The Ludicrous Origin of Screwy
"Ha hah! Take that, society; it works!" Screwy proclaimed to himself.
After many sleepless nights, he had finally done it: his portal gun was operational. Now, he stood triumphant in the middle of his cluttered workshop, staring at the glowing, green ovoid now plastered onto the wall. It seemed to jiggle occasionally, as if the surface were some sort of liquid.
"This calls for a celebration!" With that, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey off the counter and took a few swigs. Screwy knew that the consumption of such beverages was potentially hazardous to his health, but he didn't really give a crap. He worked better when drunk.
"Urrrp," he burped, a small amount of drool oozing onto his muzzle. Now, he thought, he could now access other worlds and expand his knowledge of science exponentially! He would become the greatest mind of all time, surpassing even Starswirl the Bearded. Then, he would rake in tons of dough, and get all of the mares. Those fools over in Canterlot would look back at his application and say to themselves: 'Damn, why didn't we let this guy in? Emotonally unstable? More like bucking amazing.'
But enough of that, time for some tests!
Smiling, he threw the trussed-up chipmunk he had procured into the portal. It squeaked in terror as its body passed the threshold, producing ripples in the fabric of reality.
After a couple minutes or so, he yanked back on the leash. His subject was alive and more-or-less intact.
"Good enough. Now l-l-let's see where this thing goes."
Reality-tearing device shoved into the pocket of his lab coat, he stepped through the rift.
* * *
The first thing Screwy noticed about the new universe in which he found himself were the three identical bipeds standing in front of him. They all shared his spiky blue hair and penchant for lab coats. What they did not share was his dashing good looks; dudes were ugly and had no fur. Each one stared at him with a neutral-bordering-angry expression as they stood in the metallic hallway.
One of them turned to glance at some sort of magical projection above its wrist. It then turned to look at the others. "Where's the Rick? What's this stupid horse thing doing here?"
"I don't *urrp* know a-any more than you do, you asshole!" one of them replied.
"Who're you calling st*urrp*id, you bastard?" Screwy angrily interjected.
"Oh, hey, it talks!" the first one snorted, sending spittle out of its mouth.
The third one, who had yet to speak, groaned. It held up some sort of metallic object at him, similar in design aesthetic as his own new invention. "He checks o-out. That's a Rick, all right. From dimension P-023, apparently."
"P branch?" exclaimed the second one. "That's, like, waaay off the central finite curve. No wonder he's so messed up."
The first one laughed. "Isn't that the one where Prince Rick is from?"
Screwy coughed twice. "Could somepony please tell me what the buck is going on?!"
The one with the gun-thing facepalmed. "Oh, god, not this t-thing with the horse puns again."
"Nope, not dealing with this today," declared the first biped. "Let's just get on with it."
"Why are you here?" asked the second one, sighing.
"I just built this sweet p-p-portal gun. Now I'm gonna use it for stuff. Some business, but mostly pleasure," Screwy replied.
"Right *urrrp* answer. Then, O-O-On behalf of Ricks everywhere, we *urp* welcome you to the Citadel of Ricks, headquarters of the Grand Transdimensional Council of Ricks!" It followed up with a dramatic gesture to the left.
Training his gaze in the indicated direction, Screwy saw a massive golden statue of the thing in the middle of a large silvery-blue plaza. Other bipeds walked to and fro in front of it, flanked by fountains and small clusters of shrubs. He blinked, slowly turning his head back.
"So... you're all guys named Rick?" he asked.
"We're not just all named Rick, we a-all are Rick. Each from a separate dimension."
"Wow, seriously?" he scoffed. "That's an utterly bucking nonsensical name. I'm Screwy, bitches."
"Ha, that's surprisingly fitting," Rick replied.
"No it isn't! It's demeaning!" rebuked Rick.
"He's even got a screw on his ass," noted Rick.
Screwy frowned at them. "It's just a name other than 'Rick'. Celestia, no need to *urp* make a huge deal about it. And the screw is called a Cutie Mark, shows I'm good at science, or whatever. All ponies get one."
The three Ricks all froze in unison. The first one raised something at him, narrowing his eyes. From the way it was held, Screwy inferred that this one was actually a weapon.
"Get back in the damn portal," he said.
The Rick in the middle placed an appendage on his shoulder. "Let's not get c-crazy now."
"You know how this works!" shouted Rick. "Every Rick who actually wants to bathe in the vast knowledge and wisdom of the Council gets let in! We can trust him, he's us!"
Weapon-holding Rick shook his head. "A-Any version of me that uses the word 'cute' to describe any aspect of himself doesn't deserve to exist, let alone join the council."
"What?" said Screwy. "It's not *urrp* my fault that that's what they're called!"
"Well, to be fair, you're also a fuzzy blue midget horse," Rick pointed out.
Screwy rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, at least give me a shot. I like vast knowledge and shit."
"See? Now we have to-"
"No," cut off Rick, bluntly.
Screwy paused, pondering his options. "Umm... umm... ok. What if I turned myself into whatever-it-is you guys are?"
Rick raised an eyebrow. "That could work."
Rick shook his head. "No it wouldn't. Rick C-137 tried that and everything went to hell."
"I still think we should kill him," Rick said.
"The w-worst that happens is he dies trying, right?" Rick then reached over and yanked some hairs out of Rick's head.
"HEY!"
Rick grinned and passed the hairs to Screwy. "Here, use these."
Screwy placed the hairs into one of his spare test tubes. "Thanks, Rick."
"Don't mention it."
The two glowering Ricks simmered down as Screwy turned around, already set on his next project.
"Oh, yeah," Screwy remembered. "How do I get back here?"
"Just don't *urp* mess with the supergravity driver on that thing."
Screwy nodded in understanding. "Got it."
Just before leaving for his own dimension, he spat at Rick.
* * *
After a whole three hours of hard labor, Screwy activated the magical apparatus which would turn him into Rick.
As he stood there, he took a few swigs from his flask. In hindsight, he probably could have been more efficient in building the thing, he thought. His initial approach to the problem - homegrown science - simply wasn't up to the task in the end. Even after weeks of modifications, the genetic agents he tried all ended up mutating his test subjects into unholy horrors. Love Crafter would have been proud. Though he found the abominations amusing, it was getting difficult to convince that yellow pegasus to keep selling him chipmunks at the speed he was going through them. Stupid mare thought he had eighty-seven pets running around the house.
Laughing to himself, Screwy consumed additional alcohol. He was always reluctant to resort to magic, but it was a necessary evil in this case. A trip to the library yielded multiple texts on transformation spells, and it was a simple matter programming the appropriate one into his spellshaper matrix. The hard part was dealing with all the other ponies in town without offending them, such as that old crone who worked in said library and wouldn't stop bitching about how much she wanted to retire. Not to mention the waiting. Without a live unicorn, he had to use his late mother's horn. It always took forever to charge.
Screwy massaged his temple with a hoof, staring at the slowly-brightening organ which was currently pointed at him. It was all wired up, with Rick's hairs taped to the top. It wouldn't be long now before he could join his true kin in glorious, organized chaos and leave this hick town behind.
* * *
Applejack whipped her head frantically back and forth, scanning her surroundings.
"Winona!" she called out. "Time to come on back, now! Your supper's gonna get cold!"
She swiveled her ears, searching for a reply, but none came. Undeterred, she kept patrolling the edge of town. Applejack figured she would give it another five minutes before she gave up the goose. Winona was a smart dog, and she'd be back by nightfall anyway. If she wanted to roam around town tonight, why bother stopping her?
Then, just as she finished that thought, there was a huge explosion.
Gasping, she turned to the source of the sound, only to spy an old cottage with sparkling wisps of magical energy billowing out one of the windows. Heedless of her own safety, she immediately broke off into a gallop, heading off to investigate.
Hooves pounding on the worn path, she spied other ponies that had stopped what they were doing to gawk. She ignored them, and quickly arrived at the building.
"What happened? Y'all need any help?" she yelled.
When a few seconds passed with no reply, she bucked down the door in a single, swift motion.
Charging through the house, she burst into the room where the problem was.
Soon, the remnants of magic cleared completely, and Applejack could see everything. The room was in shambles, with strange objects littered about everywhere. One of the windows was broken. There was also a bright blue mare standing in the center of the floor, her mane and tail completely disheveled. She was glaring angrily at her, in a crouching stance. But most surprising was the presence of Winona, who was happily feasting on something that could be described as vaguely chipmunk-shaped in the corner.
"Winona! What did you do?" Applejack asked, shocked.
Pausing from her meal, the dog turned to her owner. She looked both confused and sad.
Applejack sighed. She turned to the mare. "I'm really sorry 'bout Winona. She's never done anythin' like this before. You need any help fixin' all this?"
The mare barked at her.
She blinked. "S'cuse me?"
The mare bared her teeth and growled.
Applejack took a deep breath and asked the odd pony again. She didn't stop growling.
"You know what?" said Applejack, "Forget the mess, let's just get you some medical help. Come on, Winona."
Winona yipped in reply, and the two carefully exited the room. Glancing behind her, Applejack saw that the mare was now scratching at the wall with her hooves.
May Celestia have mercy on her soul.
