I Dream Of Palms and Bipeds

by Sir Slime

Rating: teen
Tags: Sunset Shimmer, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Human, Lyra, Drama, Bon-Bon, Other
Length: 3337

Call her crazy, call her bizarre, a fanatic, deluded... inequine. But don't call her way of life a "cult". May Heartstings show all ponies the way.

This world is crawling with animals. The pig, the eagle, turtle, squirrel and monkey (they aren't so flawed), but the worst of them can talk. Come take the hand of Heartstings: visionary, leader and beacon to the next stage in evolution. Human nature is within equinekind's reach, but only the few are fit to answer the call.

Is the Right Hand Mare, Bon Bon, suited for this caused or is the ever uncompromising Sunset Shimmer right to have her doubts? And what of the poor filly, twiddling away in the hands of a mad mare's cult?

Join her as she leads the willing Anthropists. See a mare in love with with her vision. Know her fellowship, her confidants and her origin.A humble lyrist pony, before her eyes were opened by dreams. Before a being from a higher plain swept her off her ignorant hooves and placed her on sure feet.

Published 2016-01-11 20:50:02 UTC
Last updated 2016-01-11 20:50:02 UTC

Chapter 1

“…. This little piggy went to market.”

She traced one hoof along the other, a fore over the hind. She was just a filly, molded and educated by a society of pon– people. A better society, which she would become a part of tonight. Her expression was flat and empty as she slowly trailed her hoof back along the curved edge of the other.

“…. This little piggy stayed home.”

Her fore hoof paused at the end of the curve. Her mind went numb as she stared at the hind leg lying her lap. She was in a small room and beyond that room was a new calling. A higher station of life awaited her in the form of a huddled congregation that donned hoods and stood tall, as they should. Tall so they could look down on misguided beasts. The misguided beasts called ponies. The Pony Fool. The ones that thought themselves evolved.

She sat upright. Proud? She was supposed to be…

She sat on a bench with thin cushions and a stiff backrest against her straight spine. A sermon she had heard, during her earlier days of conditioning, played in her head.

Always lean back if you must. Never forward. Place both legs over the seat’s edge. Not the slightest slump! Never touch belly to bench! Never lie flat, hands tucked beneath your breast! In that trice you will be parallel to the ground! And as it does when we walk, the same truth holds when we sit!

One who parallels the ground, is lower than the dirt.

The filly was stuck on the next little piggy. Not in a moment of forgetfulness. It's just that... the previous line was speaking to her. This little piggy stayed home. It stayed in its home… Her home was here with the Anthropists, right?

“This little piggy had roast beef...” Her hoof made another slide along the other.

“This little piggy had none...”

The piggy had nothing. She remembered something. She had been educated on pigs once.

Take the pig into perspective… Pigs are a humble thing that make the Pony Fool feel superior, like she has achieved somewhat of a standing on the evolutionary ladder. But the Pony Fool doesn’t know she’d be better off in humility than to feed herself the delusion of achievement, and in this she is more fool than the pig. In truth the pig is so beneath the pony that it isn’t even a precursor to further of evolution. Just an ugly bud along the vine of progress. But the pig is self-aware. You won’t peek through the bushes and catch pigs pretending they should be, could be, deserve to be more than they are. And for that, they be less of a fool than the pony.

“And this little piggy ….”

Her hoof stopped again at the tip of the other, where her middle toe would soon be.

“… And this little piggy… this little…”

As she murmured to herself someone opened the door to the tiny room. She didn’t acknowledge them. She only focused on the next piggy's fate. The thought of the next word brought a chill to her gut. If she said the next word what would happen? Why did she feel like she would… fall apart the moment she spoke it?

The person who had opened the door, a mare, strolled in with the soft sound of two feet padding along the dirt floor. Her arms made small swings against the black cloth of her hooded cloak.

“It’s time. We’re all ready for you Tootsie, dear,” there was a mild enthusiasm in her voice, but mostly a listless air that all the Anthropists had grown into. Their hive mind naturally came with the suppression of their individuality. It was enlightened way.

Tootsie Flute’s frame shivered almost noticeably, “…. And this little…. And…”

The mare leaned down before the little girl, hands supported against her knees. She was careful not to lean forward too far. Her body flowed into the position, but she couldn’t mask the sound of her discomfort. A grunt had bounced around in her throat, but never got the permission to meet the air beyond her flat smile. It would have been so much easier to bend her knees back and sit on her haun– No!

Tootsie had all of her mind, and what little of her heart she could remember, lent to her game... The tip of her fore hoof, where her pointing finger would soon be, was still stuck at the tip of her other hoof.She heard someone muttering in the darkness around her.

“'Cried', dear,” the mare said. Tootsie's ears twitched as she brought her eyes up to stare at the mare’s flat smile. There was something offensive about the sight of that empty smirk. Seeing it made her want to turn away, but she only slid her gaze down to the mare’s neck. She lets the rim of her own little hooded cloak block the lady’s face from her view.

“She….cried?” Tootsie asked in a whispered croak.

“It cried,” corrected the mare, “ All the way home.”

Home. That word again. Her insides almost twisted on themselves, but they didn’t have the strength in them. The Anthropists had flattened the fight out of her over the months, even subconsciously.

A hand warmly grasped her fore hoof, soon to be Tootsie;s hand and guided it back and forth along the hind hoof, soon to be Tootsie's foot. “Wee wee wee,” the mare said.

Tootsie hadn't fallen apart like she thought she would, but somewhere inside she wished she had. Wished for a sign there was anything left in her to break.

It was time to go.

High above a crowd, a lime colored mare cradled herself in large hands carved out of stone. With closed eyes she hummed mirthfully. She felt snug and warm even as her body told her the surface was cold and chaffing. She always felt content and assured when she rested in the cupped marble palms against the idol’s sculpted bosom. The Anthropists' angel, Helping Hands. She nuzzled the rounded swell of a breast, allowed the pseudo-warmth seep into her, drew vigor from cold stone shaped into her vision and used it to stoke her conviction.

From below, the congregation could imagine her up there, all curled up like a kitten. The Anthropists all teetered on their trembling legs, only two, as their leader snuggled the towering figurine’s breast. The craftsmanship was a work of art. It had to be, less the sculptor insult the mare up above. A choice only a fool would even humor. It was shaped into the image of a perfect being with slender legs, and a curvy set of hips that lead up into a trimmed waist. Further up one would be met with it's healthy bust, slightly obscured by the hands held palm up in front of it's chest. All of this, with it's kind visage made for a beautiful and fitting rendition of the perfect life form.

They waited for her to finish. The mare up above loved to soak in Helping Hands' presence. It brought her calm and contentment and… should the marble teat turn to flesh by some glorious boon of the universe… she’d nurse on it, right in front of her brethren. But not in this disappointing reality where equines had neither palms nor fingers to hold their coffee cup. Today there would be no suckling.

She was only a thumb sucking habit away from being a toddler. And her audience was still afraid of her.

It was silent there, in the underground parish, until someone's calls of impatience roused the once cozy Manus Heartstrings from her daze. With her trance broken she crawled to the edge of a stone finger and peered down. Somepony, their only somepony, stood at the base of the statue. Their cream-colored hoof tapped the ceremonial stage in a nagging rhythm. Manus’ Right Hand Mare had a stern look in her eyes, not in the mood for delay.

Manus, visionary and guide toward a higher purpose, took a gander upon the chamber. It held the pleasing sight of hooded figures who were all ready to become something more. Watching them shakily stand erect carved a crescent of teeth across her features, below a set of eyes that were widened and mad with joy. She took unbridled delight in their commitment to the ultimate goal: to become oh-so Human.

No time to dawdle. Bon Bon’s patience was always thin. The lime green Anthropist didn't rear up, that life was long gone and inferior. She stood up with a fluid grace, like a Human would. High up in Helping Hands' palm it was a bit of a fall between her and Bon Bon, with no ropes, ladder or stairway between the two mares.

So she jumped, almost swan dived off the tip of a chiseled index finger. She made it halfway down the fall before she tucked and rolled herself upright. Then she extended one arm toward the large hands above. Green shimmering threads blinked into existence, without a flash, just instantaneously appeared. Her descent came to a jerking stop that strained her shoulder joint a little, but she still kept that happy, fiery glare and that mad, eager grin. The threads connected her palm to Helping Hands' knuckle. She sighed dreamily, feeling loved and protected by the giant idol as the neon strings slowly lengthened, lowering her to the ground.

She reached the stage with a soft landing and stood perfectly straight before her second in command. The threads vanished. Bon Bon didn’t break her glare or compromise her disappointment in their leader. Manus just gazed down at her four-legged official. The only quadruped she would ever accept in this society. She stood a good foot taller than the luscious thick curls of pink and blue that went beautifully with that soft, creamy coat. Her Right Hand Mare could begin walking the proper way when she felt good and ready. Bon Bon had a zeal to make this way of life the best it could be and had proven time and nagging time again that she wasn’t afraid to tell Manus when she was being an idiot, a child, a detriment to their cause and many upon many over dishonors. She was a pony, but certainly no Pony Fool, with the cutest pouting lips that made a matriarch’s heart–

“Are you listening?” Manus' euphoria went out the window. The question had brought her back to the underground chamber around her. Bon Bon continued, “This or any other time is no time to be cuddling the bust of an art piece. You have to set–,” she stopped herself. It was futile and there wasn’t enough time under the sun, if it was even shinning outside. “… You’ll get your earful later. The girl's ready.”

Manus gave a thumbs up that was supposed to compliment her haunting grin. Bon Bon could only roll her eyes and pivoted off, leaving the Human fanatic hanging as she huffed past another member whose coat was amber. In turn, Sunset Shimmer honored their spite for one another with silence, but that barely hid her annoyance. She hated Bon Bon, the quadruped, and they had been butting heads since the day she learned Bon Bon was permitted to walk on all fours. It wasn’t a matter of jealousy. Sunset was almost as comfortable on her two proper legs as Manus was. She didn’t care for the spinal relief a four-legged gait would bring, because it was weak and self-defeating. She was a stalwart advocate of the rise to a higher existence, and Bon Bon walked, no, trotted all over their tenets with every clop her fore hooves made on the cobblestones of their asylum. Just thinking of her–

Sunset immediately dropped her grudge when she caught Manus’ eye on her. Her head was turned to the reverent crowd beyond a thumb-shaped pulpit, but one eye made all the time in the world to just stare at Sunset and fill the amber mare's stomach with ice and needles. A second stretched into an agonizing eon before Manus’ eye rolled back toward the crowd.

Sunset allowed herself breathe again. She was very aware of her matriarch’s unquestionable soft spot for her pony pet. And may Helping Hands save whoever was foolish enough to have a problem with that affection. Sunset and Bon Bon’s childish struggles was a game to be played when momma wasn’t around.

With her Head of Security effectively hushed, Manus Heartstrings faced the avid Anthros. They were excited, they had to be. Their wide eyes, their clamped lips and their continuous trembling as they kept their backs erect. Signs they could barely contain themselves, no doubt.

Her crazed smile comes back, like a soul eating clown, as she swung her arms back and forth casually.

“My people,” she calmly chimed, and they all withheld a grumble of pain as they tried to stand a little straighter for her. Her heart would get a jolt every time saw this. Her mind interpreted the grumbles as a fight to hold back shouts of joy behind those quivering lips that curtained their teeth. Not gritted teeth, smiling choppers. It was a day to be cherished after all. Or night. What mattered outside of their catacombs, really? No more than a land of animals who could talk. Just unenlightened pony-folk. Pony Fool aplenty.

An impatient cough came from Bon Bon’s direction and the Anthropist leader was snapped out of another reverie. Another cough and Manus stopped swinging her arms. She could imagine the look her Right Hand Mare was giving her. You’re a guide to the future. ACT like it. Definitely thats what Bon Bon was thinking.

Bon Bon could imagine the look on Sunset’s face. How dare you! Someday she’ll be tired of you and I’ll be there you cocky creature. She glanced over her wither just to be sure, just to smirk. Sunset looked like she was on the verge of– Manus eyed the two. Sunset fixed her face.

Time for the address.

Manus turned back to her audience. “…. We cross a new milestone my faithful brethren, most devoted sisters. I have furthered our stride toward the zenith atop the evolutionary hierarchy. I promised you dignity and now there are none here who tarnish their prized upper limb, plodding it across the ground like the sentient livestock that sits on the domestic throne of this deluded earth.”

With their matron so engrossed in her usual screed, Sunset safely spared a squinted glare at the four limb plodder who was Bon Bon.

“I gave my word I would bring you enlightenment, highness of mind,” Manus smiled as she spread her robed arms across the fidgeting crowd, her gloved digits twiddling about. “Well are your heads not higher than they were before?”

Bon Bon rolled her eyes. Another scolding about her childish jokes was sure to come after this rite of passage was over. Sunset Shimmer almost applauded. How marvelous to have a leader so witty and eager to relate through humor, putting herself on her followers’ level.

Those digits. They were what gave Heartstrings the rightful title of Manus. Her followers all had fingers. She had fingers. Not just a concept of mind, but a level of enlightenment at which her body had morphed. The real deal. She kept twiddling them about in peerless dexterity, the feeling made her giddy.

“The world they own is weary and ignorant. Beyond these stone coves the Pony Fool boguards all progress and acceleration into the coveted horizon. They masquerade as higher minds. But not here! This! The nidus of sober, transcendental preparation for the life to come. Revelation is nigh, ladies and gents. And it’s in the palm of our hands. Give a firm squeeze.” She closed her fingers into tight fists, “Feel it pulsate in your phalanges? That’s where we hold the reigns!”

Bon Bon, even in the dim torch light, noticed the crowd stiffen up all at once, like they were one healthy organism, at Manus’ last bark. A moment of silence passed before the lime unicorn threw her arms out, each aimed at a sidewall. Strings appeared from a single point in each of her palms and fanned out toward the walls. Their glow was intense, but confined to their shape as they hungover parts of the crowd. They went slack before Manus swung her arms up and then threw them down to whip the clusters of neon string taught. A deep twang rung out from them as they went tight. The sound was ominous, but melodic. Pure exhilaration came to her visage as she leaned back, as if she were reigning in a wild beast. Not once, did her horn light up.

“We’ll take hold of this world. We’ll surmount! Because I’ve seen the truth and I speak it to you! We know what evolution requires, we can brave the painful posture prerequisite for proper purpose! Let them bring their wings, horns, scales, talons, claws, stone stares, dragon’s breath!–“

Bon Bon shuffled in place, waiting for their eccentric leader to run out of steam. Just another mad diatribe. Sunset Shimmer was never more inspired.

“We are–” and then she saw it.

Her sermon came to an abrupt halt. In the crowd there was a subtle sway as a mare was losing her footing. A teeterer near the center aisle. Bon Bon noticed too, and she prayed to herself, wished with all her might that the poor mare wouldn’t commit the worst of taboos. But she knew she would. Her back was just too tired. The mare almost caught herself, but then her eyes connected with Manus’. Those eyes of promise were promising fear. Only for her. The dread shook her foundation and she tilted too far.

Bon Bon tried to will the follower from afar. On your back. Land on your back. Your side, even. All while she kept a straight face. But the mare did the worst thing, broke her fall with all four hooves.

Everything was hushed and still. The stallion to her side almost toppled over himself, but a fellow follower held him by the wrist. He was saved and practically owed his life to the other Anthropist. The mare wouldn’t be as lucky.

Sunset’s expression hardened instantly as she barked, “Animal! You’re weak!” She was about to step down from the stage and make her way over to the mare in too much fear to even move.

“Sunset.” The call stopped the fire-maned disciple in her tracks. “I’ll… handle things”, Manus was calm as she let her glowing threads dissipate into thin air. The chamber reclaimed a little darkness. Sunset could only nod obediently and step back as her leader strolled casually toward the mare.

Manus went around the pulpit and walked to the edge of the carved slab of rock that constituted the Anthropists' ceremonial stage. She dropped down to the crowd level with a sound landing and not so much as wobble in her stance. It was as if she had floated down, all the while on two feet. Like she was gliding when she sauntered down the aisle. And though it all she never took her eyes off the mare.

For the follower still on her fours, too petrified to stand back up and maybe save some face, this all happened in slow motion. As Manus came around the pulpit her heart had stopped. When Manus had reached stage’s end her tongue stuck to the insides of her ever drying mouth. When Manus landed on her level her heart remembered to start beating again. And as the Bringer of Transcendence, the lovable demon painted lime green and cloaked in pitch black, drew closer a pulse throbbed in her throat and a bead of sweat popped free with every step.

And then, Manus Hearstrings was looming over her, without a smile,