Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip!

by Soufriere

Rating: everyone
Tags: Random, Slice of Life, Twilight Sparkle, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark
Length: 1578

Twilight wants to sleep, but can't because of the dog next door. She resolves to fix the problem.

At an indeterminate time of day, Twilight Sparkle – fresh off yet another marathon study session – is trying to get some rest. Only one thing stands between her and blissful slumber: the annoying dog next door. Same as it's been for months. Twilight is close to her breaking point. Can she formulate a plan to deal with this most pressing issue? The very survival of Ponyville absolutely does not hang in the balance. A one-shot story.

Published 2015-10-27 18:50:02 UTC
Last updated 2015-10-27 18:50:02 UTC

Yap! Yap! Yap! Yap!

YIP! YIP! YIP-YIP! YIP-YIP! YIP! YIP! YIP!

Twilight Sparkle groaned as she turned over in her bed, pleading with her brain to not make her body open its eyes. After all, once that happened, she’d be up for the day, no matter what time it was. Was it daybreak yet? Still night? 6AM? Noon? DOES IT MATTER??

No. What mattered – what always matters – is that once again Twilight found herself being rudely jostled out of her sleep by the yappy dog next door. What set him off this time? Did he see the milk-mare? A squirrel? A leaf? A drop of rain? Perhaps nothing at all?

Twilight generally loved living in what used to be the town’s library (before Celestia requisitioned it to hand over to her star student). The loft where she slept had a big window which provided a spectacular view of Ponyville’s Downtown. Unfortunately, that same window was the weak spot in blocking unwanted sounds from the outside. Less than five months after she moved in, one of her neighbours, Lily Valley, came into possession of a puppy. A terrier puppy. An extremely vocal terrier puppy.

It started one unassuming morning, during the first winter after she moved to town. Twilight had been up all night researching in hopes of finding a spell that would cast a ward around Golden Oaks which Pinkie Pie would not be able to bypass – that Pinkie could neutralize her work so easily was annoying. That Pinkie seemed to have no idea how she did it (or that she did it) was utterly infuriating. As the candle burned down to a nub and the moon began its slow, melancholy journey back below the horizon – Luna had proven to be much more for celestial dramatics than her sister – Twilight finally gave in to the forces within her body that had been cursing her out for the past few hours, trudged up the stairs to her bed, and promptly passed out. Three hours later, she found herself rudely awakened by a high-pitched sound that felt like it burrowed past her eardrums and jackhammered her ear canal in order to tapdance on her brain. A quick look out the window found the culprit immediately. Although its grating vocalizations were over within fifteen minutes, Twilight was unable to return to sleep. Eventually, she forced herself out of bed, tripping over Spike – ever the hard sleeper – and tumbling down the stairs, crashing at the bottom in a crumpled heap.

As the months wore on, Twilight discovered something. Lily Valley often let her dog out first thing in the morning to do its business, but then left it outside in her small fenced-in backyard. This would not be a problem but for the fact that Lily had a large window that her dog – Buckface, Twilight called him, though she knew his real name – could easily see into. He could see his mistress and wanted – nay, demanded – her attention. However, in a valiant attempt to force him out of this behaviour, Lily ignored him. For hours. Undeterred, Buckface continued yapping. Twilight had wanted so many times to go over there and complain, but Lily had otherwise been a fine neighbour, and a valuable ally when it came time to explain away all of the minor explosions that now occurred every couple of weeks. Lily’s other neighbour, Roughage (the stallion who ran the local bistro), had been much more upfront about the dog, and Lily assured him the problem would fix itself soon. It did not. As if to mock Twilight, the same ritual repeated itself every night after supper – prime research time.

You could at least close the friggin’ curtains!! Twilight screamed internally every single morning and evening.

She had long since taken to sleeping with earplugs, but due to her tendency to pass out while engrossed in a book, she often forgot to put them in.

Thus, every morning, without fail, she found her dreams – about books mostly – rudely dashed by the little yappy dog next door.

She longed to shut it up. Desperately. Over the previous several weeks, she spent her off hours researching methods of silencing it. Unfortunately for her, every idea she had could be traced to her in some way. Due to her training, Twilight’s first response to anything was, is, and always will be to throw magic at it… and if that doesn’t work, throw more magic at it.

A simple blast from her horn would stop Buckface cold… but no other Unicorn in Ponyville is known to use direct energy bolts. Plus, its colour – magenta – would be a dead giveaway of her involvement. Even if no one saw it, no doubt magical experts would be called in from Canterlot who could easily suss out the trajectory of the discharge and pinpoint its origin to Golden Oaks.

Maybe call in a favour from Rarity and introduce Yapface to Tom? Again, too easy to trace back to herself. Ponyville lies in a river valley; the closest boulders are in the hillier part of the Everfree Forest, over two miles away. Very few ponies could drag such a large thing, either via magic or physically.

Pinkie’s Party Cannon? No. Pinkie would never allow it. Even if she did, the confetti would be a dead giveaway.

Asking for help from Applejack, a known dog lover and all-around good girl, was absolutely out of the question. She’d just say in that cornpone voice of hers something like ‘Ya jus’ gotta git used to it’, or some tripe like that. Worthless. A simpleton like her could never understand the very important research Twilight conducted at her library every night. (“her” being a relative term of possession in this case, as Mayor Mare still defiantly insisted Golden Oaks was municipal property; feh, what does she know?)

Spike was, if anything, even more useless. She had ordered him to blast Yapface with fire and he refused! Something about not wanting to mail a live dog to Celestia again.

So Twilight sat beneath her window on her bed and stewed, plotting plans of demise that would never come to fruition. Outside, the wind picked up slightly, rustling the innumerable leaves still growing on her hollowed-out home. It was rhythmic, as if the tree was breathing, the changes in pitch of the wind providing a natural melody punctuated by the shuffling percussion of the leaves.

That gave Twilight an idea. It was so simple, she was momentarily angry she hadn’t thought of it earlier.

She slid open one of the windowpanes to better gauge the wind direction. On the one hoof, it made Yapface’s yapping almost deafeningly loud, but it also allowed Twilight to confirm that the wind was indeed blowing from Golden Oaks toward Lily Valley’s home.

Leaning further out the window, Twilight spotted the beehive.

Normally, bees prefer to build their hives in tree hollows or other protected areas and do not give them any sort of outer protection, but this particular colony of Central Equestrian (Everfree) Honeybee had built a massive, multi-generational sket-like hive – which rather disturbingly resembled a hornets’ nest – hanging off one of the lowest branches of the ancient red oak.

Ohhh yes, Twilight thought, This will work, and it will work beautifully. I suppose, if I ever see her again, I’m going to have to thank Trixie for convincing me to learn this spell. …On second thought, no. I won’t give her the satisfaction. Better get to work.

Beads of sweat formed on Twilight’s brow as her horn glowed – it was not a powerful spell, but she had to concentrate to ensure the energy output and timing were perfect; failure could lead to doom… or worse, an admonishment from Princess Celestia.

A magenta aura formed around the tiny but formidable string of wax that attached the hive to the branch. Twilight waited for the wind to gust sufficiently, which took about three minutes. Once it happened, she increased her power just enough to snap the connection. As the now-freed hive began its precipitous drop to the ground, Twilight refocused her energy on the wind itself – or, more specifically, creating a non-tangible magic tunnel through which the wind could be channelled, concentrated, and directed at the beehive, thus keeping it aloft.

More power, Twilight concluded, and redoubled her effort into tightening that wind tunnel.

The beehive, which had been set to drop straight down and release thousands of angry bees at Twilight, now began to arc gracefully through the air, moving further across the way, until the wind tunnel’s influence could no longer compensate for gravity. It landed in Lily Valley’s yard about six feet from Yapface with a satisfying splat.

Mouthing a silent apology to the bees, Twilight quickly stuck her head back inside her room, closing and locking the big bay window, as Yapface’s yapping quickly morphed into terrified yelps.

Not bothering to gaze upon the scene again, Twilight – remembering this time – put in her earplugs, crawled into her bed, and went back to sleep.

Author's Note

The preceding story is a work of fiction that may or may not be based in part on a true story. Yeah.

Seriously though, don't actually do this. Bees are serious business.

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