That's one Sore-prano....
Author's Note
Hush now, quiet now.....
That's one Sore-prano....
“Oh, dear, could you go talk to Sweetie Belle for me?"
Rarity looks woefully at you across her sewing machine for a moment before returning to her newest commission. You've been holding the pin cushion for her for a while now, in the hopes that it'll gain you some points. It hasn't worked for Spike but, you know, you actually have a dick.
Ok, not a horse dick, but it's gotta be better than that puny dragon. Not that you’ve checked that one time when he was sleeping or anything, or would you know anything about the fact that it resembles a tiny medieval flail for some reason. Nope, you’d have no knowledge of that at all.
You shrug at her request.
"What about?"
"Well..."
She hesitates, even pausing in her sewing. This must indeed be serious if she’s willing to stop her most favorite of all activities. Hell, you figure that even if you ever got the mare into bed, she’d probably be stitching up that hole in one of your pillows the whole time.
Ok, that’s kinda hot, you’d probably be fine with that.
"I do hope this isn't too much information, darling," she says haltingly. "But my dear little sister is going through...the change."
"The whatnow?"
Again, Rarity looks uncomfortable.
"Do...young people where you come from go through a series of physical changes as they grow up?"
Oh. That.
Wait, really? Sweetie Belle is going through that part of her life now? You can’t help thinking that she seems a little young.
"Um, yeah..." you say, now very much the one who's uncomfortable.
"Well, she's just gotten her Cutie mark, adfter all, and so she's beginning to go through it," Rarity explains. "Her legs are growing faster than the rest of her, she's getting clumsier, and her voice is even beginning to squeak."
"It's always squeaked," you say with a laugh.
"Not like this."
The words hang almost ominously in the air. Something about them feels almost like a warning.
"Ok...well...what do you want me to talk to her about?"
You're almost afraid of the answer, and even Rarity's awkward, discomforted glance makes you reluctant to offer help. You don’t know anything about pony adolescence and that magical transition to adulthood. Though, knowing this place, you suspect it involves singing. Everything here fucking involves singing.
"You see," she says. "With her voice like that, she can't sing much right now, and she's feeling just so down about it."
See? Of course it involves singing. You do remember that the little filly loved to sing whenever the mood struck her, which was often. There had been many a time when you'd been trying to go to sleep, only to hear, wafting gently over the breeze, the belted, almost black-fat-lady tones of a song telling all to hush and go to bed. You wished she'd take her own advice sometimes.
"So..."
"So could you go and just talk to her? Tell her that her voice is still pretty?"
"Why me?"
Rarity smiles knowingly, almost coyly.
"Oh my dear, I thought you knew!" she exclaims. "The poor little thing had a bit of a soft spot for you, and I know it would mean more coming from some she admires."
Admires, eh? Well, maybe once she's done with puberty she can admire you a little more. Maybe from the waist down. With her cute, soft, little ass. Till then, this will definitely get you some points with her sister. Probably been around the block a few times, but she’ll have to do. Plus, you don't wait to rub it in that lilac little dragon's face, the poor dumb fuck.
"Sure," you say. “I’ll go give her ego a little boosting.”
"Wonderful!" she exclaims, brightening noticeably. "She's just outside hanging laundry, she'll be so glad to hear from you."
As you head outside, you've prepared your very best pokerface. Of course her voice sounds good. Lovely even. What’s there to be ashamed about, she sounds like a damn angel! It sounds like any good opera singer, you don't know why she's so nervous.
You just hope you can get her to blush. That'll definitely be a mental picture you save.
"Hey Sweetie Belle," you say with a warm, broad smile.
She looks over her shoulder, and you can see dejected, sad lines down her face, probably where she's been crying. Her shoulders are sloped and her entire posture just screams that she’s miserable. Her lower lip even pouts out, like she’s been giving the powers that be the puppy dog face in the hopes that they would fix her fractured vocal chords. As she spots you, her pout creases up into a smile, and her eyes almost sparkle. It's downright endearing.
She trots towards you, and you have a sudden and irrational forbidding sense of a calm just before a storm, like something terrible is about to occur. But what in Equestria could that...
“Oh, HI there!”
…
...what just happened?
Dear god...your head. Your ears. You reach up and touch the sides of your head, and when you pull your hand away, it’s stained with red. Are you...are you bleeding?
It finally all hits you at once and you realize, way after the fact, what has just happened. The crack in her voice, the sudden, high pitched squeak from that HI, has hit you like the shockwave from a nuclear blast. So high, so powerful, you could scarcely hear the end of the word, you now hear nothing but a distant, shrill-pitched ringing. Your hands fly to your ears once more, trying to hold in the bloody fragments of your shattered eardrums, but it's too late. The cracking squeak has all but deafened you.
Dear god, what have you gotten yourself into.
Before you, Sweetie Belle's expression has changed from one off adoration to one of horror. You stare at her in shock as well, looking at her like the monster she is. Her lips begin to move again.
Oh no.
"Oh CelEstia, I'm sORry, did I...?"
You can barely hear the vibrations of her voice through your ruined ears, but you feel the words hit you in the gut every time. The wind is knocked out of you with each, piercing squeaky voice-crack. It’s like you’re a bat being hit by a military submarine’s sonar.
That bitch Rarity, what was she thinking? Are you a sacrifice to the pony puberty gods? You can feel your throat vibrate and know you are screaming in pain even if you can’t hear it. When did you drop to your knees? You're unsure.
You see her mouth move open and shut in a quiver, and then, to your terror, she begins to cry. Each sob escapes her in a separate, forceful squeak.
You scream, trying to counteract the sonar-like pulses quickly destroying your world, inside and out. You feel broken glass hit you from nearby explosively shattering windows, cutting the skin on the backs of your hands and arms. You feel a soft vibration in your chest as your heart tries not to beat in time with the shrieking sobs, and fails. You're bleeding again, you can taste it in your mouth. Your nose? Your eyes? Both probably.
How can one tiny pony do this? Maybe her cutie mark should just be a picture of someone scratching a damn chalkboard, or a satanic megaphone. She has to stop. NOW.
"Please!" you scream. "Please for the love of god, shut the hell up!"
This only makes her cry harder. Oh god…it’s like you can feel your organs being re-arranged from the shockwaves.
Somehow, your sound-wracked mind recognizes that there is another life form drawing near. Not that you have enough mental or physical fortitude to do anything about it right now, but at least you’re aware. Through your red-coated vision, you can suddenly see Rarity approaching, and she's carrying something in her mouth. Two small roundish objects on a string. Are those…earplugs? She stops in front of you, looking sheepish, and extends them. You can barely read her lips as she speaks.
"Sorry, darling, I should have given you these earlier."
You're damn right you stupid ivory cunt! You fumble for them, blood continuing to pour from your various orifices, then shove them slimily into your ears. The wailing from the filly next to you abates somewhat, but you can still feel your insides vibrating.. You doubt your hearing will ever be the same, and you glare Rarity down, hoping your wrathful gaze explains everything that you’re feeling.
Today, you've decided that neither of these sisters is worth your time or eardrums. In fact, Fluttershy is looking pretty good about now. You’ve never been one for the quiet type before, but after all this, silence really does sound golden.
And not just because Fluttershy is yellow.
-End-
