This is a jumble of stuff I've written so far. Feel free to peruse, and encourage me to write more if you like what you see.
There comes a time in every mare's life which finds the fur upon her neck playing host to the business end of a crossbow bolt. Such times have a tendancy to produce the oddest of questions in her crainium. Some are heady: Will I meet my Aunt Sprocket upon the fields of Elysium? Others more down to earth: What will an arrow through the neck feel like?? Some questions are strictly hypothetical: If Mr. Sunshine had been given a better childhood, would he be about to kill me like he is now? While other lie strictly on the practical side of things: I wonder if the dry cleaners charge extra for blood stained-dresses.
More questions would have kept filtering up into my consiousness, perhaps for several more minutes, but at this point the mule whispered "Goodnight, Princess," and pulled the trigger. Even as I heard the sound, I felt the bolt rip into my flesh. I screamed in sudden agony and the world went white.
My name is Princess, and I like short skirts and explosions. Today's story includes a little of the first, and a lot of the second. Bad ponies are doing bad things bad things with poison joke, and as long as Cadance's checks aren't bouncing, it's my job to stop them.
"There's no point to be being a badass if you can't look fabulous doing so." That's a saying I've always held close to my barrel. So when Princess Cadance informed me that my next mission would be taking me to Ponyville, you can imagine my reaction. One rarity Belle lives there, and if anypony shares my passion for fasion, it's her. Of course, While she tends to make clothing in her loine of work, mine always seems to be getting destroyed in my line of work. Again, glad to restock at her boutique.
The mission was pretty straight forward: stop the flow of the illicit poison joke flowing into the crystal empire. well, we could stop the flow easily in a dozen locations. But ain't no point in bandaging up a leaky wound when you can plug the wound itself. Okay so maybe that wasn't the strongest metaphor. Shut up. If you think you can be wittier than I, send in a resume and I'll consider hiring you as a ghost speaker. Otherwise, shut up.
now, I chose to begin this tail on the train to ponyville, because that's when the following conversation more or less happened. Mare in her thirties, probably married for two or three years, but no kids yet. Cute manestyle, horrid chapeau. But who am I to judge. Maybe it has sentimental value
"So what are you heading to ponyville for?"
Now, technically, I'm supposed to goatshit something about "relatives" or business travels or something. But that's boring. Though the later i suppose is true.
j
But to hades with that. Trains are boring.
I'm a pyromaniac."
You... " I can, under that ugly hat, see the gears turning-- "like watching stuff burn."
I smile as disconcertingly as i can. Which isn't very. Wish I had some fangs, but then If I were a bat pony it might make it hard to do what I do. Tnough I'd look smashing in the socks. Even more smashing than I look already, that is.
No, I like making stuff burn."
"Oh. that's uh, nice." She politely slides into the aisle and looks for seating elsewear. You can dress as demurely as you want, but speak about your passion with gusto, and pponies think you're crazy.
That kind of sums up my life. Dress well and ponies think you're some sort of pansy. Open your mouth and you've got the opposite problem. Oh well. I've always got my trusty incendiary devices.
---—•
Transition
They're awesome mares, but Celestia likes to keep them out of the dirtier side of business. That's where I come in. Well, I mean, I answer to Cadance, but I gotta think she has a direct line to Celary.
So yeah, the "mane six" are chill. Twilights' totes an egg head, but a good sorce of intel. Fluttershy gleefully befriends creatures that knock my knee high's off.
Rainbow dash...
Goddess, that mare is sexy. I wish I was gay just so I could fuck her. Does thinking that make me gay? I don't know. That's a question for my therapist, not me.
Rarity doesn't think she knows me, but she knows me. YOu know how it is, like, after you introduce yourself to some one you've seen 4 or 5 times, but not recently, and you give some random detail about your last encounter, and they're like, "oh yeah, you". Yeah, she knows me like that.
And sombra on a donut, Pinkie Pie. I gotta get into her inner circle. MAre's an artillery expert and she doesn't even know it. Or if she does, she hides it well.
So yeah, the the bearers and i are on good terms, but not much beyond that. I like to keep it that way. Don't want to get too attached to a bunch of folks who live a thousand miles away. Also, they opporate on the principle of avoiding a body count. I don't. I'm no blood thirsty ax mare, but I will say blowing up bad guys and gals is ext4remtely satisffying for my soul.
Ask me my name.
