slowly alter the length of the day.” She pushed open a door and then paused. “Tell me, have you eaten lunch yet today?”

“I—no, I haven't.”

“Please join me. I have a special guest in my chambers today.”

Intrigued, Twilight followed her. “Special guest?”

“You'll see.”

• • •

“Princess Celestia?”

Princess Celestia nodded.

“Weren't you supposed to be in Appleoosa? Raising the sun?” She blinked. “Oh, I know, you've already done it and now you're back. Are your stallions that quick, or did you teleport?”

“Neither.” Princess Celestia selected a thickly-frosted cupcake from the dessert tray. “I decided to take the day off.”

“But . . . there will be so many disappointed ponies in Appleoosa! I'll have to recalculate all my data!” Twilight reached for the papers, but Luna yanked them away.

“Twilight, it's time you learn an important lesson about being a princess. There are a lot of duties and responsibilities. Some of them you will have to do yourself, while others are more . . . routine.

“I know you've already seen that with the friendship map. Sometimes there is a problem that doesn't need your help to solve, and you're better off letting somepony else take the reins.”

“Yes, but . . . the sun. Nopony else can raise it.”

“I can,” Luna offered. “I've done it before, remember?”

“That's not the point!” Twilight stomped her hoof. “You're not in Appleoosa, either. So all the townsponies gathered around, waiting for the Princess to raise the sun, and she didn't.”

“Two words, Twilight; body double. I raise the sun here, my double does the ritual. It's a flawless plan.”

“You have a body double?”

Celestia nodded.

“Have I ever met her?”

Celestia nodded again.

“Is it Fleur? She could pass for you from a distance, with fake wings. A suitable enchantment; a variation on the butterfly wings spell, and—“

“It's not Fleur. It's somepony else. Now, about this report you've drawn up—“

“I am not going to discuss it until you tell me who your body double is.”

“It's Pinkie Pie,” Luna said flatly. “Wearing her costume from last Nightmare Night.”

Twilight's eye twitched.

November

A Sam and Rose Story

Admiral Biscuit

I wrapped my hands around my double-chocolate mint mocha and brought it to my mouth. The drink warmed my hands, a promise of what was to come when it crossed my lips.

My eyes were closed, letting my nose take the fore. The peppermint almost overpowered the other smells of the mocha, but not quite. The heavy, savory flavor of the chocolate was there, just below the surface, waiting to be explored.

I held my position a moment longer, wanting to revel in it. I'd always been a bit of a skinflint when it came to spending money at drinking establishments—whether they be bars or Tim Horton's—but now I had seen the error of my ways.

I could have been back home, maybe treating myself to a bit of store-made coffee. With my eyes closed, the dull hubbub of conversation around me might have been Vancouver . . . but even over the mint and chocolate and coffee and muffins, scones, and other baked treats, I could vaguely make out the smell of wet pony.

It was a teasing smell—not as pungent as wet dog—but it was there, and a reminder that no matter my fantasies, I was here.

Fortunately, a nosefull of whipped cream will effectively derail any maudlin thoughts.

I set the glass down carefully, and almost wiped my nose with the back of an arm, before remembering the sweater I was wearing in deference to the cold outside. Instead, I pinched my nostrils, scraping the whipped cream off between thumb and forefinger, and discreetly wiped it off on a napkin, twitching involuntarily as my sweater rubbed against my chest.

I never would have thought that there would come a time in my life when wearing a sweater would feel weird, and I thought about taking it off.

That also wasn't something I'd have considered in the past. But the ovens kept Sugarcube Corner nice and warm, and while I was still cold right now, I might start to sweat by the time I was done with my drink.

I'd cross that bridge when I got to it. I stuck a straw in my cup and absently stirred my drink, losing any thoughts I might have had in the slow spin of the whipped cream around my glass. I'd finally come to terms with being on speaking terms with the literal providers of dairy products.

That Borden's cow is a rather apt corporate logo, I thought, before the particularities of the movement won out over the bitter part of my brain.

I was so lost in my thoughts that Rose snuck up on me. Ponies were surprisingly quiet when they wanted to be.

She'd gotten familiar enough with my height that she just went up on her hind legs to nuzzle my cheek, and I returned the greeting.

She had a pair of saddlebags draped across her back, and the scarf I'd knitted her loosely around her neck. I wasn't really sure how much that helped keep the cold away—had I dressed only in a scarf and gone into town, I doubt if I would have been any warmer than if I'd left the scarf at home.

Maybe it was psychological. I don't know. But I'd seen other ponies wearing them, and scarves were easy enough to make, after all.

I took another sip of my mocha while Rose made her way to the front counter, to order a drink for herself. The Cakes were doing brisk business; both Pinkie and Carrot were at the counter, preparing and serving orders, while Cup darted between the display cases and the ovens.

Her two foals were in a crib just a little bit out of the way, but close enough that they could be watched. They were snuggling together under a pile of blankets, oblivious to the commotion.

Rose came back with a steaming mug of hot chocolate held tightly in a hoof. In some ways, their handicap when it came to horns or wings made the earth ponies more graceful.

She set the cup on the table and hopped onto the chair across from me. Although her position looked more awkward than mine, if it really was uncomfortable, they'd re-design their chairs. I couldn't plant my feet on the floor without knocking over the table with my knees.

“Are you keeping busy, Sam?”

I waved my hand in a so-so gesture. “Still a lot of work at the mill. Farm ponies are emptying their silos. I guess that keeps up year-round.”

Rose nodded.

“But there's a lot of ponies that aren't working right now. There isn't any farm work, you know.”

“You could chop more wood.”

“I have been.” I sighed and took a sip of my drink. “Ginger's always happy to have me out there helping out.”

Rose unwrapped her scarf and draped it across the back of her chair, then picked up her mug between her hooves and blew across the top of it before taking a sip. “In a month or two you could shovel snow. Do you know how?”

I nodded absently. “Hey, Rose, I've got a bit of a personal question if you don't mind.”

“Sure.”

“I've been noticing that some ponies are getting shaggy, and others aren't. I figure it's a winter coat.”

She nodded.

“That's what I thought. But I noticed that almost none of the unicorns have one, while most of the earth ponies do.” I motioned towards the front of the shop, where Pumpkin and Pound had given up on whatever game they were playing and were curled around each other in an adorable little pile. “You guys can, um, interbreed, so is that why? Is it genetic?”

Her cheeks colored slightly, and she took another sip of her hot chocolate to give her time to think. It was weird; they went around naked all the time and didn't see any issue with letting everypony see their junk, but some kinds of talking about sex bothered Rose. I wondered if it was just my choice of words. Maybe interbreed sounded too animalistic to her.

“Yes; parents from different tribes can produce offspring, or a foal can be of a different tribe than her parents, if they're not purebloods.”

“What about donkeys and zebras and stuff? Does that work too?” That had nothing to do with my question, but since I'd brought up the subject, I was kind of curious.

She nodded and focused on her drink. I felt like I'd somehow touched a nerve, so I moved back to a safer—I hoped—topic. “So that's why some of you have winter coats and some don't.”

“No, it's not that.” She tilted her head towards a booth where Applejack and Rarity were gossiping. “It's vanity. A lot of ponies don't like to look shaggy, so they go to the spa and have their coats thinned for the winter. Earth ponies usually don't, unless they're stuck-up. But a lot of unicorns do, even though it means that they're cold in the winter.” She snickered, then rested a hoof on my shoulder. “Like you do.”

I nodded. “We could have had this discussion a while back, and it would have saved some time.” I sighed. “I suppose it doesn't matter. I'm still glad that you managed to find me a razor. It's hard to be neat with scissors. On a different topic, how do you keep busy during the winter?”

“We've got the hothouses,” Rose reminded me. “So we can grow some flowers. They're not as good as spring flowers, because they don't get as much sun. It's actually a lot of work to keep them happy. There isn't any rain, so we have to water them ourselves.”

“I'm happy to come over and help, if you need it,” I offered. “Easier than chopping wood.” I looked over at the window, where small splatters of rain were collecting on the panes. I'd come early to avoid it, but it looked like I'd be getting a bit wet on the way home.

To the best of my reckoning, it was November. They'd celebrated Nightmare Night two nights ago, and with Rose's help, I'd made myself into a bedsheet-ghost. I can't imagine I looked any less ridiculous than the other mare I'd seen who'd had the same costume idea.

I probably could have gotten away with going as myself, but that hardly seemed in the spirit of the holidays. Next year, though, I was going as a Diamond Dog. I could make myself a pretty good fursuit out of yarn . . . I wasn't sure if Diamond Dogs had breeds like dogs did at home, but if anyone asked, I'd just say I was a Komondor.

Rose had gone as some sort of historical pony nobility. She'd had her mane done up in some sort of a bouffant, and wore a thick ruff collar. That was actually it for her costume—some of the ponies went all-out, while others just wore a headpiece or some other significant bit of gear and figured that was good enough.

I couldn't quite figure out how that worked in their minds: it was like some kid wearing a bedsheet cape and saying he was Superman . . . of course, with my own bedsheet-ghost costume, I could hardly talk.

I focused back on the present. Rose was lost in her own thoughts, taking small sips of her hot chocolate. When she put down the mug, she had a small line of chocolate above her lip; without thinking I reached across the table and blotted it off.

“Sorry.”

“It's okay.” She looked across the table at me. “We ought to get going. The rain's supposed to be getting heavier soon.”

I looked around. Sure enough, tables and booths were emptying out. I think the weather was something that the earth ponies were attuned to; most of the stragglers were unicorns. Maybe they couldn't control it, but they could feel it.

“I guess.” I didn't want to leave; it was nice and comfortable inside. I'd finally gotten to the point where my body temperature felt just right, and I wasn’t in a hurry to brave the cold yet. Still, the sporadic rain wouldn't be so bad; if I had to go home in a downpour, I'd regret it.

Both of us finished our drinks and we walked to the door together. Once we were outside, Rose nuzzled my cheek again and then went off towards home, her scarf wrapped proudly around her neck.

I stood there in the street for a minute, looking at Sugarcube corner. There was something nice and normal about meeting a friend for a drink, something that had been missing from my life. Maybe it was the changing seasons that made me want to seek out the crowd, perhaps as a way of fighting back against the long, dark nights that would be coming. Maybe the ponies and I weren't that different after all.

I glanced up at the sky. The clouds were getting darker: it was high time to head home. If I was lucky, I'd get there before the rain got heavy.

Bonus: It's Only a Flesh Wound

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

The Noise Under Pinkie Pie's Sink

The Noise under Pinkie Pie's Sink

Admiral Biscuit

"Twilight! Twilight!"

"Ergh, what is it Pinkie?"

"There's a creepy crunchy scrapey squealy noise under the sink in my bathroom."

"Again?" Twilight rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and pushed the covers back. "It's not Gummy this time, is it?"

"Nopers." Pinkie tilted her head forward, and Gummy came into view, dangling from her cotton candy mane.

Twilight pushed the covers back and hung her tasselled nightcap over the newel post. "Fine."

• • •

Five minutes later, the two mares made their way to Sugarcube Corner, Twilight trudging along wearily, while Pinkie pronked excitedly by her side.

When the pink pony opened the front door, Twilight covered a yawn before following her friend up the stairs.

"Listen, Twilight, do you hear it?"

Twilight cocked her head. She didn't hear anything.

"Maybe if you get closer?"

Twilight nodded and stuck her muzzle right against the vanity, close enough to study the loops and whorls in the grain. Still nothing.

"Pinkie, there's nothing in there."

"There is," Pinkie insisted. She was hopping from hoof to hoof, her blue eyes locked on the door. "I'm not lying, I Pinkie Promise. Cross my heart and hope to fly. . . ."

". . . . Stick a cupcake in your eye," Twilight finished, sticking a hoof in her eye. "Ow. Alright." She grabbed the two little pull-knobs in her aura and yanked the doors open, then shoved her head inside. Is that— she started to think.

SHINK

—a guillotine? she finished thinking as her head was neatly lopped off.

"Best April Foal's prank ~ever~!"

"Dammit, Pinkie." Twilight fumbled around with her hooves until she found her head, and then stuck it back on her neck. "I never should have told you I became immortal when I ascended."

Fluttershy's Bathroom is Flooded with Pandas

Admiral Biscuit

Big Mac leaned in and nuzzled Fluttershy's neck gently, eliciting a small sigh of pleasure from the pegasus. Emboldened, he moved his muzzle down, caressing her withers, then her wings. She unconsciously stretched them out, tickling the tips of his ears with her primaries.

He whuffed a breath against her barrel, then kissed her lightly just below her ribcage. He could feel something stirring under the covers. Maybe tonight's the night.

His muzzle moved lower, lower, against the curve where her flank met her haunch, his excitement growing measurably.

Then he felt a hoof on his head. "Um . . . not now. I'm not really in the mood."

"Eyup." He let out a resigned sigh and pulled his head back up above the covers, shifting himself into a more comfortable position. I sat through an entire wreslin' match with her, and didn't get nothin' from it. But he was a patient, kind pony, so he kissed her gently on the muzzle and fell asleep.

Eventually.

The Next Morning

Maybe this mornin's the mornin'. He sighed. Even in his head, that sounded dumb. What wasn't dumb was that he was in Fluttershy's bed, and she was cuddled up against him, her hind leg resting against a rather sensitive part of his anatomy.

Her gorgeous pink hair was spread across the pillow like a halo, framing her flawless face. He leaned in and gave her a light kiss on the muzzle and was rewarded with her snuggling against him.

Big Mac reached down with a hoof, lightly stroking the ruff of fur along her belly. She sighed contentedly, right until his hoof went a little too far south.

"Um, not now. I'm not ready."

"Eyup." Big Mac let out a mighty sigh. "Can I use your bathroom?"

"Of course." She brushed her lips against his, then folded the covers back with a wing. "I'll get the fire going and start breakfast."

Five Ten Minutes Later

"Are you all right in there?"

"Eyup."

"Are you sure?"

"E . . . yup?"

Fluttershy folded her ears back as the toilet flushed yet again.

"It doens't sound like it, mister."

Big Mac winced. He was going to be in the doghouse for sure. He tapped a hoof impatiently on the floor, hoping that would make the toilet tank fill faster, but it was no good.

He didn't hear the bathroom door open, because it was muffled. Muffled with pandas.

Hundreds of tiny pandas flooded Fluttershy's bathroom. The pegasus's beautiful teal eyes went wide when she saw them, and then she looked up at Big Mac's red face.

"Er, I can explain," he said lamely.

Slice of Life

Admiral Biscuit

Golden Harvest didn't need to be told it was dinnertime. As soon as dinner had begun to smell done, she'd kept one ear cocked towards the kitchen, listening for the telltale sound of the oven door being opened.

That sound was her cue, and as soon as she heard it, she got off the couch to head upstairs and summon her little sister.

Behind her, she heard the back door of the house open. That, too, was normal: her father would often fuss around in the workshop while dinner was being prepared, both to keep himself out of the way, and to avoid being called upon for any last-minute chore.

Goldie considered just shouting for Noi at the top of the stairs, but mom didn't like it when they yelled in the house, so she instead walked down the hallway to her sister's small bedroom.

One step in the doorway, and she was about to announce that dinner was ready, but she paused. Noi was stretched out on the bed, her hind legs folded neatly under her and book held down by her forehooves. Her ears were locked forward, and her muzzle was scrunched back in concentration—it was rare to see Noi in any state other than hyperactive little sister, and for a moment, Golden Harvest got a glimpse of what her little sister would become when she was older.

Then an ear turned, and a moment later, Noi's head followed. Her face split in a grin, and she carefully pushed the book aside and bounced out of bed.

“Is it time to eat?”

Golden Harvest nodded. “What were you doing?”

“I'm in a play! We had tryouts and Miss Cheerilee said I could be the mayor. I've got so many things I have to say.” She puffed out her chest. “'Welcome to Ponyville! I'm Mayor Apple, and this is a new town.'”

Golden Harvest reached out a hoof and ruffled Noi's mane, a smile creeping across her face. She'd done the same play when she was in school. “You're going to be a great mayor, sis. Do you want me to help you with your lines after dinner?”

The Stallion with Bows in his Mane, part 2

Admiral Biscuit

It took a long time for Emily to wake up, and when she did she was utterly disoriented.

As she slowly regained consciousness, there was already the nagging feeling at the back of her mind that something wasn't right. It wasn't anything that she could really nail down; certainly, in her half-awake state, it eluded her grasp. But there was something amiss, that was certain.

She was logy and her brain was full of cotton. Her body ached and burned, like she'd fallen down a flight of stairs and gotten a fever when she landed. Feelings suddenly assaulted her from every inch of her body, and none of them were right.

It was so overwhelming that she passed out again, her head falling senselessly back to the uncaring earth. She wasn't quite asleep and wasn't quite awake, either. Her eyes were open, but they were glazed and blank, reflecting her mental turmoil. Her chest rose and fell slowly, and one leg twitched occasionally, only barely breaking the illusion that she was dead.

She lay there, unmoving, until a gust of wind touched her, and then she gasped and blinked, her eyes suddenly snapping into focus.

The first thing she saw was green grass on her left side and blue sky on her right. That wasn't what she ought to be seeing, she knew that. It wasn't her bedroom; it wasn't any bedroom. It was outside, and outside was not a place she should have been sleeping.

For a moment it came back to her, the flash of light, so bright that she could see it even with her eyes screwed tightly shut, and then it was gone, vanishing back into the haze that made up her memory. She didn't know where she was, and she was afraid that she didn't know who she was either.

She twisted around on the ground, moaning. Her voice didn't sound right. Then she stretched out, and her neck didn't feel right and her body didn't feel right and she was sure she was paralyzed. Her brain helpfully filled in the details; perhaps she had been in a car accident she was planning to go over to Sarah's house and that must have been what happened she was thrown clear of the wreck and the paramedics haven't arrived yet didn't they say that short-term amnesia was common among accident victims oh God I'm a victim I'm a statistic.

She tried to control her breathing, to avoid panicking. Panicking was bad. Panicking caused further injures. Caused the heart to beat faster, and if there was bleeding, that would make it worse. Stay calm. Help is on the way. Don't move.

Her body was numb. There was no pain. Maybe she was in shock. Probably.

She was so warm.

Too warm. She was burning up.

Small movements. A little here, a little there. Wiggle the toes.

No toes.

Wiggle them.

Nothing.

No, not nothing. Something. Something strange. Different. It's just shock.

Her nose.

Her nose isn't right.

It's . . . not right.

Who notices their nose?

It's just there but it isn't there or rather it is there but it isn't a nose.

It's . . . it's not on the ground. She crosses her eyes, tries to focus. Tries to process what she's seeing. It's not part of her, it can't be part of her. No part of her ever looked like that.

She moves.

She couldn't help it. She forgot she's supposed to lay still and quiet until the paramedics show up to avoid aggravating any injuries. She can't get the image of her nose out of her mind, it's an illusion, a delusion, a hallucination, all she has to do is touch it and then she'll know she was imagining it. She reaches up with her right hand, because it's easier, it doesn't have her body lying on top of it.

She touches it.

She's so confused.

She feels the touch, feels the pressure against the nostrils and that's all right but her hand something is wrong there it feels like she's wearing a boxing glove there is no tactile sense at all, yet her wrist says that there is pressure and she's trying to figure it out but it's so hard with a headful of cotton wool.

She's not scared. She's not.

She's terrified.

Breathe.

Slowly.

Move.

Slowly, slowly.

She lifts her head, just slightly. Off the grass. Not much. Not enough to worsen a potential neck injury. No, not that far. Just a little. It helps. Now she hasn't got grass pressed against her cheek, hasn't got that smell in her nostrils.

Her ear moves.

She felt it move.

She slaps her hand against her ear and is rewarded with burning pain. She can't feel blood, there's no wetness on her hand that doesn't feel like a hand at all.

Emily doesn't want to look. She doesn't want to know. She closes her eyes and lets her head drop back to the grass, thinking that perhaps there are worse things than dying on the grass.

• • •

How long she is there she does not know. She couldn't know.

The weird sensations have become normal.

Not normal.

But not abnormal.

She's started to accept whatever it is that has happened to her.

She doesn't know what. Her mind is blank. There was a flash, and then . . . this.

Emily shifted around restlessly. There is no pain. She can't—things still don't feel like they should, but her legs moved. She felt them move. And something just above her butt, but she doesn't focus on that, she doesn't want to know about that. The important thing was that all four limbs were functioning.

She opened her eyes. She could still see the grass out of her left eye and the sky out of her right eye and the furry brown thing between them. The thing that didn't belong but yet felt like it belonged to her.

Her ears twitched.

She had to get up. Get her cell phone. Call for help. Nobody was coming, she knew that now. The sun was lower, she was sure the sun was lower and she couldn't be here when it went down. Couldn't be lying on the ground out here, wherever here was.

She pushed herself up, slowly, carefully. Each movement was calculated, ready to be curtailed if there was pain, but there was none.

It felt right to be back up, even if the world looked strange and shorter than it used to.

A lock of brunette hair fell across her vision, and she automatically brushed it aside, forgetting for the moment her rule about planning every action.

It didn't move.

She missed.

She missed her own hair.

And what was that that just crossed in front of my face?

She needs to know. Emily doesn't want to know, because it could be a dream, yes, that's it, a weird dream, but she must know she must.

Why is she kneeling? Why can't she stand up?

It's a hoof.

It's attached to a furry limb.

The furry limb is attached to her.

She knows it is.

She can feel it when it moves. She can shake it and it responds.

Her mouth drops open in an O of surprise.

Things are beginning to make sense.

Things don't make any sense. Her mind tries to grasp what it knew that she was a person, a human, a girl and her parents were too and so was everybody but she can't deny what she saw. It wasn't a hallucination, it was too real and she's a rational per—pony so she picked her hoof back up and waved it around in front of her face, getting used to the idea.

She's a pony.

She's got hooves.

She's got a mane, yes, it's not hair, it's a mane. She touches it lightly, gets a feel for it. How it flowed down her neck in a narrow band, nothing like how a human's hair would fall. She turns her head, examined her body. Certainly a horse, a pony, there is no doubt.

Her ears move, she felt them move. Her tail—that was the feeling above her butt.

She had a tail.

It's weird, it's new. No amount of imagination had prepared her for having a tail. It was like an extra limb back there, but not necessarily a cooperative one. She can't figure out why it flicks and swishes like it does, but memories of horseback camp came back to her and maybe she was annoyed.

Yes, annoyed.

That was it.

She was annoyed.

She'd been minding her own business, doing human things and then there had been a sudden flash of light and . . . and then she was a pony.

She laughed, and there was a touch of madness in that laugh.

She lifted a hoof, then set it back down and lifted another. It felt weird, but right somehow.

“I am Emily,” she announced. “And I am a pony.”

. . . That felt right.

Proper.

She was a pony, but she still knew who she was.

Emily stretched her neck and stuck her head against the ground. There was a strange feeling in her belly which was probably hunger, and since she was a pony it was okay to eat grass.

She sniffed it, and it smelled good. Her stomach rumbled, and she tore a patch of grass loose, hoping to sate the beast in her belly.

It smelled good.

It tasted good.

Before too long, there was a bald patch in front of her, extending as far as her neck could reach, so she concentrated and moved her legs, one-by-one. They moved, and so did she.

She felt an odd sensation around her hind legs and as she leaned down to get another bite of grass tilted her head even more downward, wondering if she'd perhaps brushed across a sapling.

For a moment, it didn't register. And then it did.

Poor Emily had dealt with a lot already, more than any girl could reasonably be expected to cope with, but this was the last straw, the final indignity.

Between her hind legs dangled what was unmistakably a penis.

She screamed.

Updates

Admiral Biscuit

“So what do you think of our town?”

Jade shrugged. “It's nice, I guess.”

Pinkie Pie glared at her. “Nice?”

“Well . . .” she rubbed a hoof against the back of her neck. “I guess it's not what I'm used to.”

Pinkie gave her an expectant look. Old Pinkie would have been right in her face but ever since the pony psychiatrist had prescribed pink pills, she didn't feel the need to do that anymore.

“I'm used to buildings being more . . . crystally. Less, uh, organic.” She noticed the small frown on Pinkie's face. “But the ponies in town are nice. It's hard for me to imagine all three tribes living together like this.”

Pinkie nodded. “I guess it wasn't like that in the Crystal Empire, was it?”

“Just crystal ponies.” She looked up as a pegasus skimmed overhead.

Suddenly, both ponies' ears turned as a siren wailed.

“What's that?”

“It's noon on the first Saturday of the month,” Pinkie said. “Just watch.”

It was like a switch had been thrown. In the marketplace, every unicorn they could see set down whatever they were holding in their auras and stood on all fours, tilting their heads back until their horns were pointed directly up into the sky. Other ponies who were near them moved out of the way, giving them space.

By the time the alarm had stopped, the other ponies had gone back to what they were doing, but not the unicorns. They stood in position, completely motionless. Their pupils were tiny pinpricks, staring off at nothing, and all of their horns lit simultaneously with a faint glow.

They stayed that was for five minutes, before all the auras flicked out. Every unicorn shook her head, and then they went back to their routine as if nothing had happened.

Jade looked over at Pinkie for an explanation. “What was that? What just happened?”

“The unicorns were downloading updates.”

❤

Admiral Biscuit

It was nearly midnight on Hearth's Warming Eve, and the Pie house was virtually silent. It would have been silent, but for the quiet pops and creaks of an old house settling in for the night, the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room, and the soft crackles of the dying fire in the fireplace.

The living room itself had been properly prepared for the holiday. Upon the mantle, above the last embers of the fire, a row of stone ponies awaited the morning. Outside, fresh snow was falling, covering the farm in a fresh mantle of white that glittered in the faint moonlight filtering through the clouds.

In this silent winter wonderland, two ponies sat side-by-side. They did not speak, for they had no need. There were not words which could describe the feel of coat against coat, or the feeling of the slow rise and fall of their barrels as they breathed. No troubadour had yet sung a ballad that described how the warmth they shared more than offset the chill of the dozing house, nor could the entirety of Shakespony's sonnets even scratch the surface of what they saw in each other’s eyes.

Marble Pie and Big Mac sat in the living room, quieter even than the snow spattering against the frosted windowpanes. Their love was so deep that it could not be expressed in words, and so it was not.

Retirement

Admiral Biscuit

The day before his retirement, Whirlwind emptied his office, packing everything he felt like keeping in a duffel bag—the very same duffel bag he had been issued on his first day of boot camp. He took it back to his barracks, then he packed his few personal belongings inside.

The next morning at muster, he informed the Wonderbolts that Spitfire was to be his successor, thanked them all for their service, and gave her a sharp salute before he flew off, his duffel bag in tow.

After that, he faded completely from public view. A few enterprising newsponies tried to track him down, but they all failed. He gave no speeches, wrote no memoir, opened no flight training school: it was as if the sky had simply swallowed him up.

* * *

None of them had been clever enough to look in the right place.

The day of his retirement, Whirlwind had flown to Canterlot, and had spent the night at a hotel. There, he dyed his mane and tail. Like a good soldier, when he checked out, all traces that he'd ever occupied the room were gone. He boarded a train to Dodge Junction, and never looked back.

Once he got there, he bought a huge plot of land on the outside of town, and mail-ordered every book he could find about farming, then he sent a telegram and a money order to his marefriend. A week later, she and her foals joined him on his nascent farm.

From that point forth, he devoted every ounce of his being to his new family and farm. Never once did he mention his time in the Royal Guard, nor that he was once commander of the Wonderbolts; that detail was even glossed over in his obituary: Whirlwind spent ten years in the Royal Guard and twenty-five years in the Wonderbolts, retiring to pursue his lifelong dream of being a farmer.

Solo

A Highway 502 Story

Admiral Biscuit

Who in Equestria designed this stupid thing? Poppy stretched on her hind legs and reached just a little bit further into the depths of the engine, finally managing to touch the end of her socket wrench. She'd positioned it with telekinesis, but her field wasn't as strong as her hoof, and the bolt just wouldn't turn. It needed a good shove, and then it would come right out.

She scooted her hind legs across the floor until she was in a good position, then planted her hooves firmly on the concrete, trying to ignore the fender that was digging into her ribs. With a hard shove, the ratchet finally turned, and the stubborn bolt moved.

Poppy focused her attention back on the ratchet, grabbing the end with her aura. Despite what some of the local ponies thought, the more leverage she had, the easier she could turn a bolt: magic had its limitations, after all; it wasn't as simple as just grabbing the bolt with her aura and turning it.

When it was almost all the way out, things got a little complicated. Now she had to deal with the weight of the generator, as well. She floated the ratchet over to her tray—now the bolt was loose enough to turn with her aura—and stuck a hoof against the generator to hold it in place while she spun the bolt the rest of the way out.

The upper cowl for the radiator was nice and flat, so she set the bolt there, along with its sisters, and got a good hold of the generator, snaking it out from its bracket. Rebuilding it would be a fun afternoon project.

Her ears perked as she heard a car drive over the pneumatic hose and ring the chime. She looked out the bay door to make sure that her brother was paying attention—sometimes when Mom wasn't working, he'd fall asleep at the counter—watching until she saw him trot out to the gas pumps.

She carried the broken generator over to the workbench, carefully balancing it on top of a pile of used engine parts that might come in handy for something someday, cleared a small spot, and set down a few shop rags, then put the generator in the center.

Then her stomach rumbled, and she decided that it would be okay to have lunch before she tore into it.

Up in front was a cooler full of sandwiches that a deliverypony brought every day. They were supposed to throw them in the compost heap if they didn't sell in a day or two, but her Mom was way too frugal for that; she kept the unsold sandwiches for lunch. Even after a couple of days, they were pretty good, although the bread was sometimes stale and the lettuce wilted.

Over the last week, they'd had pretty good sales, and there wasn't much selection. Lettuce and daisy, or cucumber rose. For a second, she considered taking one of each, before settling on the cucumber rose and a bottle of root beer.

Rather than eat back in the shop, she took Dusty's recently-vacated seat, unwrapped the sandwich, and picked up a pinup calendar that was sitting next to the schedule.

She idly flipped through it while she was eating, debating which stallion was the most handsome. Poppy had narrowed it down to two, and was flipping back and forth to decide if July's attractive face was a strong enough feature to draw attention away from his unfortunately-shaped penis. Then the phone rang.

She picked up the handset and stuck it against her ear, switching to a hoof-hold when it was close. “Hello. Orchid Frost's Service Station.”

“Hi Poppy. Palomino Police dispatch here. Radio car called in a wreck. Single car off in the ditch, he says the back's fouling traffic. It's on 502, about a mile out of town.”

Poppy spoke without thinking. “Um, okay, we'll send the wrecker right out.”

“Thanks.” There was a click, and the connection was broken.

Mom's out of town. She bit her lip. They had to do the tow; if they didn't the road might be blocked for hours while they got a truck from Los Pegasus or somewhere and that would make the police officer unhappy . . . she wasn't supposed to drive the wrecker by herself, but she knew how. She'd gone out on plenty of calls with Mom, sometimes even driving.

But never alone.

She pushed the sandwich off to the side, drained her root beer, and took one last look at the calendar, reaching the conclusion that overall appearance was no less important than size, then trotted out back to start up the wrecker.

The process was an art unto itself. Two pumps of the accelerator pedal to prime the carb, choke all the way open, and then turn the ignition key and hope.

When it rumbled to life, she waited until the oil pressure gauge came off its peg before giving it a little throttle. It sputtered, and she feathered the choke knob in slightly, until the engine steadied. Once upon a time, the carburetor had had an automatic choke, but it had broken years ago, and there weren't any trucks like it in their little scrapyard to steal parts from.

Besides, it was reliable once it warmed up. It just didn't like starting.

Poppy made sure the parking brake was set and the transmission was in neutral before hopping out of the cab. She walked back into the front office to tell Dusty where she was going.

“Mom says you aren't supposed to drive the wrecker by yourself.”

“Mom isn't here.”

“That's the point.”

“If we don't get that car, who's going to?”

Dusty scratched his chin. This difficulty hadn't occurred to him.

“I'll be back in a couple of hours. You can have the rest of my sandwich, if you want.”

“Fine.” He looked down at the desk, and then he noticed the calendar. “That stallion's got a really ugly—“

“Glad I'm not the only one who thinks so.” Poppy reached across the counter and changed it to November. “He's a lot better looking. See ya in a bit.”

Back in the truck, Poppy shoved the choke all the way closed and made a final check of the instrument panel. Everything looked normal, so she hooked a hoof around the steering wheel, pressed on the brake, and released the parking brake handle.

She glanced over her shoulder to ensure that all the equipment that was supposed to be on the deck was still there, then shifted it into first gear and headed for the road.

When she got up to the asphalt, she thought about turning on the trucks beacon, but she wasn't supposed to use it unless she was actually towing something, and since this was her first solo trip, she had to do everything by the book, so she clicked on the turn signal and waited for a break in traffic.

The trip out of town went by quickly, then she was on the highway, her mane whipping around in the wind. She could probably reach across with her aura and crank the passenger side window up, but she was concentrating on keeping the truck in its lane and watching for the car off the road. It wouldn't do to overshoot, especially if the policepony was still on scene.

Fortunately for her pride, she saw the accident long before she arrived. The radio car was still there, parked halfway on the road to serve as a warning to other motorists.

Now Poppy could turn on her beacons, and she did, slowing as she approached the scene. Traffic was very light, and the oncoming lane was empty, so she pulled across the road, giving the police car a wide berth.

As she swung back into her lane, she caught a glimpse of the wrecked automobile in her rearview-mirror. Its nose was down in the ditch, and all the front sheet metal was a twisted, mangled wreck. The left front door was open, leaning up against the bent fender, and the running board was jammed all the way down in the dirt.

Normally, to avoid causing further damage, she would have tried to pull the car back out the way it had gone in; in this case, there was no need. Nothing she could do would make the front end worse. She hoped that the driver and passengers had survived.

Poppy didn't need the policepony to tell her what to do. She backed up until she had the truck in a good position, set the brake, and engaged the PTO. It took her less than a minute to drop the chocks behind the rear wheels—probably unneeded, but it would be embarrassing to pull the wrecker off the road—and then she unhooked the winch cable from the sling and started stringing it out towards the car.

The front axle beam was still intact, which gave her a good attachment point. As bent as the leaf springs were, they weren't broken, and would probably stay attached to the frame.

Before going back to the truck, she picked up the small debris which had been torn from the car in the accident: the right front wheel, a headlight, and a number of smaller parts as well. Those, she tossed in the back of the car.

She hadn't meant to, but she looked forward while she was working, and noticed the bent steering wheel and the spiderwebbed cracks just above it. Poppy swallowed down a bit of bile and tried not to think about the unbuckled driver smashing his head into the windshield and his chest into the steering wheel, and instead focused her attention back on the car, which was of course her primary concern.

It came out easily, which was a relief. She'd left the truck in a good position, so once the car was up against the back of the deck, she lowered it on a pair of jackstands, reached inside the car to put the column shifter into gear, then pulled up her chocks and got back into the truck.

Once she was clear of the front of the car, she set up the sling, then backed up until it just touched the bumper. Chaining the car to the sling was a familiar task; Orchid usually let her do that. In the interests of safety, after the car was lifted, she pulled a set of chains out of the deck lockers and hooked them to the frame of the car, so if the front axle did tear off, the car wouldn't go far.

Satsified with her hookup, she pulled forward and off the shoulder, to give traffic room to get by. The policepony had clearly been watching; when she stopped the truck, he was right behind her, also fully off the road.

Before she could get out of the truck, he was standing at her door, a bundle of papers held in his mouth. Without a word, she took them, then leaned down and started transferring the information from the police paperwork to one of her tow tickets.

She dutifully wrote down where the wreck had been, filled out the equipment she'd had to use and her time on scene, then tucked everything into the glove box, checked her mirrors for oncoming traffic, and pulled back out in the road.

By the time she'd turned around at an exit, she was starting to feel like a professional. The wrecked car was still behind her, just as it should be, the paperwork was complete, and she hadn't made a foal of herself out on the road. She'd even remembered to roll the passenger side window up while she was stopped.

She slowed down a little ways outside of town—she knew that sudden stops weren't advisable when there was a car on the back—and got back to the service station without incident.

She could have backed the car into a spot, but she was feeling lazy and went the long way around, so that she could pull straight through.

Poppy hopped out of the truck, found a couple boards to support the front of the wreck, and dropped it neatly in the row with a couple other cars they'd towed in off the highway in the last week.

Satisfied with a job well done, she parked the wrecker back in its usual spot and shut it off, taking a minute to bask in the glow of a job well done. Then she hopped out of the wrecker and headed back into the service bay to rebuild a generator.