Moosetasm lovingly locked his gaze upon the sensuous bright purple eyes of the strangely alluring figure who stared back at him from the circular aperture. His own eyes couldn't help but drink in the intoxicating sight. Pristine pearly white coat, mane blacker than Luna's blackest night, horn. He was only vaguely aware that he was looking into a mirror, staring at his own reflection, ogling it, a pony might say if they were so inclined, which they were, and probably still are, to this day.
"Oh yeah!" His voice lilted in such a manner that the mirror shattered from the sheer tenor of it. His muzzle scrunched into a frown as he tried to get a better look at himself through the remains of the thirteenth mirror he had shattered that month.
Even fractured, the countenance that he observed in the damaged mirror was still the sexiest, awesomest, broke-back-mountainingest stallion he knew. Some of the lesser ponies around referred to him as a narc... narsis... narcissist, whatever in Tartarus that was. He knew the truth, though, nopony could take away his good looks. Even if they tried to tear them forcibly from him, with fleshy hooks, which he actually was looking forward to with the Mrs. this weekend. Not even the pretentious nephew of Celestia could compare to him and nothing would ever change that.
Speaking of change, why was he wearing a diaper?
He didn't allow such droll considerations to enter his vacuous, solipsistic, mind, well, at least not for very long. After all, he had a house party to, at the very least appear to be, attending. He exited the, quite unnecessary in hindsight due to his attire, bathroom and headed towards where other ponies were conversing.
His head ached, a dull throb that somehow managed to pound in a rhythm that was distinct from his own heartbeat, at the thought of having to socialize with such rabble. He silently, for fear of a fate worse than death, cursed his Mrs. for forcing him into hosting these cultural death traps.
The two ponies closest to him were, much to his antipathy, not of the prestigious unicorn variety. One he knew as Florian. The pegasus mare psychiatrist had a pristine white coat which was nice for him to look at, especially in the area that was aft of her flower and pencil cutie marks, but nowhere near as luxurious as his own. Her blonde mane and tail had a pink streak through them that reminded him of the time that he had seen the aftermath of a bubblegum factory explosion.
She was conversing with an earth pony stallion, in one of the guttural lower Equestrian dialects. His coat was of a light periwinkle blue and adorned upon his flank was a greenish six-sided die. Moosetasm had never seen the yellow maned pony before but was instantly distrustful due to the steaming beverage held in his hoof. Moosetasm knew that nopony who drank coffee could be trusted, especially not those who were so addicted to the stuff that they could always be found with a cup of liquid so dark that it had a veritable event horizon and measurable Hawking radiation.
"I'm telling you, Nutmeg," Moosetasm heard Florian whine nasally, "everypony seems to think that Princess Luna was crying for those thousand years up on the Moon, but that's completely-" Moosetasm cocked his head precariously to the side as his staggeringly primitive mind struggled to assimilate the high-pitched rant. With aggravating slowness, and in a manner typical of his average level of inconsideration for others, Moosetasm sidled uncomfortably close to the pair in order to better eavesdrop.
"- was Nightmare Moon and there's no way she would -" Florian's tirade faltered and her expression assumed one of extreme disgust, quite similar to the look one might express after drinking month old expired milk, at the mere sight of the unicorn intruder. She pointed a hoof towards Moosetasm's primly padded posterior. "- first a 'Cry for Luna' holiday, and what next? An insane royal decree to make those mandatory?! Will Celestia's insanity know no end?! Or is she just doing this on purpose, watching us squirm and waiting to see if we'll crack and -"
Suddenly, and without any consideration for personal space or social conventions, Moosetasm wrapped a long, extremely gangly, hoof into a crushing bear hug around the instantly rigid form of the unexpectant ivory coated pegasus. Florian's face contorted, like an arthritic yoga master, into a mixture of horror, embarrassment, and unrepentant rage.
"You see that?" Moosetasm whispered wistfully, in a gruff baritone that was reminiscent of a roofing tile factory caught in a category 4 tornado.
The mare frantically tried to extricate herself from the strangely soothing, like being lovingly dragged into the briny depths by an octopus masseuse, iron kung-fu grip, while trying, in a manner as blatant as possible, to ignore Moosetasm's other hoof as it pointed with a deep watery longing towards the ceiling and what was undoubtedly, due to the hour, the daytime sky just beyond.
"Somepony needs hugs," he wept into a potted, twilight lit, cactus that had somehow replaced his erstwhile companion. With a muzzle full of quills, which left no lasting consequences beyond that moment, Moosetasm knew his new goal was to reach unparalleled heights and comfort the Princess of the night in her darkest hour.
Florian casually, with one eye twitching sporadically, observed the lamenting unicorn with abject stupefaction. She felt a burning, boiling, pressure begin to well up within her as her mind continued to ruminate on the blasphemy of a scene that was unfolding before her very eyes. "You obviously didn't hear me," she whispered in a dangerously melodramatic tone. "I said it was -"
"Do it," spouted Nutmeg, both figuratively and literally, as he punctuated his words with spurts of brown liquid energy.
"What?" Florian's muzzle turned a curious shade of anger-induced crimson as she slowly backed away from the two surreptitiously spastic stallions.
"That's the," Nutmeg managed between slurps, "best idea I ever heard!" He finished the sentence by drowning himself with the remainder of his cup of caustic caffeine. "We should," he grumbled as he thirstily probed into his empty mug with his tongue, "totally do that!'
A cavernous grin crossed Moosetasm's muzzle as he (philosophers are still debating this next word) thought about the possibilities.
"I have a plan," he energetically announced to nopony in particular, his target audience having long since vacated. Florian had apparently rushed to the nearest trash receptacle to regurgitate her disgust at this most recent turn of events, while Nutmeg had gone and wrapped his lips tenderly, like a [graphic inappropriate text removed, for the sake of the foals], around the elongated, foaming, spout of an unsuspecting espresso machine.
Moosetasm rubbed his forehooves together in a classically villainous manner. "This is going to be perfect!"
Sonata Dusk followed the trail of Tacos out of the unhygienic non country specific restaurant. With her staggeringly vast intellect, which was on par with the Allied Mastercomputer that had recently been installed in Canterlot High, she knew that the cornflour wrapped spiced mystery meat substitute gifts were a trap meant to ensnare her, like a pegasus caught in a net snare designed for trapping small animals. Still, she could not resist the lure of the mouth wateringly scrumptious meat packages.
Her rose colored eyes painstakingly inspected, almost on par with visually making love to, each of the tantalizingly tasty treats in turn. The line of tacos lead inexorably and unerringly towards the, quite hideous from her point of view, statue in front of the frighteningly mundane edifice that was Canterlot High.
Leaning against the abomination unto the sculptor's art, in an obviously forced manner of nonchalance, was quite the deviously dichotomous duo. The one with the black hair was a pallid white that reflected the moonlight from his skin as surely as any reflective surface. The other's skin was, in a complete yin-yang contrast sort of way, almost as dark as the night itself and they sported dark teal hair.
Before she knew what was going on the two ambulated towards her with an awkward gait that she quickly identified as that of Equestrian natives. As the one with the darkened skin spoke, in a voice as smooth as silk, she found herself surprised. "My dearest Sonata Dusk, I've come to hear you sing."
The bleached one ruined any possible mood that she had been starting to feel with an outburst of harsh verbal logorrhea. "Hey, baby, wanna see a full moon?" His partner's glare managed to somehow surpass the intensity of her own.
"So," she stated in an extremely confused tone, "you haven't come here with a royal arrest warrant and subpoena to appear before a war crimes tribunal?" She had expected at least that much, if not something far worse, like whatever passed for assassins (or pastry chefs) in Equestria these days.
“My dear,” purred the onyx figure, “our powers are vast and we come with an offer.”
“Yeah,” the pale one interrupted, much to the visible dismay of the other. "- and our supply of tightly wrapped meat is limitless."
Could it be true? Was she being offered something beyond her wildest dreams? "Let me get this straight," she said, her melodic voice filled with reasonable suspicion, "you're offering me an unlimited quantity of tacos?"
The blanched one opened his mouth to speak again but quickly found it filled with an ebony fist.
With his partner rolling on the ground, the swarthy character addressed her again. “Yes, ahem, well, all the tacos you can dream of could be yours... for but a song.”
It was almost too good to be true; unlimited quantities of her beloved, most favorite thing in the known universe. "And all you need me to do is sing?" She could almost taste her taco-tastic prize already.
"That's right, honey,” pontificated the pasty prone auto-logophile, “we’re gonna ride you straight to the -” With a short sprint, and a professional quality punt to the stomach, the inky elocutionist ended the horizontal heckler’s highly insulting stream of words.
“My apologies, dear Sonata. We need a song to move the heavens and earth. We wish to bring the moon of the past to the time of the present. It is well known that Luna craves hugs. Just think of what glories might await the stallion who gives the Princess of the Moon her heart's desire?"
“Wait,” she began, voice dripping with a level of incredulity matched only by Trottigham character actors, “you’re trying to call the moon of the past to the earth of the present? So that you can hug the banished princess?” She knew that such a ridiculous plan, and she only considered it a plan in the vaguest possible sense, was quite impossible. She and her two siren sisters had tried to manipulate time in the past to counter their own unjust banishment. After multiple, she lost count after the first dozen or so, often disastrous failures they had come to the conclusion that it would take at least a dozen sirens to accomplish such a feat with any chance of success.
Satisfied that the song would prove useless to her audience, and with the promise of endless tacos, she began to sing. The melody was similar, if completely opposite in tempo, melody, and rhythm can be called similar, to what she and the other sirens used to influence the minds of other creatures. The overall effect was muted by both her inability to complete the song by herself as well as the fact that the enchanted crystal she used to focus her powers was in pieces, much like the hearts of those who had been forced to endure an anthro-human-magical-girl-crossover movie.
After listening to several minutes of singing the pitch black, genderless, teal-haired figure, whose eyes glittered in the darkness, momentarily seemed completely bald, like a man whose name is synonymous with both action and gasoline, and made some form of possibly obscene (since she wasn't as current on Equestrian culture as she had been) gesture. The pale male, who was standing again and miraculously uninjured, copied the gesture and the pair swiftly passed through the side of the monstrous piece of stonework.
Sonata suddenly realized that she had no way to follow the ponies and collect the proffered foodstuffs, given that her kind was magically banned from ever returning to Equestria. She fell to the ground and bawled like a newborn foal or, more appropriately, like a certain prince of the Crystal Empire at all known weddings.
Moosetasm surveyed the mysteriously ancient ruins of Pone Henge through a set of improbably technologically advanced binoculars. It was nestled deep in the Trottish Higlands, like a cat that has finally found a comfortable spot on you after clawing your flesh raw for half an hour.
He had an offensive (and many ponies considered pretty much anything he did to be strongly offensive) to carry out.
Without any consideration for battle pacing or even a hint of tactical acumen, he was suddenly leading a small platoon, neigh, a company, neigh, a battalion (he couldn't count very well anyways so it didn't matter) of ponies against the symbol of total equality that was the bastion of the Red Menace.
The Red Menace he faced was none other than the Communist leader to lead all other Communist leaders, Starlight Glimmer! She and her latest host of brainwashed, equality-loving ponies, most likely recruited from the ranks of a recent school field trip or tourist group, had taken up a decidedly non-educational based residence within the historical site. In his mind, her love of equality made her such a Communist that she was practically wearing a cape while holding a hammer and sickle across her barrel, like a Neighgyptian Pharaoh of old.
"And she has the gull to occupy the same ruins we need for the ritual," he snorted through a sinus infection blocked muzzle.
"Gall," the white pegasus to his left mumbled with barely contained ferocity.
Moosetasm ignored the much needed correction and lead the other two (he was very bad at counting) ponies towards the circle of standing stones. As they approached, the trio noticed what appeared to be a group of liberal slanted media gathered to watch the upcoming, cold war style, grudge match.
"To me!" he cried as he was joined on the left by Florian and on the right by Nutmeg. Moosetasm furrowed his brow in an attempt at concentration before inspiration hit him like a moving chariot filled with heavy and completely unrelated objects. He used his tail to swat Florian's rump, causing her normally white coloration to become what Moosetasm would come to call in later years (and it is surprising he has later years after incidents such as this) “rage-red.”
The red, white, blue, and some would say needlessly patriotic, trio caterwauled through the press, knocking cameras, flash bulbs, notepads, and fedoras everywhere.
"Where are the changelings?" Moosetasm bellowed, his voice trailing into a dying wail that rivaled the flaming screech commonly made when hydrogen-filled dirigibles catch fire and crash to the ground, as he charged towards the, quite understandably, flummoxed group of ponies surrounding Starlight.
With their intricate, well designed, color coordinated, and quite unnecessary, disguises forcibly removed, like a newborn foal stolen from its crib in the Everfree Outback by a pack of frisky dingoes, the press ponies lamented their misfortune and knew that they could not keep up the laughable charade, at least not any longer than a triple decker chocolate fudge cake (or a coherent legal declaration) could survive in the presence of the ravenous Princess of the Sun, and morphed back into their true, changeling forms.
What followed could best be described as a poorly written physical or slapstick comedy sketch, only minus the comedy. The changelings quickly subdued all of Starlight's dumbly smiling equalized minions with ease but, like so many times before, Starlight herself managed to elude capture. The minions cried for Starlight to stop and save them, but she didn't listen.
"How," Florian wheezed, the only thing preventing a return to her original color being a mixture of irritation and exhaustion, "did you manage to get the changelings to help you?"
"Simple," Moosetasm said with an air that simultaneously made it sound as if he knew what he was talking about while also implying strongly that he did not. "I promised them free love." Without waiting for Florian's jaw to close of its own accord, he continued. "That green earth pony, I think her name is Tree Bugger or something like that?" He paused as he considered nothing in particular. "Right! Knee Hugger said that she knew some like-minded ponies who had lots of free love to give, so -"
"Stop," Florian said, with the conviction of a super-villain revealing their master plan. "That's not how it -"
She was cut off by the bizarre sounds of a group of surprisingly relaxed looking ponies that was slowly, via a needlessly circuitous route, making their way towards Pone Henge. The group was led by none other than the indomitable -
"Tree Hugger?" Florian asked, more exasperated than the time Moosetasm had written her an obnoxiously contrite story that was full of meta references and then had had the audacity to call it art, "you couldn't remember Tree Hugger's name?"
Moosetasm ignored the jab at his lack of mental faculties, showing the same lack of attention that he normally paid most things that he did not feel benefitted him directly. He watched with impatience as the changelings started to bask in the smoky haze of "free love" provided by the newcomers. Everything was happening exactly according to his (if one could call them that) plans.
With their need for love satiated, only to be replaced with a gnawing hunger for snack foods, the changelings started chowing down on a rather large supply of hay-fries, another gift of Tree Hugger's group. Then the changelings, one by one, began to assume the forms of a single indigo-coated earth pony with a purple-striped teal mane and tail. They would almost look like ponified versions of Sonata Dusk, if it weren't for the lack of muzzles stuffed to capacity with tacos.
The Sonata-changelings began to sing a haunting melody, one that shook all of the ponies present to their very cores. Try as he might, Moosetasm was unable to block out the words which, in addition to taking up valuable real estate in the seller's' market that was his limited collection of brain cells, had also given him an overwhelming sense of mild nausea.
"Shoo bee-doo, shoo-shoo bee-doo!"
Suddenly, like a balloon animal popping at five year old's birthday party, there was a transition in scenery that would leave even the most avid roller coaster enthusiast rolling uncontrollably in a puddle of their own tossed cookies. And we're talking, like, name brand cookies here, not that store brand garbage that tastes like cardboard and leaves you with a feeling of emptiness and abandonment, like when you spend a bit at a vending machine and you know that you'll never see that bit again. The feeling that gives a pony an unquenchable thirst, one that can only be quenched by the sweet sweet taste of K-1 17 octane kerosene.
Princess Luna was ever regal as Princess of the Night, even in her banishment. She observed the painstakingly beautiful blue marble that was “Faustopolis” through tear-streaked eyes. She was filled with a crippling despair that could only only be paralleled by the infinite emptiness of the void that surrounded her desolate orbital prison.
Without warning, a pair of creamy alabaster limbs clinched her in what could only be called the most awkward embrace that she had ever experienced. Not the least of the reasons for her consternation forced a strangled vocalization to form in her throat.
"Art... Art thou wearing a diaper?"
End, thank Cthulhu
