Death-Howling in the Corridors is Strictly Prohibited

by Ceffyl Dwr

Rating: everyone
Tags: Comedy, Slice of Life
Length: 4098

It's hard work being a surrogate parent, even on a temporary basis. It's made even more difficult when your ward is also a traditional portent of doom.

It's hard work being a surrogate parent, even on a temporary basis. It's made even more difficult when your ward is also a traditional portent of doom.

But why can't everypony just be a little more tolerant and accepting of that fact?

Written as a self-imposed challenge to write and edit a story within 48 hours. More about that in the Author's Note.

Blue Peter-esque hatchet-job cover put together by myself, using various vectors and backgrounds. Twilight vector by DrFatalChunk.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2015-12-01 21:50:01 UTC

Death-Howling in the Corridors is Strictly Prohibited

If there was one aspect of princess life that Twilight prided herself on being able to manage better than her peers, it was in the completion of paperwork.

Over the years she had often witnessed the expressions clouding Celestia’s face as she pondered the conundrum of how a stack of papers could possess perpetual motion, and how said motion was always aligned perfectly with the speed in which she signed her name.  She had also seen Luna’s more creative approaches to the task: namely, turning each sheet into a paper dragon and sailing them from the window of the tallest tower in the palace.  Even Cadence had taken to charming palace staff once or twice into undertaking her penmareship duties, and requesting them to provide her with a daily summary of incoming letters, briefs and requests.  Judging from the slightly nonplussed expression she wore during some state meetings—something that Twilight was sure only she had noticed—those summaries were not always accurate.

The difference wasn't that Twilight actually enjoyed paperwork—although who in their right mind could honestly turn down an opportunity to co-ordinate the royal travelling courts—no, it was just that she had perfected a secret weapon to help her overcome it.

That weapon was called Wednesday.

What had started as a throwaway remark had developed into idle, then less idle, curiosity, before turning into a fully-fledged and exciting research project.  At least, Twilight had found it exciting.  Pinkie Pie’s forgetfulness regarding specific elements of her day-to-day life and Rainbow Dash’s responses of diminishing quality had both wilfully jeopardised the collection of qualitative data, but she had gotten there in the end.

Wednesday was the day of the week when interruptions to one’s life were most likely.  Therefore Wednesday was the perfect day to tackle paperwork.

It was more than a little disconcerting at first to go into a day with no agenda other than ‘paperwork and resolving interruptions (when arising)’, but the approach would simply never have worked if she had been any more rigid in its application. The whole point of unexpected interruptions was that they were unexpected, after all.

And, for the most part, it worked.  Just when Twilight was on the verge of collapsing under the tedium of signing her own name a rampaging monster would invade Ponyville.  When her eyes were starting to ache from reviewing new legislation a lost and wayward pony would appear, intent on building his or her own flawed empire upon the ashes of Equestria.  Coffee shortages, Pinkie Pie forgetting how to throw a party, pears growing on apple trees—all valid excuses to temporarily put down quill and paper and refresh the brain with something a little more exciting.  After all, paperwork had its place in the world as much as everything else.  It was just a question of balance.

Unfortunately, the past week and a half had definitely been lacking balance.

“Twilight, he’s done it again!”

Twilight closed her eyes briefly, a steaming cup of coffee hovering tantalisingly close to her lips, before pulling her head away from the district court timetables to look over her shoulder.  Spike was scuttle-marching across the study towards her, his feet slapping the smooth crystal floor firmly,  carrying a bin in his hands and wearing an expression on his face that suggested either life in Equestria was about to irreversibly change, or that the local store was out of baby-blue sapphires.  Possibly both.

She suppressed a sigh and fixed a smile to her face.  Every day for the past two weeks there had been some mislabelled emergency or incident, which mean that ‘Paperwork Wednesdays’ were rapidly becoming ‘Paperwork, and doing everything else that couldn’t be done on Monday or Tuesday because of emergencies that weren’t really emergencies, Wednesdays’.  It was throwing her carefully organised system into disarray, but it could be so easily avoided if everypony and dragon was just a fraction more tolerant.

Spike stopped beside her desk and wordlessly held up the bin for inspection.  Frowning, Twilight peered tentatively inside.  She was just able to make out what appeared to be the crumpled pages of a comic book before an acrid smell assaulted her nostrils—no, not just her nostrils: the vile smell was mauling her tongue and her eyes and her ears and her very being.

“Sweet Celestia, Spike,” she spluttered, whipping her head away from the bin.  “A little warning next time maybe?”

Spike lowered the bin to the floor before looking up at her and folding his arms.  Twilight met his gaze and sighed.

“Okay Spike, I’ll have another word with Padrig about his… choice of toilet material.”  She waved a hoof in front of her muzzle in an attempt to dispel the foul odour.  “But do I need to remind you again that he’s different to you and I; we have to respect those differences.”

Spike raised his eyebrows.  “We do?”

“We do!” Twilight climbed from her seat and opened a window, inhaling the warm spring air before trotting over to one of the chalkboards standing beside her desk.  Her eyes gazed quickly over the vast and detailed flow chart scrawled across it.  Parenthood was a complex thing but, like anything, it could be managed through proper organisation.  She traced a hoof along one of the routes and nodded in satisfaction upon reaching the end of a branch.  Of course, poor Spike was feeling jealous.  He needed to be reassured: to know that he was still loved and respected.

“Aw, I am sorry about your comic,” she said softly, placing a hoof on his shoulder.  “And I’m sure Padrig will be too, once I’ve explained things to him.  Now, what issue was it?”

“The one where the Power Ponies have their bodies switched,” Spike replied, before noticing her expression.  “Um, issue 193,” he clarified.

“Okay, well how about I swing by Hoofguards and Hornblades when I go to Canterlot next, and pick you up a replacement.  Maybe a nice amethyst too, perhaps?”

Spike held her gaze for a moment before his features visibly softened.  “Sure, I guess,” he replied with a shrug.  “But I still think Fluttershy should have had him instead of us 'leading by example'. Anyway, here’s todays copy of the Equestrian Times.  I found it near his 'toilet paper'.”

Twilight’s horn flared softly as she lifted the proffered paper from Spike’s hands.  It looked damp.  Very damp, in fact, and as she unfolded it a torrent of drool cascaded from the pages onto the floor.

Spike said nothing and Twilight pretended she hadn’t heard him.  She peered at him through the hole in the paper and smiled.

“Oh well, no news is good news, so they say.”

“Oh come on, Twilight!” Spike glared at her as she placed the paper in the bin and walked over to one of the bookcases.  “I know you want to be accepting and everything, but this is just getting silly.  We’ve been getting complaints about the midnight barking since last week, and he’s chewed everything but the crystal walls—look! He’s even attacked your favourite study chair.”

Twilight looked up from the pages of the book she had pulled from the shelf and felt a frown momentarily twist her features.  That had been a gift from Celestia too.  As she glanced back down at the book though, the irritation was quickly replaced by excitement and joy.

“Look, Spike, our little darling must be teething,” she exclaimed gleefully, holding up the book and pointing to the relevant section with a hoof.  “Did you know that Cwn Annwns have a second teething period during mid-cubhood? Because I didn’t! It says here that the second teething period—known as the gnawing—is when their iconic giant fangs start to come through.  You know, I doubt anyone outside of Houndyff has ever witnessed such a process—oh! I wonder if the Baskervilles will let me study their growth. It’s so exciting learning about foreign biology!”

“Huh, I’ll remind you you said that when I start having fire-dreams,” Spike muttered.

Twilight frowned in disapproval.  “Goodness me, Spike, I thought we had spoken about your sarcasm before.  But I forgive you, because I learnt in Adventures in Adoption and Who Put That in My Nest? that it’s perfectly normal for children to feel uncertain and intimidated when a young stranger joins the family unit.  But understanding and acceptance is the key to overcoming this, and you know how we understand things, right?”

Spike winced as a heavy textbook was dropped into his hands.  “Through study,” he sighed.

“That’s right,” Twilight grinned.  “I’m proud of you, Spike.  It’ll take a little getting used to—for all of us, I might add—and we have to remember that we’re extending the hoof of friendship to another culture.  We should be grateful for the opportunity.”

Before the young dragon could reply an urgent knock cut through the air.  He looked up at the grandfather clock and rolled his eyes.

“Huh, school finishing time.  I wonder who this could be.”

Twilight groaned and rubbed her face wearily, though she conceded she shouldn’t have been too surprised.

“Can you put a pot of lemon tea on, Spike? I’ll go and let her in myself.”

Twilight fidgeted in the soft chair whilst Spike quietly served the tea, the only sound in the room being the tinkle of china upon china and the splash and trickle of liquid.  She had hoped after last time that the lemon aroma gradually filling the room would have relaxed Cheerilee’s expression but, much to her dismay, the teacher’s mouth and eyes remained firm and narrow respectively.

To distract herself Twilight switched her gaze to the cub sitting anxiously at her hooves, and once again her heart instantly melted into something gooey and usually found deep within one of Pinkie Pie’s muffins.  Padrig was getting more adorable by the day: his shaggy white fur was now mostly hiding the giant paws he had yet to grow into, and his long bat-like ears were pinned back like a pair of fluffy head-wings.  He looked at her and, although those pale red eyes appeared worried, his muzzle twisted into a small smile that revealed two charmingly oversized fangs.  Her little cub was growing.

As Spike departed the room, Twilight looked back up at Cheerilee and tried on a smile herself.  It didn’t quite fit.

“So… this is a nice surprise.”

“It is,” Cheerilee conceded, her expression relaxing into a weary frown.  “If somepony had told me a year ago that I’d have visited a princess on six consecutive school days I’d have laughed them out of school.”  She shrugged her shoulders and gazed down at Padrig.  “Yet here I am.”

“Yes, here you are,” Twilight echoed, laughing nervously.  “Must be because of our lemon tea… riiiight?”

Cheerilee remained silent just long enough for the reference-joke to fall flat, and then sighed.  “Actually, as much as I do love your lemon tea, I love the chair in my office more.  This would be so much easier if you actually came to the school when we have these… incidents.”

Twilight’s ears twitched in irritation at the implication.  “Well, like I’ve said before, I’m operating as a single parent, Cheerilee, and I can’t always get away from my duties as easily as I would like.”

Padrig looked up at her and whined softly.  Twilight dropped to the floor and rubbed his belly vigorously.  The little cub giggled and nibbled playfully on her hoof.  “So what did my ickle-wickle Padrigy do this time?” she cooed.

Cheerilee blinked, and then sipped at her tea for a moment as if to compose herself.  “Padrig was deliberately scaring some of the other pupils today at lunch,” she said firmly.  “Terrifying them, in fact.”

Twilight’s wings twitched at that, and she paused her petting.  “Scaring them?” She looked between Cheerilee’s stern face and Padrig’s anxious one—which she just wanted to squeeze and squish and ruffle—and frowned.  How could such an adorable face scare anypony?

“I’m afraid so.”  Cheerilee looked at Padrig for a moment, before sighing.  “Look Twilight, I know that you are raising him on your own, and I know you are trying your best, but I have to think about the welfare of all of my students.  I had to spend over two hours today with a pair of very tearful colts who were convinced they were going to drop dead in the playground.”

“My goodness,” Twilight gasped.  “That’s awful.  Why on Equestria would they think that?”

“Because Padrig spent the best part of the day death-howling very loudly, and then claimed at lunch that he was coming for them.  Thanks to the comprehensive dossier you distributed around the school before his arrival, everypony was more than aware what he meant by that.”

Twilight looked down at Padrig and licked her lips.  Surely this was all just some sort of misunderstanding.  Padrig was such a shy creature after all.  A thought came to her, and she teleported a book from the study into her open hooves; flicking through the pages, she quickly found what she was looking for.

“Aha,” she declared triumphantly.  “Look, the Cwn Annwns howl—which, as we know, is typically considered a portent for death—is said to become significantly quieter the closer it is to its quarry.  If his howling was as loud as you say it was, then the colts wouldn’t have anything to worry about.”  She frowned in thought for a moment.  “I thought I put that in the dossier.”

Cheerliee folded her forelegs and narrowed her eyes.  “Do you really think that’s the most important point here, Twilight?”

Twilight’s ears flattened at the tone of her voice, and she felt warmth pepper her cheeks.  “No… of course, you’re right.  I’m sorry.”

It kind of was, though.

Cheerilee took another sip of her tea, and her expression softened slightly.  “Thankfully, it turned out it was just a cruel joke,” she said.

Twilight looked down at Padrig and, after taking a deep breath, attempted to rearrange her features into a firm expression.  It was hard though: he was so adorable.

“Is this true, Padrig?”

The little cub shuffled his paws for a moment, head bowed, before looking up at Twilight plaintively.  “Kinda,” he sniffed, sounding as though he had something in his mouth.  “But… but they were bein’ really really mean to me, Twiwight.”

Twilight ruffled his head, her expression unable to stand against his inability to get her name past his fangs.  “They were?”

“Honest they were!” he yelped.  “One of’em… one of ‘em called me a stinky ol’ padfoot, and the other said I was a whiskerface.  Everyone was laughing at me Twiwight.  It made me real sad.”

A strange and powerful feeling rippled from the base of Twilight’s hooves to the very tip of her horn.  It was heady, and reminded her of how she felt when one of her friends was in danger, only much more potent.  She felt pain at Padrig’s pain; sadness at Padrig’s sadness; anger at the fact that such a thing had happened and nopony—least of all her—had been there to stop it.

She rose to her hooves and looked sharply at Cheerilee.

“Well, this sounds to be like it’s more of an issue about friendship than my Padrig misbehaving.”

Cheerilee blinked.  “I’m sorry?”

“Friendship!” Twilight exclaimed, pointing to a picture of her and her friends that hung on the wall opposite. “Poor Padrig here lashed out because he was being picked on, and he’s being picked on because he hasn’t been sufficiently integrated and included in school life.  I believe that, under the doctrine of in loco parentis, responsibility for ensuring that rests with you and the school, Cheerilee.”

The earth pony placed her cup back on the table with an incredulous expression on her face.  “W—well of course it is,” she bristled.  “But—”

“In fact,” Twilight interrupted, teleporting a second book in for the library and opening it on the table before them, “As a concerned parent it appears I need to... contact the school to arrange a meeting with the headmistress about the failings in safeguarding little Padrig against emotional harm.”

Cheerilee rolled her eyes.  “Oh, so now you want to come to the school?”

“I must,” Twilight responded.  “I’m”—she consulted the book again— “in need of reassurances that the school can perform its duties adequately.  But it will have to be in the evening though, I am a single working parent after all.”

Cheerilee lifted herself from her seat.  “As you wish,” she replied primly.  “Perhaps then we can also discuss all the chewing—”

“It’s just what a Cwn Annwn does.  I did give you advance notice about getting in some rubber bones.”

“And the drool that’s made rivers out of our corridors—”

“Well, Cwn Annwns are known to be somewhat… slobbery.”

“And the burying of poor Archer’s bag somewhere in the playground?”

Twilight paused at that, and looked back down at that adorable face.  “That was bad of him, and I will ensure he is… um, reprimanded for it.”  She met Cheerilee’s gaze again.  “But I must ask that you please try and support him too.  A school needs to nurture and include, not judge and scapegoat every cub who’s a little bit different.  I don’t want him getting the idea that Ponyville is intolerant of other customs.”

Cheerilee opened her mouth, and then closed it again.  A strange expression passed briefly across her face before she sighed wearily.  “I should go,” she said.  “I’ve got papers to mark… once they’re dry and taped back together, that is.”

As she escorted Cheerilee to the front door, Twilight was surprised to see Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo approaching down the path.  Cheerilee greeted them with a dismayed smile as she trotted past.

“Hello girls,” Twilight called out cheerfully.  “What can I do for you today?”

The three fillies shared a quick look before Apple Bloom was jostled forward by Scootaloo.  Glaring at her friend, the young filly cleared her throat.

“Hi Twilight.  So, um, the girls and me were wonderin’, if it’s okay with you, whether Padrig wanted to come out and play.”

An incredibly warm sensation rippled violently throughout Twilight’s body, and the smile on her face widened.  She remembered voicing her concerns to Rarity and Applejack on the weekend that poor Padrig was lonely, and they must have had a word with their younger siblings.  It was so lovely of them.

She had just opened her mouth to reply when she felt the sensation of fur pressing against her forelegs, and she looked down to see Padrig between them.  He was holding one tightly, and his tail swished suspiciously.

“You wanna play… with me?” he asked softly.

“Well, uh, sure, why not?” Apple Bloom grinned slowly.  “I bet we’ll have loadsa fun.”

“Yeah, plus you can teach us how to do that totally cool howl,” Scootaloo added.

Padrig didn’t move from his position, although his tail had started to wag a little more vigorously.  “And… and you’re not gonna make fun of me? Or pull my tail or whiskers?”

“Huh? Of course we won’t,” Sweetie Belle exclaimed.  “That was just those guys being mean.”

Twilight knelt down beside him and ran a hoof through his soft, warm fur.  “Well, how about it?” she asked gently.  “You wanna go out and play?”

Padrig trembled for a moment, and then exploded from beneath her on unsteady paws.  “Yes! Yes! I wanna go out and play!”

Twilight laughed softly as he bounded down the path, barking happily, and with the three fillies giggling in pursuit.  Her little cub was growing up, and if there was a more strange and bittersweet feeling to experience in life then she had yet to encounter it.

Twilight stretched out across the sofa, enjoying the silence of the lounge that was only occasionally interrupted by Spike turning the pages of his comic book and the odd distant howl outside.  Another day had been conquered: paperwork sat completed, expected unexpected emergencies had been resolved, and she had even caught up on the outstanding work from the previous two days.  In retrospect, she probably could have handled the conversation with Cheerilee a little better, but it was all the constant interruptions about school incidents that had made her fall behind in the first place, and she had taken a quiet pleasure in setting the record straight.

She sipped at a steaming cup of fresh coffee and thought.  The chances of such a visit tomorrow had probably diminished as a result of said record-straightening, but it couldn’t be ruled out from happening again completely.  If she completed one of tomorrow’s tasks tonight, then it would give her a bit of leeway in not falling behind should the worst happen.

“Spike, I know it’s late but could you take a letter please?”

“Sure,” the dragon looked up from his comic book, and climbed down from the table.  “Who to?”

“Mr and Mrs Baskerville.  I want to give them an update on how well Padrig is doing.”

“How well?”

“Are you ready Spike?”

The young dragon sighed and nodded, and Twilight cleared her throat.

“Dear Mr and Mrs Baskerville.  I hope this letter finds you well, and that the annual Houndyff Grand Hunt went without a hitch.  I just wanted to let you know how Padrig is faring here in Ponyville, and also to thank you once again for agreeing to be the first participants in our new school student exchange programme.

It has taken him a while to find his feet, so to speak, but I think that’s to be expected.  I am delighted to report, however, that he is settling in nicely—Spike, please don’t snort like that—and has started to make new friends.  I can also say that his time here has already encouraged us to be more reflective and understanding of the needs of someone from another culture, and how we should not judge them by our own customs and expectations.  Learning new lessons about friendship is very important to me, and I—”

Twilight paused as the sound of the newly installed dogflap banging shut echoed up and off the crystal walls.  A few seconds later and Padrig was in the room, barking happily and bouncing in exciting circles around her chair.  Spike scowled, and quickly checked that his comic book was out of reach.

“Hey there,” she giggled, leaning over to rub his head affectionately.  “Did you have fun?”

“I HAD SO MUCH FUN!” he yelped, leaping up onto the sofa.  “They showed me their cwubhouse, and… and then we played fetch and we went—oh yeah—swimming in the river, and—”

Twilight closed her eyes as she listened to Padrig yapping excitedly about the evening’s activities.  It was all a just question of friendship.  At the end of the day, there was no one problem so great that it could not be overcome through friendship, understanding and tolerance.  So it make take some folk—folk like Spike and Cheerilee—a little longer to be convinced than others, but Twilight was sure that Padrig was going to fit in just fine.

She realised then that the room had gone silent, and opened her eyes.  A pair of pale red ones gazed back, no more than an inch from her own, and she blinked in surprise.  Padrig shuffled back then, although his gaze did not waver once.  He was looking at her with the strangest expression on his adorable face, as though he was working out some complex puzzle.

Then he howled.

It was as soft as the rustling of leaves, and it trickled out like a mountain spring, but Twilight’s hair stood on end and her blood turned to ice regardless.  It felt as though all the heat and had been taken from the room—all the air too, come to think of it—and she leapt back across the sofa in alarm.

“Padrig,” she gasped, hearing the tremble in her voice as she folded back her wings again.  Why was she so afraid all of a sudden? “W—what did we say about faking death-howls?”

His face broke into a grin that would have been adorable if the last notes of that terrible howl weren’t still echoing off the crystal walls.  Twilight shuddered: those fangs had grown a lot in the space of one evening.

“But Twiwight, I said I was kinda joking,” he barked, sounding both excited and proud.  “I mean, I did say that the howl was meant for them, which I’m really sowwy about, but… but it was a real one.”  He jumped across and licked her face.  “I can’t believe you’re going to be my very first one!”

Twilight blinked slowly.  It shouldn’t have been possible for her blood to feel any more chilled, but in that moment it did so.  Padrig leapt off her lap and bounded around the room in a giddy circle.  “I’m so happy! I thought it would take forever to find my first howl-victim, and I kept getting confused which way I needed to run—oh, oh, usually we have a big party to celebrate.  Can we have one? Please? Can I invite my new friends?”

Twilight’s eyes found Spike’s, and locked desperately onto them.  “Take an urgent letter to Celestia,” she ordered.  “Ask her to send over all the scrolls she has on resurrection—actually, ask her if she can bring them over personally.”

She looked down at the rampaging hellhound, with its bloodthirsty eyes, savage fangs and foaming mouth, and shuddered.  “And then we really need to revisit that letter to the Baskervilles.”