SS&E's Lemurific Box of Pretense and Prose

by shortskirtsandexplosions

Rating: teen
Tags: Random, Main 6, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 29564

A collection of MLP:FiM stories based on Fimfic User Prompts

Within this glittery lemur cage you shall find a collection of (super) short horse word scenes written to match the requests/prompts of various members of the marsupial alumni. Topics range from the serious to the silly, from the kaizo to the catastrophic, from pieces of shipping to pieces of... well... you know... shenaniganical. The one common element to these is pastel horse women and the antics that they partake in. A secondary element, of course, is Skirtsian randimosity.

You have been forewarned.

Published 2016-02-19 20:00:03 UTC
Last updated 2016-07-02 22:57:29 UTC

February 2016 - Alamais - Trixie Eats a Banana

Author's Note

User: Alamais
Prompt: Trixie eats a banana. This may or may not be lewd. Very lewd. Nahhh. But maybe.

February 2016 - Alamais - Trixie Eats a Banana

"Trixie swears!" A certain blue unicorn huffed and puffed until her cheeks were not-so-blue. With stomping hooves, she angrily followed Twilight Sparkle into Sugarcube Corner. "You are out of your mind, Sparkle! Trixie has no idea what you are trying to insinuate!"

"Exactly what it sounds like I'm insinuating!" Twilight muttered, stifling a yawn as she approached the front counter.

"Then would you mind repeating it?" Trixie glared daggers at her inexplicable Ponyvilliean study buddy. "If only to humor Trixie?"

"Eughhhh..." Twilight groaned, slapped the bell on the front counter, then turned to glare at the other mare. "Plain and simply... you are a drama queen, Trixie."

"Pffft! Trixie most certainly is not!" Trixie leaned back on her haunches, rolling her eyes and tossing her mane. "A master level sorcerer, maybe! A future almighty alicorn in the making, most certainly!" She placed a hoof over her chest while pontificating in a booming voice. "But a cretinous golem of melodramatic design, Trixie most certainly is not!"

"There you go! You're doing it again!" Twilight cackled.

Trixie blinked. "There Trixie goes doing what again?"

"Being melodramatic!" Twilight gaped at her. "Even in the simplest thing—like having a silly little argument—you have to treat everything like it's some... over-the-top stage play!"

"Why of all the—"

"Throwing your voice around as if all four corners of an invisible theatre has to hear you deliver your latest soliloquy!"

"But Trixie was born to perform on stage!"

"But don't you get it?" Twilight swung a hoof around. "Real life is not a performance! And yet you're always doing everything with unnecessary pomp and flare." She sighed. "And, quite frankly, Trixie, that's why I find it so insanely hard to enjoy a normal study session with you!"

"Pfft!" Trixie folded her forelimbs with a frown. "Trixie still thinks that you're overreacting, Sparkle." She smirked. "None of your other friends seem so alarmed by Trixie's manner of self-expression!'

At last, Pinkie Pie rushed up to the counter. She wore a bucket on her head and brandished a fire extinguisher. "Okay! Where is it?! I know you're out there somewhere, ready to pounce! Show yourself!"

"Relax, Pinkie," Twilight droned. "It's only Trixie."

"Oh, whew." With a breath of relief, Pinkie tossed the bucket and extinguisher to the kitchen floor. "For a second there, I thought the siren-tongued demon empress of banshees had escaped from Tartarus."

"Hrmmmmmm-mmmmm..." Trixie pouted, cheeks puffing red.

"I was just telling Trixie how she has a habitual problem with being melodramatic about everything."

"Silly Twilight." Pinkie waved a hoof with a smirk. "Trixie isn't melodramatic about everything."

"Hah!" Trixie grinned devilishly. "Chalk that friend off the list, Sparkle!"

"No no no..." Pinkie shook her head, smiling. "She's only melodramatic about performing magic... going to the filly's room... crossing the street... petting groundhogs... avoiding wagon wheels..." Pinkie's smile faded. Blinking, she tongued the inside of her mouth while scanning the ceiling with her eyes. "...sliding in under the covers... getting her picture taken... talking to zebras... mmmmmm—and forcibly taking over small Equestrian villages while under the control of an alicorn amulet."

"Wait just one moment..." Trixie squinted at the caterer. "So you do think that Trixie is melodramatic about everything?"

"Huh. Yeah. I guess so." Pinkie shrugged with a grin. "Oh well!" She beamed at Twilight. "So, what'll it be? Cupcakes or muffins?"

"Actually, I was hoping for a bagel this morning, Pinkie."

"Wow..." Pinkie nodded, scribbling the order down. "You know what? Me too!" She squinted. "I think we're getting old, Twilight."

"It's true."

"Alright, everypony stop what you're doing!" Trixie hissed. "How can Trixie prove—once and for all—that Trixie is not a drama queen?"

"You can't," Twilight droned, staring at her with dull eyes. "It's pathological. It's like gravity. The universe is written in such a way that whenever you, Trixie Heather Lulamoon, attempt to do even the simplest and most commonplace thing imaginable, you inexplicably and subconsciously invent a way to make the action needlessly complicated, epic, or even catastrophic."

Trixie leaned in. "Care to put your money where your muzzle is?"

"You mean a bet?"

"A science experiment is more like it, Sparkle." Trixie smirked wickedly. "Give Trixie a simple task, and Trixie will do it with as little circumstance possible to show you just how wrong you are!"

"You know what?" Twilight leaned her chin up, smirking. "I think I've got just the thing."

"OooOooOooOooh!" Pinkie cooed.

Twilight turned towards her. "Pinkie?"

Pinkie looked at her with eyes full of sparkles. "Yes, Twilight?"

Twilight slapped a golden coin onto the counter. "One banana, please."

"Coming right—" Thap! The curved yellow fruit fell onto the counter. "Oh! Lookie! I beat myself to it!"

"Trixie?" Twilight turned around.

"Yes, Sparkle?"

Twilight calmly pointed at the edible item. "Eat the banana."

Trixie blinked. "That... that's it?"

Twilight nodded.

Trixie squinted. "Seriously?"

Twilight shrugged. "What? Is that such a problem—"

"Nonsense!" Trixie dragged a chair over and stepped one hoof on it while raising a forelimb towards the ceiling fan in a heroic pose. "For there is no obstacle on earth or in the stars that is benea—" She froze in place, paling. Then—clearing her throat—Trixie slid the chair back, stood calmly on all fours, and nodded her head. "Right. Eat the banana. Trixie can do that... quickly and without unnecessary circumstance."

"Please." Twilight took a step back, gesturing at the counter. "By all means."

Trixie clenched her jaw. She approached the counter. Squirming slightly, she grasped the yellow fruit in the crook of her fetlock. "Mrmmm..." She looked at the mares.

Pinkie and Twilight stared back.

Eyes locked on the two, Trixie leaned in... then extended a velvety tongue. She ran her salivating muscle across the taut, curved, well-toned surface. Almost immediately, she blanched. "Mrmmfff—goddess."

Twilight blinked. "Uhm..."

"It's fine!" Trixie held a hoof out. "Trixie was just... n-not expecting the taste. Ahem. And now I shall proceed..." She then opened her soft, nubile lips and planted them around the pointed tip of the fruit.

"Uhm..." Pinkie shifted nervously. She whispered aside. "Twi? Has... h-has she done this before—?"

"Shhhh!" Twilight insisted. Both mares watched... then immediately winced as—

Crkkkkk! The banana crunched in Trixie's mouth.

"Mrmmmffff-frghhhh!" Trixie's entire muzzle grimaced, contorting as if the mare was giving birth out the opposite end. She blanched visibly, but nevertheless continued to chew, her lips and teeth producing hard, wet crackling sounds with each shift of her molars. "Grnnngh... uhhhgwddsssshhhh!" Panting, threatening to vomit at every turn, Trixie nevertheless took a second bite... then a third... then a fourth... each of them crunching disgustingly as she writhed from head to toe. "Grnnng—awwghhh!"

Twilight watched with wide eyes. Pinkie held a pair of hooves over her pale muzzle. Patrons from all across Sugarcube Corner craned their necks to watch in abject horror.

Crkkk-kkk! "Mrmmghhh—gllmehh... gllmehhhhhh!" Trixie's eyes watered. She tossed her head left and right as if she was on fire. She slapped her hoof across the counter top, squirming and quivering from head to tail.

Then, after an eternity of fruity suffering, the mare finally shoved the last morsel into her mouth. She rocked back and forth in undulating motion, curving and uncurving her spine like an eel. In such a hellish fashion, she struggled to massage her esophagus from the outside-in so as to force the partially-digested fragments of the banana bits down into her stomach.

Then, when the purgatorial episode was over...

"Guaaaaaaaaaaah!" Trixie hunched over, wheezing for breath. Her eyes teared and she fanned herself. At last, once the tortuous motions had run their course, she stood up, wiped her eyelids dry, then sported a devilish grin. "Hah! Take that, Sparkle! I ate your stupid banana! And I did it without delivering a theatrical speech!"

Pinkie and Twilight blinked.

"Indeed you did, Trixie," Twilight said with a nod. "However..." She pointed at Trixie's stomach. "...next time, you might want to strip the peel off before eating it."

"Huh?" Trixie blinked. She looked down at her belly, then clutched it with both forelimbs. "Ohhhhh-ohhhhhh!" She wailed, turning green in the face. "What a cruel, merciless world!" She held a dainty hoof over her fainting forehead as her eyes rolled back. "What has Trixie done to deserve such ill-fortune?" THWOMP! She fell back, slumping limply across the floor like a fuzzy blue cockroach.

Trixie and Pinkie stared at the twitching, would-be corpse for a few seconds.

"So, Twi!" Pinkie smiled, looking over the counter again. "Bagel?"

Twilight sighed through a tired grin. "Better make it Two."

A blue hoof waved from the floor. "Trixie wants hers with extra cream cheese!"

February 2016 - Gammahoof - Morning in the Crystal Palace

Author's Note

User: Gammahoof
Prompt: Shining and Cadence are getting ready before a day’s work of princessing/guarding and talk about guarding, princessing, being married horses, life around castle, etc.

February 2016 - Gammahoof - Morning in the Crystal Palace

"Will this do, Prince Shining?" whispered a crystal pony servant from behind a wheeled food tray.

"Yes! Yes!" Shining Armor smiled. "This is perfect!" He shook the bed hair out of his mane, then managed a bleary smile while lifting a platter of eggs and celery from the refreshment cart. "It's exactly what the Princess needs to start her day out on a healthy hoof. Thank you so much! You're punctual as always."

The mare curtsied low. "It is my pleasure to serve the Stewards of the Empire." She backtrotted from the palace quarters, smiling. "Just ring the royal bell if you need any further assistance, my liege."

"Gladly. Enjoy the rest of your shift." That said, Shining quietly... quietly closed the doorway to the palace corridors. Turning around swiftly, he trotted across the room, then slipped quiet-as-a-mouse into the bed chambers with the breakfast platter levitating beside him. Holding his breath, he shuffled over to the queen-sized bed, leaned in beneath the canopy, then gently nuzzled a lithe pink figure partially submerged in silk sheets and a fluffy duvet. "Morning, sleepyhead."

"Mrmmmmfff..." Cadance barely stirred.

Shining bit his lip, trying his hardest not to break into happy husband horse chuckles. "I know it's nice and warm in dreamland, honey..." He leaned in and kissed her neck. "But you have to wake up and rule the kingdom. Lots of crystal ponies are in need of leadership, and they'll crack to pieces without you. Literally."

"Wrssssssshhhh..." Cadance wriggled her neck away from him, digging her muzzle deeper into the pillow.

Shining leaned back with a wary smirk. "What's this? A princess acting like a princess???" He levitated a piece of celery up before his nose and sniffed it with feigned disinterest. "Guess you don't want any of this fine, royal grub."

"... ... ..." Cadance's ears twitched, perking up from beneath the covers. "Mrmmmfff...did you actually bring breakfast in bed?"

"Maaaaaaaaybe..."

"Hrmmmfff..." Cadance sat up. She blinked... blinked again... then blinked again again. Fighting a yawn, she yanked her head to the side with a crack, and a fountain of tangled pastel fibers vomited in the same direction as her skull.

"Whoah-ho-ho!" Shining chuckled. "Who is this fluffalicious monster that's replaced my wife?"

"Meh..." Cadance grumbled. "Shut up and give me my eggs already."

"Heheh..." Shining gathered a mess of pillows, fluffed them, and laid them between the headboard and his wife's spine. Cadance leaned back, sitting up straight. She cracked the last few joints of her upper body and neck, then squinted at the platter resting beside her with fluttering eyes. "Is... is this celery?"

"Yes. The green kind, too. That's good, right?"

"I... didn't know they served celery this early in the day."

"Pffft. Why not?" Shining shrugged. "Not like you have to wake the fields they were tilled from."

Snap! Cadance snapped into one stalk, chewed, then closed her eyes with a pleasant hum. "Mmmmmmm... really fresh too." She gulped, paused, then squinted at her husband. "How hard did you plan for this?"

Shining shrugged. "So maybe I thought we should have breakfast delivered to our bed chambers for a change." He trotted into the adjacent closet where his uniform hung at the ready. "It gets us both an early start to the day so we can get more important things done."

"Well, this is a pleasant turn of events."

"How so?" Shining asked, gelling his mane and smoothing it back.

Cadance smirked while munching on another stalk. "If I recall a certain handsome soldier's famous words before being transferred here... ahem..." She lifted her muzzle into the air. "'I'd rather be gored to death by a million weaponized manticores than give in to the luxuries of a royal lifestyle!'"

"Hey!" Shining stuck his head out of the closet, frowning. "I'm only having breakfast served for you. Me?" He stepped back in, sliding into the bands of an emblazoned breastplate, one leg at a time. "I eat at the barracks!"

"Hehehe... yeah." Cadance smirked slyly while levitating a fork and knife by her side. "With a tall glass of warm milk and a newspaper by your station."

"Mmmm-yeah?" Shining squinted into a mirror as he straightened the armor on his figure. "What about it?"

"Not exactly military grade lifestyle, is it?"

"Fine... fine." He rolled his eyes. "So I've indulged a little."

She giggled, munching on some egg white.

"Can you blame me?" His nostrils flared as he examined his muzzle and chin. "Both my wife and my sister are princesses. I'm practically sandwiched by royalty. If your husband was any less of a stallion, he'd have gone full fop by now."

"All we need is for Spike to be crowned Draconian Prince of Green Flame and then you're really in trouble."

"Ugh... don't give me something else to dread." Shining rolled his thin eyes. "I've got enough on my plate as it is."

"Mrmmfff?" Cadance swallowed a morsel and dabbed her dainty chin with a napkin. "Care to elaborate?"

"Ehhh..." Shining marched out of the closet, tightening the straps of his armor. "The reports coming from the Northern Reach have been a bit 'dodgy' as of late."

"Define 'dodgy.'"

"The Captain of the Reach is a young crystal stallion straight out of the Imperial Academy," Shining muttered. He stood before the royal dresser, examining himself one last time in the mirror. "And over the last month, there's been a curiously large disappearance of valuable resources shipped to the outer patrols. I've been in the service long enough to know when someone is glossing over the details to make their outfit look good."

"What—do you think he's stealing from military supplies or something?"

"No, but it's very common for newly graduated officers to expend an overabundance of materials. That—coupled with heightened anxiety over the pristine quality of career records—and one can imagine just what lengths a soldier his age will go to protect himself."

"Do go easy on him, Shining," Cadance said between bites of egg and celery. "The Empire's military wing may be a tad bit inexperienced, but we are trying to teach these ponies how to stand on their own four feet in this day and age."

"Believe me, I have been easy on him," Shining muttered. His gaze fell to the edge of the vanity and a set of ornaments lying on its polished surface. "And still he's making amateur mistakes in the field. I just know it."

"Well, I trust you to make the right decision," Cadance said. "For both the military and for the Empire. Heh... Celestia knows I've never had to manage an army before."

Shining squinted at a miniature replica of Canterlot Castle. "Guess you're lucky to have me, huh?"

"Yes. Military experience comes in handy. Along with breakfast in bed." Cadance smiled coyly. "Among other things."

"Well, if you ain't Princess Sass." Shining cleared his throat, then pointed at the mini-castle. "Honey, where'd this come from?"

"Hmmm?" Candace craned her neck, but couldn't see from the bed. "What are you pointing at, exactly?"

"This tiny version of Canterlot Castle." Shining Armor lifted the structure in his hoof. "Can't tell what it's made out of... porcelain? Crystal?"

"Oh! That! Heehee... You don't remember?"

"I just woke up, darling."

"Princess Celestia had that made for us," Cadance spoke from across the room. "As a matter of fact, she had it commissioned by especially trained artists from the Breezie Cove."

"No way..." Shining turned the thing over in his grasp. "Breezies?"

"Mmmhmmmm..." Cadance bit onto another stalk of celery. "It was delicately forged from the bramble fires of the Dustfall District. Bramble Fire ornaments are rarer than Starswirl Era Frost Amber. At least, according to the latest market report."

"Huh..." Shining Armor placed the ornament back down onto the top of the vanity. "I wonder why I'm having such a memory lapse—" The topmost spire of the castle snapped clean from its bowers. The Captain's eyes bugged, and he leaned forward with a hiss. "Sh—!"

"You were probably too busy organizing the transfer of the royal interim guard from Canterlot to the Crystal Empire," Cadance said from the bed. "If I recall, you didn't get much sleep during those first three weeks. Setting up a defense for our stewardship took an awful lot out of you, and so Celestia gave us that priceless ornament as a reminder of how honored we remain in Canterlot."

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..." Shining shivered. He levitated the dislodged steeple and attempted reattaching it with his magic. The spire refused to fit in place. He gulped. Hard. "Uh huhhhhh..."

"I was hoping to commission a miniature replica of the Crystal Palace to give to her in exchange, but nothing quite comes close to the special rarity of her gift." Cadance blinked. "Shining, is something the matter?"

"Uhm.... d'uhmmm..." Shining cleared his throat. "How 'bout telling me your pretty pink princess pl-plans for the day!" He grinned over his shoulder, fighting bulbs of sweat. "...sugar buns!"

"Oye... none too pretty or pink, I'm afraid." Cadance dug at the last egg with her fork and knife. "I'll be meeting with the Department of Sanitation today."

"Well, what do you know!" Shining squatted at vanity-side, fiddling and fiddling with the damnable miniature. "A Royal Flush! Haha!" He wheezed. "G-get it?!"

"Not much to laugh about. The northern valley's permafrost is making it hard for crystal pony sewage to flow regularly towards the septic reserves. It wouldn't be that much of a problem for most equestrians, only crystal ponies naturally have more solid particulates in their fecal deposits. Ehhh... not exactly breakfast conversation, I suppose."

"Uh huh uh huh uh huh..." Shining gulped, fidgeted, then opened a drawer. "And after that? Tea parties, or..."

"No. No tea parties." Cadance gulped down the last bite. "I'll be meeting with delegates from the neighboring kingdom of Wyvernville. They're not very fond of tea there. If anything, they have an affinity for mouse entrails—and that doesn't exactly go over well with the locals."

"Nope!" Shining swept the broken remains of the tiny castle into the drawer and slammed the vanity shut. "Guess it wouldn't!"

"What was that noise?"

Shining spun around with a sweaty grin. "Oh, y'know! Heavy armor!" He shook his shoulders. "Clank-a-clank! Back in the academy, they used to call me 'Shining Refrigerator,' 'cuz I was always making a racket but still cool as a c-cucumber."

"... ... ..." Cadance blinked.

Shining gulped. "But, y'know, I melted the moment I married you."

"Awwwwwwwwww..." Cadance's eyes sparkled. "Such a sap." She stuck her tongue out. "Now get your butt to the barracks."

Shining saluted briskly. "Yes, ma'am." He turned fetlock, then marched off for the doors to the outer corridor.

"Thank you so much for the breakfast, dear," Cadance said. "It was very sweet of you."

"Anytime, honey," Shining wheezed. He reached the door and joyously flung it open. His heart leapt with relief—

"And Shining, one more thing."

"...?" Shining looked over his armored shoulder. "Sweet pea?"

Cadance sipped on a glass of water and smiled slyly at him. "Be sure to stop by the marketplace on the way home for some super glue." A wink. "It should be enough to fix the little trinket I bought at a yard sale last time we stopped by Canterlot."

"... ... ..." Shining Armor performed the heaviest blink of his life. "...the Breezies never had a thing called 'Bramble Fire,' did they?"

"Heeheehee... not even a first grader could come up with something so silly."

Shining Armor sighed heavily. "...have I told you how much I love you?"

"Is it ever so slightly more than you hate me right now?"

"Mmmmhmmm." Shining groaned, then shuffled off with a bitter smirk. "Whelp... off to war."

Cadance waved a dainty hoof. "Happy flogging!" She smiled.

And the door shut to her giggles.

February 2016 - Tchernobog - Appledash Across the Mirrors

Author's Note

User: Tchernobog
Prompt: 27. EQG AppleDash meet Pony AppleDash, and discuss all things AppleDashery. The similarities and differences between the two worlds’ versions.

February 2016 - Tchernobog - Appledash Across the Mirrors

"Wooooo! Yeah!" Human Dash grinned jubilantly, pointing a victorious finger at "K.O" splattered bloodily across the widescreen t.v. "You like that?! I had to download the five dollar DLC to get that fatality, but still. Heheheh! Isn't it awesome?!"

"Errrr... yeah..." Pony Dash fidgeted on the carpeted bedroom floor. She fumbled to even hold the lopsided controller in her tiny horse hooves. "Supremely radical," she droned. "Which button does that again?"

"Oh. Dude." Human Dash gestured with her articulate fingers. "It's—like—three buttons and what we l33t fighting game fans like to call a pretzel motion with the left D-Pad. It's not for casuals. Not that I'm... eheheh... calling anyone out. Or in your case, 'anyhorsie.' That's what you pony girls say back in Disneyland, right? 'Anyhorsie?'"

"Uhm... 'anypony' will do," Pony Dash corrected. "And it's 'Equestria' by the way." She coughed. "Say... could we find something else on this electric game box to play?"

"But we just got started!"

"Dude." Pony Dash frowned. "You beat me—like—twenty times in a row! I stink at this controller nonsense!"

"Sounds like somehorsie has to get good!"

"It's somepony and... and..." Pony Dash rolled her eyes. "Say, what about that Pac-Mane game? That looked pretty snazzy."

Human Dash arched an eyebrow. "Pac-Man? Pffft... that junk is old as heck."

"Yeah, and—like—you only need one stick to play it. That's more my speed."

"Wuh ohhhh..." Human Dash folded her arms with a smirk. "Sounds like a backdown to me."

"What, you scared of getting your pasty, hairless flank owned at something retro?"

"Hell, no!" With a flurry of button commands, Human Dash brought the game back to the main menu and booted up the classic title in question. "My score's gonna cream yours!"

"We'll see about that!" Pony Dash smirked. "Hehehehe! I just love the 'bleep' and 'bloop' noises this thing makes! So nifty."

"Hah! That's the same thing Applejack says! I totally beat her at Pac-Man too."

The pegasus glanced up at her human counterpart. "Huh?"

"Pffft. Typical farmgirl." Human Dash rolled her eyes. "She treats anything that you gotta hook up to the television like some cosmic gift from Prometheus or something."

"And... uhhhh... what's that supposed to mean?"

"There!" Human Dash pointed. "You're up first! Eat the pellets! Avoid the ghosts!"

"Ah jeez!" Pony Dash gnashed her teeth as she jiggled the controller's stick with wild abandon. "This is tense!"

"Not as tense as trying to talk Applejack into having another sleepover so I can whoop her butt more at Mortal Kombat." Human Dash leaned back against the edge of the bed, her nostrils flaring. "I swear. That chick's as stiff as a board."

"Yeah, well..." Pony Dash smirked. "She's a strong one—if she's anything like my Applejack, that is."

"What, can your Applejack beat you at competitions?"

"Pffft! Heck no!" Pony Dash nevertheless cleared her throat. "I mean... she could if she really tried."

"Hah! You mean if you let her."

"And... is something wrong with that?"

Silence—save for the electronic gobbling of a pony controlled cheese wedge.

Human Dash's ruby eyes darted over. "You... you want Applejack to beat you at stuff?"

"I mean... it'd be a change of pace, don't you think?" Pony Dash shrugged while jerking the stick. "Give me something to fight for. I mean... when all you do is win, then the whole game gets kind of boring, y'know?"

"Uh huh..."

"The game of life, I mean."

"Oh. Sure. I guess."

"So what if I might look at Applejack every now and then and think, 'Jee, it'd sure be awesome if she could hogtie me sometime.'"

Human Dash blinked hard.

"I m-mean at a hogtying competition, of course," Pony Dash sputtered as she reduced electric blue ghosts to eyeballs. "She's good with a lasso of course."

"Is she, now?" Human Dash smirked. She brushed a lock of hair over her ear. "That's kinda funny."

"How so?"

"I mean, 'cuz she's a horse and all. Lassos seem counter-intuitive."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I dunno. I mean, whenever my Applejack ties me up with a lasso, it's considered... y'know... cookie-crazy cuz..." Human Dash's voice grew raspier. She tried clearing her throat, but it only barely worked. "...y'know... we're non-horse girls... doing semi-horse things..." A hard gulp. "Sometimes w-with feeding bags... f-full of whipped cream."

Pony Dash's eyes twitched. She stared blankly past the t.v. screen, right as a deflating jingle blipped through the speakers.

"H-hey!" Human Dash smiled crookedly. "Lookit! You died!"

"Uhhhh..."

"My turn!" Human Dash grabbed the controller from Pony Dash and started a new round. "So... uh... now to murder that high score!"

"You fill your feeding bags with whipped cream?"

"Hah! Ate three ghosts already!"

Pony Dash squinted. "Isn't that... kind of messy?"

"Look." Human Dash's nostrils flared as she bit her lip. Her hand jerked and jerked the controller. "Don't judge me. I mean, you were raised in a barn, after all."

"Hey! We're ponies! Not animals!"

"Pfft. So?"

"So, what if I made gross generalizations?" Pony Dash pointed. "Like... look at how smooth and hairless your ears are! I bet that makes Applejack's lobes extra sensitive for when you're nibbling on them!"

It was Human Dash's turn to twitch. Somewhere, on a black and blue grid, another yellow pizza thing died horribly.

Pony Dash instantly winced. "Er... what I mean is..."

"You..." Human Dash squinted at her. "...nibble on her ears?"

"No! Tartarus, no!" Pony Dash scoffed. "That's super gross and disgusting and—okayyeahsometimes." She hung her head.

Human Dash pivoted towards her. "Does... uhm..." She gulped dryly. "...does she ask for you to blow in her ear canals first?"

A rosy blush spread across the pegasus' blue muzzle. "M-maybe..."

"And... and in return..."

"Bellyrubs."

Human Dash raised an eyebrow. "Bellyrubs?"

Pony Dash pensively nodded her trembling head.

"Huh..." Human Dash stared off into the glow of the retro arcade game. "My Applejack and I do something similar... although it's not nearly as adorable."

"How so?"

"Well, it depends on how many C sized batteries we have..."

"Oh... ohhhhhh..." Pony Dash nodded. "I get ya."

"You do?"

"Yeah. In Equestria, we have the petrified crystalline hearts of fossilized sirens—"

"Ugh... yeah... okay..." Human Dash shook her head and raised her hand. "Say no more."

"What?" Pony Dash blinked. "It's super useful!"

"Uh huh. I bet."

"Best part is that every piece of the siren is naturally waterproof—"

"Ahem. Your turn again!"

"Heeeeee-yah!" Humanjack reared her leg back and struck the trunk of an apple tree with the bottom of her boot.

Th-Thunk! Several apples fell neatly into a basket.

"Whew-weee!" Ponyjack grinned wide. The little pony sat on the back of a wagon so she could be closer to eye-level with her bipedal counterpart. "Not bad! I swear—dun matter which side of the mirror ya holler from—apple buckin' is in yer blood!"

"Easy for you to say..." Humanjack wiped the sweat from her freckles with her shirt sleeve and smiled. "I only walloped three trees and already I'm out of breath!"

"Yeah, well, practice makes perfect.' Ponyjack hopped down onto the grass and trotted past Humanjack's legs. "I bet if I came over to yer dimension, I'd wear myself out tryin' to drive one of them fancy cars for more than five minutes!"

"Uhm... hate to break it to ya." Humanjack blushed slightly. "But the internal motor does all the work."

"No kiddin'?"

"Besides, I ain't got no license. Big Mac drives me and Apple Bloom to and from school."

"Heh. Figures."

"So... is this really what you do all day?" Humanjack walked down the space between orchards. "Hoof around and kick trees?"

"Eeyup! Pretty much!" Ponyjack had to trot extra quickly to keep up with her doppelganger's gait. "Why. Ain't it not the same over in humanville?"

"Actually, we just call it 'earth.'"

"Fancy that! So do we!"

"And to answer yer question... erm..." Humanjack rubbed the back of her head. "Thangs ain't quite so... er... 'hands-on' on our ranch." She gulped. "Or 'hooves-on' in yer case. Eheh."

"Yeah!" Ponyjack tapped her freckled face in thought. "I recall our Twilight tellin' me about payin' yer Sweet Apple Acres a visit once. Quite a fancy industry y'all got goin' on there. But tell me..." She squinted up at her friend. "What exactly is a 'Mexican?'"

"Errrr... s-say!" Humanjack cleared her voice with a crooked smile. "I wonder how our Rainbow Dashes are doin' right this second!"

"Huh? Why?"

Humanjack shrugged. "Just 'cuz."

"No doubt tryin' to outrace each other across yer school campus or some nonsense."

"Hah! I'd pay to see that!" Humanjack smirked. "My Rainbow Dash would lose for sure."

"What makes ya say that?"

"She ain't got wings on her back all the time." Humanjack winked. "That's one edge yer Rainbow's got. Though, I suppose you could call it cheatin'."

"Hehehehehe..." Ponyjack shook her head. "It's never stopped her before!"

"Hah! I can believe that." Humanjack paused by a silo with her hands in her pockets. "Our Rainbows... a regular pair of varmints, huh?"

"Eeyup!" Ponyjack nodded. "Rotten to the core!"

"So rotten!"

"In fact... almost makes you wanna..." Ponyjack shrugged her fuzzy shoulders. "...take 'em to the woodshed, if ya know what I'm sayin'."

Humanjack blinked. "Just what are ya sayin'?"

Dead silence.

The cicadas took the opportunity to buzz through the verdant green tree branches.

"Oh... well... y'know..." Ponyjack leaned back, dealing with a sudden curtain of sweat. "Everypony in town—friends included—look up to you as a shinin' beacon of honesty... morality... all that nonsense..."

"Uh huh..." Humanjack squinted. "...yeah?"

"And so... maybe one of these days... you might happen to have... uhm... y'know..." Ponyjack cleared her throat. "...tiedherupinadozenknotsandlefthersomewherealonetofendforherself." She bit her tiny horse lips shut.

Humanjack blinked.

"Am... am I-I right?"

"Are ya kiddin' me?!" Humanjack frowned. "Heck, no!"

"Oh..." Ponyjack hung her head, digging at the earth with her hoof. "...shucks."

"I'd put her somewhere soft and comfy!"

Ponyjack blanced up in an instant. "What?" She squinted. "Like in a haystack?"

"I'm sayin' a bed." Humanjack absent-mindedly stripped her hat off and fanned herself. "Maybe... y'know... with some red candles to help her see the knots that she's gotta wriggle out of." A dry gulp. "And... and some rose petals across the sheets so... sh-she won't have to smell her own backsweat so much."

Ponyjack stared up at her. She teetered slightly, and her next breath had a zombie strain of velvety dreamliness to it. "Do... humans sweat as much as ponies?"

"Oh, darlin', like Niagra Falls!" Humanjack squirmed. "Erm... wait, ya wouldn't get that analogy."

"S'all good." Ponyjack shuddered. "Reckon it's just like a big ol' waterfall... that moans..."

"Especially when ya spank it..."

"...for all them mischievous times she stroked them soft feathers of hers across yer cutie mark..."

"Yes—wait, what?" Humanjack blinked hard.

"Erm..." Ponyjack blushed through her freckles. "Do... d-do humans have cutie marks on their behinds?"

"No... we... we don't." Humanjack suddenly gazed towards the sun with a glazed expression. "Though..." A limp smile hung off her cheekbones. "...that'd be an awful good place to put one."

Silence.

"...I dun suppose I can fit in yer family's bathtub, can I?" Humanjack wheezed.

"No'm." Ponyjack pointed past the orchards. "But there's a heapin' cold lake over yonder."

"Much obliged." Humanjack tipped her hat and then ran off.

"Hmmmm..." Meanwhile, Ponyjack leaned against an apple tree with a dreamy sigh. "...rose petals... good idea..."

Twilight Sparkle looked up from a partially written scroll.

"So there you have it, Spike!" The alicorn grinned wide, coiling her wings back—with much effort. "My hypothetical scenario for if we're to start a 'cross-dimensional friendship exchange program!'"

The dragon assistant merely gaped at her from across the tree palace throneroom.

Twilight blinked. "Is something wrong?!"

"Have you gone bonkers, Twilight?!" Spike wheezed. "That is your hypothetical scenario?! Applejack and Rainbow Dash hanging out with one another's counterparts and... and..." He fought the urge to vomit. "...talking up bedroom habits?"

"So?"

"So?!?" Spike cackled. "Our Applejack and Rainbow Dash! Lusting after one another?! I mean—they're both straight as a razor, Twilight! What—I mean what were you even thinking?! This has nothing to do with an interdimensional exchange! And the moment Princess Celestia reads this she's going to think you've been replaced with a changeling or something!"

"Hmmm... that's just what I thought." Twilight's eyes glowed bright green, and an emerald flame billowed from a suddenly crooked horn. "Thank you for being a test subject, whelp."

Spike's eyes bulged. "Ulp..." He whimpered as a wave of black magic soared straight at him. "Mommy!"

"And that..." Twilight Sparkle swiveled around in her desk chair and pushed a pair of glasses back up the bridge of her button nose. "...is what I think would happen if the Princess me from Equestria was to fall ill to the demented hysteria that is known as 'shipping.'"

A little purple canine gawked at her from across the school room, eyes wide.

"What?" Twilight blinked, then brushed her hands across her vest. "Did I forget to wash my uniform, or—?"

"Are you sick, Twilight?!" Spike stammered, his ears drooping. "That is not what I came here to talk to you about! I mean... what's gotten into you as of late?"

"I already told you, Spike!" Twilight stood up, smiling with a shrug. "I'm just... doing my best to fit in here at Canterlot High! That's all!"

"Mrmmmffffff!" Sunset Shimmer whimpered into her gag. Bound in electrical cables, she hung upside down from the ceiling in her underwear.

"Bitch!" Twilight Sparkle spun, raising the back of her hand. "What did I tell you about making noise?! You want a bucket tonight or not?!"

February 2016 - Alamais - Fluttershy Says Her Morning Prayers

Author's Note

User: Alamais
Prompt: Fluttershy kicks off an average day with her usual morning prayers to Lord Smooze.

February 2016 - Alamais - Fluttershy Says Her Morning Prayers

A pair of turquoise eyes fluttered open, followed by a beaming smile.

"Mmmmmmmm...!" Fluttershy stretched beneath the covers of her bed, undulating her spine like a cat as she popped every stiff joint into tingly wakefulness. "Heeeeeee—good morning, happy little cottage!"

The mare sat straight up, tossing a perfect mane of silken pink threads. Kicking the duvet off, she glided to the window, then opened the pane to a bright, sunny dawn rising over the verdant hillsides of Equestria.

"Good morning, pretty little songbirds!" Fluttershy cooed.

Almost immediately, a cardinal, a blue jay, and a nightingale hovered down to the second story window side. Fluttershy leaned out the frame, nuzzling each tweeting thing with fuzzy yellow cheeks. She giggled, her ears full of their melodic mirth.

With a dance and a twirl, Fluttershy happily trounced down the stairs. She did a little pirouette and slid to a jubilant stop in the center of the foyer. "Good morning, all my animal friends!"

Several furry creatures stirred from a drowsy cuddle pile in the corner of the cottage. A family of mice, a pair of geese, three raccoons, four ferrets, and a grizzly bear all looked up, rubbed their eyes, and waved their paws-and-claws at Fluttershy.

"Heeheehee!" Teeth glinting, Fluttershy ballet-stepped across the room, pausing to rub noses and chins with each of the yawning critters. That accomplished, she slid across a length of tile and ended up next to her sink and pantry. "Good morning, kitchen full of delectable morning treats!"

This—more than anything else—finally woke up the last of the slumbering denizens of Fluttershy's humble abode. Squirrels, doves, iguanas, and deer came flouncing out of every niche and cubbyhole. The animals flocked around Fluttershy, eagerly following her feather-light hoofsteps as she grabbed bag after bag of feed and poured into the food dishes lined up against the far wall.

"La la la laaaaaaa!" Fluttershy filled the air with harmony while she filled the dishes with grub. The vigorous munching of her furry friends added percussion to her angelic vocals. "A dream is a wish that your destiny makes complete in the heart of your happy hopessss!" She grabbed a broom from the corner and alternated between sweeping the floor and dancing gracefully. "Hmmm-hmmmm-hmmmm! Bom bom bommm-bom bommmm!" She paused to lean forward, nuzzling a white little fuzzball standing at the end of the kitchen table. "Good morning, Angelllll!"

Angel stomped his tail angrily against the wood. With a frown, the feisty little thing pointed past his incisors and into his empty throat.

"In just a little bit!" Fluttershy winked. "Be patient, my little cotton-tailed cherub!" Fluttershy handed the broom to her smiling grizzly bear friend while a pair of pigeons lowered a bucket in their grasp. "Why thank you!" Fluttershy filled the bucket with water, then began mopping up the tile floor. She whistled to herself, occasionally giggling between bridges of random songs. Then—once she reached a dark mahogany closet door at the shadowed end of her cottage—she paused to bow before a framed portrait of curiously purple, bubbling molasses. "And good morning to you, Metamorphic Morning Star of the Blood Promised Age!"

Another pirouette, and Fluttershy ended up back in the kitchen. She placed the mop away and began polishing the bucket clean. By now, most of the animals had finished with their morning meal. They flocked around her, nuzzling her legs and trilling anxiously.

"Heeheehee! Why, aren't you the excited bunch!" Fluttershy grinned. "Ready to start the day?"

The air filled with chirps, squeaks, and growls.

"Hehe!" Fluttershy grinned even harder. "Ready to stave off a thousand years of burning tribulation?"

Oinks. Moos. Quacks and snake rattles.

"Then someone had better grab the carrotttttt!"

Two mongooses were the first to comply. They scampered between the legs of the bigger creatures and came back, shoving a bucket of carrots with their noses.

Meanwhile, three swans flew across the cottage to retrieve an ornamental white gown and a crimson red hood.

"Awwwwwwww..." Fluttershy's cheeks turned rosy. "Where would I be without such helpful friends as you?" She winked, then grabbed a carrot from the bucket. "Okay, Angel!" Fluttershy paused by the kitchen table so that an excited little furball could hop on her back. "It's now or never!"

With a flick of her tail, she trotted towards the far end of the cottage. A gaggle of furry animals followed closely behind, forming a veritable wall of fuzz and claws.

"Hum-de-dum..." Fluttershy approached the dark mahogany door.

She lifted a metal crossbar, undid three padlocks, turned a latch-key, and spun a bank vault valve. With a purgatorial groan, the thick framed door yawned open, revealing a calcified alter lined with candles. Within the center of the elaborate bone marrow shrine was a dais, atop of which stood a gigantic glass jar full of gurgling purple goo awash with lidless eyeballs.

A bear handed Fluttershy a lit match from behind.

"Oh, why thank you, Mr. Lumpkins!" Fluttershy winked before lighting each candle.

As soon as the wicks caught ablaze, every eyeball within the jar spun towards Fluttershy. A dull bass hum emanated from the indigo ooze within the glass container.

"Hello! Did you miss me?" Fluttershy tittered. "It won't be long now!" She waved at the swans. "Okay now, my little darlings!"

The birds stopped flapping their wings. As they lowered, Fluttershy grasped the gown from them and sang over her shoulder. "Oh Angelllll!"

With antsy paws, he hopped onto the edge of the altar. Fluttershy lowered the ornamental white cloth over his ears and head, fitting each of his furry little forelimbs through the gold-embossed sleeves. All the while, he anxiously drooled after the carrot in her grasp. At last, Fluttershy hoofed it to him, and he laid back on a plate made of rib cages, gnawing happily at the dry vegetable.

"Alright, then, is everybody ready?" Fluttershy grinned.

She was answered by a bevy of meows, woofs, and brays.

"Heeee! Okay then!" Fluttershy took a breath, then donned the blood crimson hood. A turtle handed her a book bound in petrified horse skin. She opened the tome in one hoof and grasped a bowl full of powder in the other. "Ah-Ah-Ahem..." A pair of turquoise eyes narrowed to form hideous slits through the translucent veil of magenta sackcloth. "...on this Tepid T'chatakran Morning of the Forsaken Month of Skullfall, we offer unto the Immortal Lord Smooze—the thrice betrayed deity of righteous foalscreams—this penitent pony prayer through blood sacrifice of virgin innocence."

She turned the bowl over, dumping flakes of powder liberally over Angel's ears, body, and gown. The little half-rodent continued chewing on his carrot in ignorant bliss.

"With the sanctified bone meal of your fallen enemies," Fluttershy continued, "I hereby christen this morsel that we've dressed for the void, in preparation for a baptism of fire that will rekindle the unborn vessel that will then carry your spirit of vengeance into a bleeding morrow, and finally end the years of tribulation that have so foolishly warded off your unholy return!"

SCHIIIING! A duck unsheathed a serrated dagger etched with horse skulls and handed it to Fluttershy.

The mare took it while reading off the hymnal pages of the leatherbound tome. "Eh'grud-threenkt dhum razz-nak'haan havada cep'l-kuuhm! 'May all who live and die by the senses be burned alive by the rapture of Lord Smooze's Second Dripping!'" She dipped the tip of the blade into each candle, heating it up. The room glittered with bloodlight as several hellish runes flickered to life across the knife's finely-tempered demonsteel. "Ah'kazna-thraan hakal mruud thul faz'namaat!" Teeth barred, Fluttershy placed the book down and leaned directly over Angel with the blade raised, the glowing tip aimed down towards his soft bunny belly. "'By the ghastly grace of the Metamorphic Morning Star, I spill this virgin blood—'"

Angel's incisors chewed and gnawed on the vegetable.

Fluttershy blinked through the veil. Clearing her throat, she repeated, "I spill this virgin blood..."

Angel's ears twitched. His little nose wriggled.

"I... I spill..." Fluttershy shivered. The runes dimmed across the knife's blade as her grip faltered. "I... I..."

Angel gulped some tender morsels down. His beady eyes darted up at her, happy and glistening.

A breathy moan limped out of Fluttershy's throat. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh..." She slumped back with a sigh. Dropping her knife, she removed her sackcloth red hood and smiled. "You adorable little fuzzy butt." She leaned in to nuzzle the rabbit's cheek, giggling from the stroke of his whiskers. "I'm going to sacrifice you to the Dark Lord of Death and Damnation one of these daaaaaays..."

Angel nuzzled her back, squeaked cheerfully, then finished the rest of his carrot.

Fluttershy scooped him up, removed his silk white gown for an afternoon wash, then sat with him on her reading seat across the cottage. Warm ways of sunlight bathed her and the animals gathering around to lounge at her side.

"So, since we're up so early, who's for story time?" Fluttershy asked.

The fuzzy family of animals chirped and growled, nodding agreeably.

"Very well, then!" Fluttershy smiled as Angel nestled himself beneath her wingfeathers. "Ah-ahem... this is a classic little tale about how the entrails of the unjustly defeated elder gods became sentient and were then gifted with omniscient vision from the all-seeing dark lords of the nether realm!"

February 2016 - Relevant Heavy Metal - Buddy Cop Injustice

Author's Note

User: Relevant Heavy Metal
Prompt: She’s an immortal alicorn of the sun, he’s a lazy foul mouthed dragon. Together, they fight crime.

February 2016 - Relevant Heavy Metal - Buddy Cop Injustice

BL-BLAM!

Two bulletholes rip through a bright orange splash screen, followed by—

POW!

A regal sister poses badflankishly, sporting dark sunglasses while pumping a shotgun.

She's An Immortal Alicorn of the Sun...

SCH-SCHIIIIING!

A sharp green lizard tail rips the screen to shreds. Up pops an eight-legged dragon in a police uniform. Smoke billows from his nostrils while a pair beady red eyes swivel around.

"BLARGH!"

He's a Lazy Foul Mouthed Dragon...

SCREEEEEEECH!

There's a close-up shot of police car tires.

Then we flash to a wide-angled shot of a long hallway. Zooming down in sporadic jerks, we see Princess Celestia and Crackle marching menacingly towards us from afar, interrupted periodically by obnoxious lens flare. A gold chain necklace with a sun emblem hangs from the alicorn's neck. The dragon... just stares at the walls and lets his tongue hang out.

And Together...

Celestia grinds to a stop, brandishing two pistols. She stands back to back with Crackle as the two glare into the shadows.

...They Fight Crime.

Crackle's jaw widens. "HOORJ!" He lifts two of his rear legs and lets out a fart.

FWOOOMB! Princess Celestia's tail catches on fire.

"Aaaaugh!" She stomps her own hair out and turns to glare at her partner. "Crackle! You did it againnnn!"

Crackle's head spins around. "ZOOP?!"

(Laughtrack)

Or At Least...

...They Try To

BL-BLAM!

Bulletholes force the image to segue into...

VRMMMMM!

...a police chase down a Canterlot highway. Ponies shriek and leap off the sidewalk to avoid the getaway car. A bunch of diamond dogs wearing ski masks lean out the window and launch a volley of machine gun bullets at the vehicle in pursuit.

BLAM! P-POW! RAT-A-TAT-TAT!

Gripping the wheels of the police car, Celestia gnashes her teeth and snarls, "Okay, we're on a straightaway! Let 'er rip!"

"BLARGH!" Crackle leans out the passenger side window with an RPG. He takes aim, but...

"Crackle!" Celestia gasps, trying to concentrate on the road. "You have it loaded backwards again—!"

Too late; the missile fires, shooting backwards and shattering through the rear window of the police car. It sails across the street and flies into a gas station, setting it ablaze.

KABOOOOM!

"Rrrrgh!" Celestia gnashes her teeth, fighting to keep the car speeding straight. "Crackle, you did it again!"

"FOOHB?!"

We flash to a shot of a dirty, run-down apartment bathroom. Princess Celestia is repeatedly dunking a stallion's bruised face into the toilet.

"Who do you work for, huh?!" Growling, Celestia slams the stallion's face against the seat over and over. "Talk!"

"Sppfttkktktt!" The stallion sputters. "I already told you!" He sobs. "All of the information is in the briefcase!"

Celestia turns around. "Did you hear that, Crackle?!" Her eyes bulge. "Crackle!"

We see that Crackle is already halfway through scarfing the luggage down his throat. Upon seeing Celestia's angry face, he pauses, then swallows the rest of it. "BURRRRRP!" He belches, setting the lighting fixture of the bathroom on fire. He grins towards opposite walls, his tongue dangling.

Together, They Are Canterlot Law Enforcement's Last Hope...

We flash through random shots of Princess Celestia and Crackle marching down the street, stopping for doughnuts, helping foals around an urban playground, and interviewing hookers in fishnets at an intersection. In each frame, Crackle is growing progressively more fidgety, until at last we have a shot of him humping a fire hydrant while Celestia stands a few feet away, face-hoofing.

...But Will the City Survive Their Wacky Beat?

"Okay!" Princess Celestia kneels before a giant bomb in the middle of an abandoned parking garage. "We have only one shot at this!" She points at a mess of multi-colored wires spilling out of the guts of the explosive. "Twenty seconds left! Do we cut the red wire or the blue wire—?"

"NOMFFF!" Crackle digs his draconian snout into the bowels of the apparatus and rips all of the wires out at once.

Princess Celestia clasps her gaping wide muzzle. "Crackle, you did it againnnn—!"

KABOOOOOOOOOOM!

The screen fills with terrible CG flame...

...then evaporates to show Crackle and Princess Celestia standing side by side before an office desk deep inside the Canterlot Police Headquarters.

"Dang it!" Fausticorn slams a hoof down on her desk. Chewing a cigar out the side of her muzzle, she adjusts her loose necktie and points at the two. "I'm dealing with enough crap from the big wigs without having to put a leash on you two! Now, how are you going to explain all of the fresh burning craters in the downtown district?!"

"Well, Chief..." Princess Celestia stammers. "You know when you stop a suspicious perp for shoplifting, but it turns out he's actually the one living cork in a giant parasprite huffing operation—?"

"DANG IT!" Fausticorn slams her hoof again. "That's no excuse to go ballistic on the entire town!"

Crackle spontaneously growls: "You (BLEEP)ing shut your (BLEEP) (BLEEP) (BLEEP)ing face, you (BLEEP)ing (BLEEP)hole! We're out there, (BLEEP) deep in (BLEEP)ing (BLEEP), trying to keep (BLEEP)ers from plugging (BLEEP)ing (BLEEP)s into our (BLEEP)s while (BLEEP)ing (BLEEP)s like you (BLEEP) around in piece of (BLEEP) (BLEEP)heaps like this, smelling your own (BLEEP)s. Just let us do our (BLEEP)ing job, ya smelly (BLEEP), 'cuz nopony else (BLEEP)ing will!"

"Yeah..." Celestia nods aside at her partner. "What he said!"

"Now you listen here, Crackle!" Fausticorn stands up, pointing angrily with her cigar. "You're hard to love!" A beat, and she forms a grizzled smirk. "But you're even harder to hate."

Crackle's eyes swivel. "BLARGH?!?!"

Celestia sighs happily and side-hugs him. "Crackle, you did it again."

More flame wipes... or something...

This Summer...

...Don't Miss

...A Touching Story For the Whole Family.

"Okay!" Celestia shouts, squatting behind an overturned, bullet-riddled desk in the middle of a broken-down apartment. She pumps a shotgun and hollers at the gunpony on the far side of the room. "This is your last chance, criminal scum! Give it up!"

"I'm not criminal scum!" The sweating stallion cocks his AK-47 and snarls back, "I'm just an impoverished pawn caught in a world-wide corporate scheme set into motion centuries ago to support the grossly unequal disproportion of wealth in our economy, and this is my one opportunity to alert the masses through spontaneous acts of drama and violence to promote social change—"

"Too long, didn't listen." Celestia hollers to the ceiling. "Now, Crackle!"

CRAAAAAAACK! The eight-legged dragon bursts through the ceiling above the stallion. He pounces on the thug and digs his jaws deep into his abdomen. "CHOMPPP!"

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaugh!" The stallion screams bloodily, his eyes rolling back in agony. "My bowels! Oh goddess! It hurts so much! Snkkkktt! I can smell my own breakfast! Brllghhghhl! Oh Goddess, kill me, please! Killllllll meeeeeeeee—"

POWWWW!

Cue another explosion. Celestia and Crackle bursts through, and we freeze-frame on them both in mid jump kick against a wall of flames.

BURNING JUSTICE

Coming To a Theatre Near You

We zoom out from a giant panoramic screen atop a convention hall's stage.

The picture fades to the movie's logo as the theatre lights turn back on.

The large audience fills with happy pony applause.

With a plastic grin, a corporate executive walks back onto stage, wearing a turtle neck and a tiny microphone strapped to his ear. He claps his forelimbs and smiles into the crowd.

"Isn't that wonderful, or what?"

More applause.

"I can tell you first-hoof that everyone on set has been absolutely pumped for the release of Canterlot Cinema's latest blockbuster hit. But we're even more excited in the studio offices. Eh heh heh..."

Tiny bursts of laughter. The spotlight remains focused on him as he paces across the convention stage.

"And you'll be pleased to know that everypony's favorite big screen actress, Princess Celestia, has promised to share thirty percent of her screen earnings from this flick with the Canterlot Society of Police Veterans. So how about a round of applause for this summer's biggest star, huh?"

More applause.

"Yeah! That's right!" The executive grins and salutes somepony off stage. "Now, on to our television lineup. We have something that is guaranteed to excite every stallion, mare, and foal—"

Just then, a loud tumult breaks through the audience. A series of voices echo from the left-hoof side, and a single mare's voice can be heard shouting: "Hah! More like Canterlot Society of Murder Veterans!"

Gasps and murmurs echo from the crowd. The executive on stage looks confused. The spotlight swings off of him. The camera swivels, blurs, then focuses in on a solid line of thirty to forty zebras brushing past the meager security and mounting the stage. Half of them hold picket signs reading "Striped Lives Matter" while the other half are holding their forelimbs up.

"Don't shoot!"

"I'm unarmed!"

"Don't shoot!"

"I'm unarmed!"

A mare leans in and speaks into the executive stallion's microphone, "So what you're telling me is that you're making a film that not only glorifies the number one purveying system of murder in Equestria, but you're actually going to hand out golden bits to a corrupt organization that is responsible for the abominably prejudicial execution of more than five hundred of our striped brothers and sisters every year?!"

"Well... uhmm... I-I..." The executive sweats and shudders nervously. "I-I wouldn't know anything about th-that..." He weakly squeaks to the side. "Security?"

"Hah!" The mare glares. "You know nothing, and yet you're still part of the problem! What with your money-hogging studio of plain white ponies filming plain white actors earning a plain white salary to support a plain white princess sitting high and mighty in her plain white castle! Must be easy waking up every morning, knowing that this kingdom supports everything you do while murdering innocent zebras every day of the week! Do you even know any zebras on the same pay scale as you, or are we all just a bunch of word-rhyming, potion-making, backwoods witch doctors in your eyes?!"

"Uh... er... n-no!" The stallions smiles crookedly. "Why... uh... a few of my best pony friends happen to be... erm... calico!"

"Calico?!" The mare rolls her eyes. "Tch... get out of here, turkey!" She shoves him aside and takes the mic, facing the crowd. "It's about time we all woke up to the injustices of the Equestrian Law Force and the flagrant lies of the corrupt media in this country! I'm saying that it's time to take a stand for the future of all our children! And since we're here at this media convention, let's start with one of the most shamelessly racist organizations of all!" She frowns. "I'm talking about the Alicorn Awards of Arts and Sciences!"

February 2016 - Hap - Octavia and Tank, Sittin' In a Tree

Author's Note

User: Hap
Prompt: RD asks Octavia to pet-sit, but Octavia thinks it’s a blind date with a mystery pony; ends up taking Tank on a date to a nice restaurant. Has a good time anyway.

February 2016 - Hap - Octavia and Tank, Sittin' In a Tree

Yesterday...

"So... uhm..." Rainbow Dash fidgeted in the doorway to the recording studio. "...I'm asking this of you because I don't want any of my—y'know—regular friends catching word and thinking that I'm some sort of softy." She cleared her throat and stared into the shadows of the apartment, blushing furiously. "But, the truth is, I'm worried sick for the lil' guy every time I go on a crazy awesome adventure and gotta leave him behind. So... it would be really really cool of you to take care of him while I'm gone. Y'know... show him a good time and all that stuff." Gulping, the pegasus looked up, her ruby eyes glossy and sincere. "Is... is that too much to ask?"

"Hmmmmmmmm..." Octavia swirled a glass of wine. Reclining back in her chair, the mare tilted her head towards a record player dishing out beautiful violin music. "Stallionivarius. Soooooo divine..." She took a dainty sip and then cooed, "Take me away, oh prodigy..."

"Errr..." Rainbow squinted. "...is that a 'yes' or a 'no?' Cuz, for realsies, if it's too much trouble, I can go and ask Vinyl—"

"No no..." Octavia waved a hoof without looking. "Don't bother. It's quite alright. I'll... uhm..." She fluffed her mane and sighed happily to the music. "...I'll do that thing... at the place, for you, darling." She took another sip and closed her eyes with a delightful hum. "Mmmmmmmm here comes the bridge. Ahhhhhhhhhh magnificent."

"Whew! What a relief!" Rainbow Dash's wings and ears perked up. She did a little hoofy-dance in place, grinning rosily. "Sweet! Now I don't have to worry anymore!" She turned tail, trotting out the apartment. "You're the best, Miss Melody! Meet us at the Dine Fine Corner on the edge of town and I'll introduce the two of you! Six o'clock tomorrow! Don't be late!"

"Yes. Quite." Octavia's head rolled to the music. She sighed dreamily. Seconds passed... and then her violet eyes flickered wide open. "Wait... introduce us? What?"

Today...

"Mmmmmm..." Octavia fidgeted and squirmed. She wore her mane in a delicate bun, bordered with flowers. A slinky black gown adorned her perfumed figure as she stood at the entrance to a fancy restaurant. "Oh dear... oh dear..." Panting, she fiddled with the spaghetti strap of her purse and chewed on her bottom lip. "You need to pay more attention, Octavia. That's how you keep getting into these blasted messes." A deep gulp, and she reapplied more lipstick. "Mrmmfff... remember the Brayhamas?" She shuddered hard. "Ugh... of course you do, you absent-minded trollop."

She looked up, eyes squinting at the elegant sign above the entrance to the Dine Fine Corner. The bulbs framing the sign lit up as the sun went down. A stallion valet in a tuxedo stood at the revolving door, staring at her with scrutinizing eyes.

Octavia gulped and looked down the road. "Where is she? I just want to get this bloody thing over with." A tiny squeak escaped her delicate throat. "And whoever she's bringing, he'd better know at least a paragraph of Trotoyevsky or we won't make it past the appetizers..."

FWOOOSH! Rainbow Dash flew in from the darkening sky and landed behind her. "Hey! There you are! Right on time!"

"Gaaah!" Octavia jumped in place, dress flouncing.

Rainbow blinked, wearing a saddlebag. "Yeesh. Why you so gussied up? I thought you had this evening free."

"I did! I mean... I do! I mean..." Octavia shuddered, straightening her mane and adjusting the weight of her purse. "Whewwwwwww..." After a long exhale, she bore a nervous smile. "I'm ready. Now, where is the charming beau?"

"The fuzz are you talking about?" Rainbow squinted. "Anyways, I stocked up on a bunch of lettuce and celery. It should be enough to last Tank for the weekend."

"Erm... 'Tank?'" Octavia cleared her throat. "That's quite an... avant-garde name for a stallion, but it does have a certain... roguish quality, I suppose."

"If you say so." Rainbow reached into her saddlebag and pulled out a stupidly drooling tortoise. She grinned wide and nuzzled the spotted reptile. "When nopony's around to listen, I like to call him Captain McScuttleButt. Heeeeeeeeee!"

"Ah, I see—wait." Octavia blinked. Hard. "...that is who you wanted to introduce me to?"

"Uh... yeah." Rainbow and Tank blinked at the mare. "This is Tank. My tortoise that I need you to take care of over the weekend."

"Errrrrrm..." Octavia leaned from side to side.

"What did you think I was asking you to do?"

"Well..." Octavia stared up into the sky.

Yesterday again...

"Alas, fair Octavia." Rainbow Dash balanced a teacup delicately in her hoof. Upturning her powdered nose, the pegasus smoothed out the ruffles in her ballgown and spoke to the candlelight. "I was wondering if thou wouldst be so kind as to look after my reptilian beast of burden for the next few sunsets." She fluttered her painted eyelashes. "He is ever so fond of lettuce, and my admiration for him is elevated to such a degree that it flusters me greatly to share in the presence of my feminine familiars. Now, what sayeth thou, magnificent maestro of music?"

"Duaaaaaaaaaaaah!" Octavia laid sprawled out across a velvety couch, gripping four whole bottles of wine and dumping their bubbly contents down her throat. She paused only to nibble at a cluster of grapes spilling out of a goblet held by a strapping young stallion while two more muscular male specimens in shiny saddles fanned her before a burning brazier. In the meantime, an entire orchestra performed a stringed symphony from an overhanging balcony lined with gold. "I LOVVVVVE Stallionivarius! HIC!" She waved down a line of marble columns. "Bring on the eunuchs with more buckets of wine! Verily, life is short and my esophagus even shorter!"

Today again...

"I..." Octavia rubbed her head, wincing in the restaurant's electric glow. "...m-might have had a tad bit much to drink..."

"Cool." Rainbow thrust the tortoise in Octavia's grasp. "Here ya go!"

"Guh!" Octavia fumbled to catch him. She grimaced as she stared into his wrinkly, drool-stained face. "But... b-but..." She looked at the pegasus with twitching eyes. "Why did you ask me to meet you here?"

"'Cuz it's just a block away from the Pet Shop, duh!" Rainbow Dash adjusted the saddlebag around her flank. "I had to grab Tank more food and I know how much a refined mare like you hates the smell of pet stores."

"Uhhhhh—"

"Thanks a ton, Octavia. You have no idea how much this means to me. Oh! I almost forgot." She tossed a set of keys. "There's the keys to my apartment. You're free to crash there. Tank loves to sleep in the foyer just beneath the window. And you're totally welcome to what's in the fridge. Just... y'know... don't drink all the cider."

"Errrrr—"

"Oh. Right. You like red wine. My bad." She turned tail. "Anyways, I gotta go help Twilight... uh... teach the Yak-Yaks of Yak-Yakistan to bro-hug... or something. Whatever. It's all butt-questing, anyways. Zoop!" Fwooosh! Rainbow Dash flew north.

Octavia stood alone with Tank. The elegantly dressed mare blinked, then stared at the tortoise.

The tortoise stared back. Tank smiled... then smiled some more.

Octavia blinked again. Her dainty ears twitched, one after another.

One by one, crickets broke out, filling the air with a crispy cadence.

Octavia and Tank sat a table on the restaurant's patio. White table cloth and softly lit candles lingered between them. Dark fluffy clouds shifted overhead.

At the far corner of the patio, a stallion sat on a stool, smoothly playing acoustic guitar for the couples seated under starlight.

Octavia hung her purse from the back of her chair and stared across the table.

Tank sat quietly with four phone books stacked beneath his scaled posterior. His head stuck out of his shell, eyes resting on Octavia.

The mare squirmed slightly. She bore a nervous smile, her teeth glistening to match the luster of her earrings.

Tank's eyes took five seconds to blink and another five seconds to reopen completely.

Octavia cleared her throat. She fluffed her mane, took a deep breath, and looked ready to open her muzzle—

Clank! A wine tray landed next to the table.

Octavia jumped.

The waiter dutifully placed two glasses on the tabletop. With expert motions, he stuck a corkscrew into the top of the wine bottle and began prying it open.

Octavia gulped, then glanced at Tank again.

Tank stared at her, enduring another ten second blink.

Pop! The bottle opened at last. The waiter poured Octavia a glass, and then Tank. He placed the bottle back into the tray, deposited two menus on the table, bowed, then left.

Silence resumed, save for the gentle riffs of an acoustic guitar.

Octavia reached for her glass, lifted it about halfway... hesitated... then placed it back down. Her eyes darted at Tank again.

Tank sat in place, saying nothing in particular.

The mare gulped. "Well..." She exhaled. "This... this is nice..."

Tank stared.

"It's delightful weather." Octavia cleared her throat. "I mean... for the month of March."

Tank stared.

"Have you ever been to Chicacolt?"

Tank stared.

"Don't quite care for the city myself." Octavia shuddered. "And don't get me started on their city council. Goddess above..."

Tank stared.

"I don't suppose you're registered independent?"

Tank stared.

"Mmmm. It's a scary world out there. I don't know what's nobler... to try making a change for good, against all odds, or to simply invest all of one's talent into art. The latter—if nothing else—stands to bring a certain degree of enlightenment to equine kind. Although it does seem to have an unavoidable stigma of cowardice attached to it..."

Tank stared.

"But... b-but here's the thing." Octavia leaned forward, painted eyes narrow. "If we didn't have art and music, then precisely what kind of life would we be striving to make equally available for everypony to begin with? If all we can afford is a stale existence, then what is the point?"

Tank stared.

"Hmmmm..." Octavia lifted her wine glass and swirled it. "...alas, silence is indeed the one indomitable stance in any argument." She raised the chalice. "I salute your steadfastness, good sir." And she took a sip.

Octavia sighed, barely touching the glistening oats alfredo on her plate.

"And... here's the thing..." She sniffled, gazing aside. "It's not that I devalue the clinical nature of depression. I just... feel that there is far too much weight put on it as an abstract diversion from the truth."

Tank leaned forward, quietly munching and scarfing his way through a thick plate of lettuce.

"I know that I am not one to talk, but I posit that depression is simply a natural state of being for all living things. 'Living' being the operative term, of course."

She nibbled a little bit on a tangled morsel of noodles, swallowed, and lightly dabbed her chin with a napkin.

"I mean... what is mortality? You live, and yet you know that you're going to die. So—effectively—every single thing that you aspire to do is inevitably going to crumble before the wages of time and entropy. And this isn't just the case with our physical beings, but the bare detritus of all our ambitions and accomplishments in the long run. This is because the abstract extension of our egos are just as mortal as our superficial shells, so why put any stock in making a name for ourselves if it'll all crumble to communicative dust in the end? I feel that—without even having to clarify the nature of such an existential dilemma with words—this is a grim truth understood by everyone! And how else is one to react to that except to be depressed? Why, it's simply the natural state of all creatures, a steady state of being before the great advent of unbeing. But confidence? Optimism? Cheerfulness?"

She pointed across the table.

"Those are freakish forms of thought. Those should be clinically documented as abhorrent to a healthy mentality, if we're to throw so much care and caution into one's psychological stability in the first place. But does the medical industry care to see through such a spectrum? Noooo... because it's far more profitable to focus on 'depression' and build a financial stockpile through pharmaceutical monopolies that benefit no one but the gross minority of fat cats who hold all health care systems on a leash!"

Tank took five seconds to close his eyes, took a bite of lettuce, then took another five seconds to stare across the table at Octavia again.

"Hmmmm..." Octavia smiled. "You know..." She dug a bit more eagerly into her alfredo. "...I've always been afraid of speaking my mind on this topic, for fear that I would be labeled as a 'pretentious fool' with 'unfounded theories.' But... you? You simply don't judge another pony for how they think, no matter how obtuse... or daring." She paused to perform a dreamy sigh. "I find that very refreshing. You're very refreshing. Has anypony ever told you that?" She stared at him while taking another bite.

Tank merely stretched his wrinkly neck out and swallowed more and more lettuce.

"Hehehe..." Octavia suppressed an unladylike laugh. "And you're so modest too." She cleared her throat, stabbing at her plate with a fork. "So... uhm..." She reached her free hoof up and brushed a strand of mahogany hair over her ear. "H-have you ever dined with other pretty mares before, or...?"

Glug! Glug! Glug!

Octavia finished chugging the bottle of red wine and slumped over the table, wheezing.

"Duaaaah—haa-haa-haa!" She slapped the table multiple times and smiled with rosy cheeks. "And... and... and th-then the cheekish tart had the nerve to call me a 'bucket head!' And I'm all like, you what?! I was performing Marerice Chavel's greatest masterpieces on a violin while you were still a bloody itch in your father's britches! So sod off with your personal attacks, ya bugger!" Her eyes flared. "She sure took the piss out of herself! Bloody wanker!" She lifted the wine bottle again. Glug! Glug! Glug!

Tank stared, smiling.

"Mmmmff... BRAAAAP!" Octavia belched, then waved a hoof before her muzzle. "Speaking of pissed! Hahahah! Whewwwwww..." She tossed her mane back. "Bollocks... I haven't felt this... this free in a long time! I don't know what it is about you, but... ulp... I feel like I can tell you everything. When I'm around you... I feel... safe." She sniffled. "I feel understood. Have ya ever felt that?" She patted her chest through her dress. "Right here? Right all up in your gut, mate. It's the bee's knees, I'm telling you..." Glug!

Tank stared, smiling.

"You know..." She dropped the bottle so that it rattled to a stop against a pile of other empty containers across the patio floor. "... maybe it's the grapes talkin'... ulp... but you're looking positively ravishing right now, love." She smiled crookedly. "I know it may be rather forward for a bird to ask this of a sailor, but would you like to have a go?" Her eyes darted towards the dance floor. "Just for old time's sake?"

Tank stared, smiling.

Octavia twirled on the floor with the tortoise in her grasp. A full moon hung overhead. All but one of the patio tables had been completely cleaned off, with chairs stacked upside down atop of them.

The one guitarist had been replaced by five, all wearing blindfolds as they hammered away at a classic tango suite, smiling.

Octavia spun. She held Tank close, then dipped low. She tossed her head back, cooing to the heavens as she lifted up again, resting with her muzzle against the reptile's.

Tank stared back. His eyecrests took five seconds each to wag.

"Hmmmmmm..." Octavia purred. "The things you do to me, love." They twirled once more. This time as Octavia dripped, she stared up into his beady turtle eyes and murmured, "So... your place or mine?"

Tank took another ten seconds to wink.

"Heeeeeee!" Octavia plucked a rose from her hair and bit onto the stem. "Sweep me away, you green devil!" She rose up. The two twirled, and when they finished, Tank was biting onto the stem of the rose instead.

The guitarists finished the last few chords and cheered into the night: "olé!"

Three short days later...

Cl-Clack! Rainbow's door unlocked, and a fuzzy blue pegasus strolled in through the front entrance.

"Whew-wee! A place that doesn't smell like hairy butt for once!" She dropped her saddlebags and hollered to the walls of the foyer. "Tankkk! I hommmme!" She coiled one wing, then the other, shuddering. "Yeesh! I lost count of how many screaming freaks I headbutted. Hey Octavia! Yo! Miss Melody! You better not have drank all the cider, 'cuz my body aches like a motherbu—" She flipped on a light-switch and froze in place... blinking.

Octavia stood up, eyes wide. "Uhhhhhh..." She was dressed from head to hooves in black lace with leather stockings. "Miss Dash...!" She glanced at the riding crop in her fetlock and hid it behind her back. "...you're b-back so soon!"

Rainbow's ears twitched. She looked up.

Tank hung upside down from a swingset, blindfolded and smiling. He had black lipstick marks all over his drooling face.

"I swear..." Octavia smiled nervously. "This is... uh... this is not what it looks like, darling."

With a loud clucking sound, a chicken flew out from behind a couch, followed by a bleating goat wearing a saddle.

Octavia's ears sagged as she sighed. "Okay... maybe just a smidgeon."

March 2016 - FamousLastWords - Spike and the Quest for Maturity

Author's Note

User: FamousLastWords
Prompt: Spike goes on a mission to find out how old he is. Why? Because he doesn't have a birth certificate and for God's sakes, nobody seems to have an answer. (sound familiar?)
He could be so many years old in pony years, but how does that translate to dragon aging? What are dragons supposed to be doing as they get older? At what age does he become an adult? So many questions he seeks to find the answer to, yet nobody has them.

March 2016 - FamousLastWords - Spike and the Quest for Maturity

"Good afternoon, Rarity!" Spike smiled, bowing low before the open door to Carousel Boutique. "Spike the Dragon Special Delivery at your service!"

"Hoo!" An owl levitated by his side, carrying a basket full of gemstones in his nimble claws. He glanced past his flapping wings at the little dragon standing beneath him. "Hoo! Hoo!"

"Huh? What's that, Owlowiscious?" Spike blinked up at the fowl.

A pair of avian eyes narrowed in exasperation.

"Oh! My bad!" Spike cleared his throat and smiled bashfully. "Spike the Dragon And Friends Special Delivery... erm... at your service. Eheh."

Owlowiscious sighed out the side of his beak. "Hoo..."

"Well, if you two aren't the most charming helpers in all of Ponyville!" Rarity said with a coy smile. "I've been needing these jewels for a special gown I've been designing all month! Now the look will finally be complete!" She levitated a half-dozen bits and deposited them generously in Spike's open claws. "Here you go. My appreciation for taking time out of your afternoon off to bring me these fragile gemstones."

"Hey! It's a real pleasure!" Spike said, his emerald eyes reflecting the shiny gold coins. "And with these bits, I'll finally be able to buy a new custom fishing rod from Zecora! Owlowiscious here has grown a new appreciation for local river trout." Spike winked. "Figured the little guy deserves to be spoiled every now and then."

"Hoo! Hoo!" Owlowiscious winked back, then gently released the basket of jewels into Rarity's gentle levitation spell.

"Well, every good deed deserves another." Rarity slowly, carefully carried the container across the interior of the Boutique. "I'm... actually rather relieved that you were keen on letting Twilight's adorable little pet assist you."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Spike shrugged as he and Owlowiscious strolled into the foyer. "Owlowiscious and I have come a long way from the time when I used to spread ketchup everywhere like blood and blame it on his carnivorous nature."

"Oh, but of course I know that, Spike." Rarity smiled. Licking her lips, she very... very gently placed the basket atop her design table. "It's just that these particular gems are quite fragile; even the slightest jolt or sneeze could shatter them into a million tiny pieces. That's why I requested that you enlist the help of your fine feathered friend. Carrying these jewels by wing is the absolute safest way it can be done."

"Yeah, so?" Spike shrugged. "I'm not offended. Besides..." He chuckled as he leaned against a random ponyquin in the corner. "...it's a good long while before I grow wings, and I'm sure you don't want your fragile gems rattling around in the grubby claws of a baby dragon. Heh."

"Not my choice of words, but you're on the right track... more or less." Rarity suddenly froze in place, squinting towards the far end of her dress shop. "Hmmm... funny..."

"What?" Spike blinked, craning his scaled neck to see. "Is something wrong with the gems? I swear, Owlowiscious experienced absolutely zero wind turbulence the whole way here!"

"Hoo!"

"No, it's not that." Rarity pivoted about, tapping her chin in thought. "I was just... dwelling on what you said."

"What, about Owlowiscious being into river trout? It's only nature, Rarity. Nothing to be freaked out about. Just ask Fluttershy!"

"No, not that. You..." Rarity's ears twitched as she broke into a tiny, tittering giggle. "I do hope you know, Spikey-Wikey, that we call you a 'baby dragon' as a term of endearment... among other things. Eheheh..."

"Yeah yeah." Spike shrugged. "So what? It's what I am, right?"

"Well, it begs the question... now that I think about it." Rarity levitated each fragile jewel, examining them one by one before floating them alongside the half-finished dress on her stage. "Isn't Twilight twenty-three years old?"

"Twenty-four!" Spike grinned wide. "Her birthday's on a Monday this year!" He leaned to his left, whispering aside to Owlowiscious. "I've already bought her a mug with a naughty word on it."

"Hoo?"

"Twilight! Who else?"

Rarity spoke: "Well, didn't Twilight get her cutie mark at age eight?"

"Er... yeah." Spike blinked. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Well, darling, she got her cutie mark on the day you were hatched... and that was sixteen years ago!" Rarity turned to smile at him. "And sixteen years is hardly what I would call 'baby dragon' material."

Spike froze in place. His pupils shrinking. "Huh... I never... thought about it that much, really..."

"If anything, Spikey-Wikey, you're more akin to a 'teenage dragon.' But, I'm certainly no expert on that. Besides, it's not as though you've broken out with... brbrbrbrrrb..." She shuddered. "...draconian acne. Sweet Celestia, I grimace at the thought, you poor thing."

"Uhm..." Spike's claws fiddled with one another. "Should I have draconian acne?"

"Eh, it's nothing to dwell upon, I'm sure." Rarity waved a dainty hoof. "Dragons... ponies... we're as different as oil and water. But don't let me lecture you on the topic. I'm just... in a thoughtful mode. Such is always the case when I'm stuck in the middle of an inspirational creativity session. For instance, all last night, I couldn't stop thinking about the ultimate heat death of the universe and how our paltry mortality measures so little in the grand scheme of things." She stared off into space, smiling. "...Well!" She twirled around to face her dress again. "Thank Goddess for petticoats!"

"Errrr... right..." Spike twirled around, shuffling out of the Boutique in a sudden stupor. Owlowiscious followed him as he gulped a lump down his throat. "Isn't it nice to... have distractions?"

"Thanks once again, Spike. And good luck with the fishing rod!" Rarity fluffed her mane, admiring her reflection in the jewels. "Hmmm... trout... fish... scales... shiny studs. Oooooh! A 'mermaid gown!' That would be positively fab—no. No, it wouldn't catch on. Not unless there's a fashion show every Friday. As they say: 'Meh'."

"Hoo!"

"Twilight Sparkle, of course!" Spike frowned, squatting on a wooden bench in the middle of a rustic hut. "Who else would I ask about it?"

"Hoo!" Owlowiscious hooted, levitating beside a smattering of tribal masks planted to the wall.

"Because she's the closest thing Ponyville has to a dragon expert! Even if she's made it clear that... she knows very little." Spike gulped. "Even with all her books." He dragged a palm across his scaled face. "Doesn't help that she's off on a trip to Dream Valley, teaching Starlight Glimmer... how to para-sail for friendship... or something."

"Hoo! Hoo Hoo!"

"Well, it may not seem very important to you. Sixteen is—what—two centuries in owl years or something?" Spike pressed two hands to his chest. "But for all I know, it could just be a sneeze for me, and in the end I'm bound to live half-as-long as Princess Celestia or something!" He folded his arms with a huff. "And you of all birds should know that dragon sneezes are nothing to... erm... you-know-what at."

"Hoo..."

"At last, the rod is finished, my young friend Spike." Zecora trotted in from her workroom, balancing a sturdy new fishing pole across her flank. "I hope it is something you and your owl companion will like."

"Careful who you're calling 'young friend,' Zecora." Spike sighed as he gingerly took the rod from her and examined it with sullen eyes. "Some things are less accurate than you think, and I'd hate for a silly mistake to sully your intellectual reputation."

Zecora squinted. "Perhaps it is none of my business to inquire, but why are you stuck so deep in your own mire?"

"Hoo! Hoo!" Owlowiscious levitated directly in front of the zebra, gesturing wildly with one wing while his beak hooted away. "Hoo hoo hoo! Hoo!"

"Mmmmm... yes... I see..." Zecora nodded. She then turned to Spike with a calm smile. "Quite the thorough explanation given by your loyal fowl. Unfortunately, I lack a linguistic understanding of owl."

Owlowiscious face-feathered with a sigh.

"It's nothing for you to be concerned about, Zecora." Spike nevertheless sighed. "Honest."

"Regardless, perhaps it would be best to get the matter off your chest?"

"Mmmm... well..." Spike rested the fishing rod over his shoulder and hung his tiny dragon arms over it. "I was making a delivery of special jewels to Carousel Boutique earlier, and Rarity made the observation that it's been sixteen years since I was first hatched." He gulped, staring straight across the hut. "And yet, everypony has only ever called me a 'baby dragon.' Like... I've come to accept it myself. Why shouldn't I? I look like a baby... sound like a baby..."

"Hoo! Hoo!" Owlowiscious flew higher to the ceiling. "Hoo!"

Spike rolled his slitted eyes. "And I don't have my wings yet. Thanks for reminding me, ya mangy mouse-snatcher."

"Hooooo..."

"Hmmmmm..." Zecora tapped her chin in thought. "You are literate, resourceful, and the conqueror of many fears. Does one need to quantify all that with years?"

"Yes? No? I mean... I dunno..." Spike hopped down to his feet and absent-mindedly toyed around with the fishing rod, pretending as if it was a sword. "Zebras live... what... sixty to eighty years on average? Same with all ponies. But dragons? Who really knows how long dragons live, huh? Maybe Rarity's right. Maybe I really am a teenager. I think the only ones who can tell me for sure are other, legit teenage dragons. And..." He froze in place, hugging his fishing rod with a slight shiver. "...I-I really don't want to meet any of them again any time soon."

"It's quite possible that dragons take considerable more decades to age," Zecora said. "But don't let such an information gap be a cage! Embrace the untold years you have left to enjoy, whether your current status makes you an elder... hmmm-hmmm... or a little boy."

"But don't you think it's important to know, Zecora?" Spike looked up at her with glistening eyes. "Like... how will my years scale up with Twilight and the rest of my friends?" He touched two claws together while glancing forlornly up at Owlowiscious. "How will I know whether or not I'm really, truly mature for the challenges ahead? I... I just don't want to make things awkward for myself or for the ponies I know and love."

Zecora nodded. "Maturity is a very important life aspect. Your fixation on it is something that I can respect. If you're so determined to understand more, then perhaps a quest for knowledge is in store."

"Huh?" Spike blinked. "What... what do you mean? A quest?"

Zecora smiled, her eyes taking on a mystic glint as she leaned forward. "Due north of here, there is a mountain made of blue stone... with a summit so high that it chills hikers to the bone. There, one can find a wise mage at its peak. In exchange for a favor, this wise hermit will grant you the knowledge that you seek."

"Whoah... for real?" Spike blinked. "So... I can go to this wizard, do a task for him, and then he'll fill me in on dragon aging and all that snazzy stuff?"

"Granted, this knowledge is tangential rumor at best," Zecora said. "You may need Twilight's help to put it to the test—"

"No way!" Spike briskly handed Zecora the fishing pole again. "She's off doing important friendship lesson stuff with Starlight! If anyone's gonna make this happen, then it's up to a wise, growing, teenage dragon like yours truly!"

"Hoo! Hoo!"

Spike blushed, smiling up at his avian companion. "And his... ever loyal owl friend... of c-course."

"Well, if you're so determined..." Zecora started—

"I'll tell you how it goes, Zecora!" Spike waved as he waddled briskly out of the hut with Owlowiscious in tow. "Thanks! You're the best!"

The zebra blinked after him. "...let's hope it is not your ruin." She nevertheless smiled, then shelved the fishing rod on a shelf where she wouldn't forget it.

"For days... weeks he traversed the wild hilltops of Equestria." Spike panted, sweated, and climbed over a ridge of jagged stone. "Surrounded by lions, tigers, and hydras of all shapes and sizes. But did he give up?! No! With scary dragon breath at his beck and call and a loyal eye-stabbing owl at his side, he took every challenge that the interminably huge landscape threw at him and simply shrugged it off! Because his quest was too important to ignore, and his existential thirst for self-contentment far too intense to leave unquenched!"

At last, he reached the top of a hill and stood there, panting, surrounded on all sides by dense forest.

Owlowiscious hovered at his side. "Hoo! Hoo!"

"Yeah, well, I wanna hear you come up with a snazzier story to tell the others when we get back!" Spike frowned, pointing at a tall mountain peak of blue-tinged granite lingering in front of them. "Because the destination is right flippin' here!"

Owlowiscious blinked. "Hoo..."

"When did we leave Zecora's hut? Two hours ago?"

Owlowiscious nodded.

"Ehhhhh..." Spike sighed. "Why am I complaining?" With a shrug, he shuffled off for the tall peak looming in front of him. "Still... sometimes it feels like awesome, epic journeys were sooooooo pre-Tirek." His spines drooped. "...or maybe I'm just getting older."

"Hoo! Hoo!"

"Mmmfff... easy for you to say."

"Grnnngh! Guh!" At long last, Spike climbed onto the top of the granite summit. His claws scraped against azure stone, sending pebbles bounding downhill. Once he had an even footing, he stood up, wobbling slightly. He wiped the sweat off his scales and glanced around, blinking.

Fwoosh! Owlowiscious flew up and hovered behind him. "Hoo!"

"You said it," Spike nodded. "This place is deserted."

Sure enough, an old, bent, leaf-less tree was all that stood in the middle of the blue plateau. There was no sign of any living soul—pony or otherwise.

"Okay, so I see a super ancient tree..." Spike pointed. "...but no wise old magician sitting beneath it." He blinked, then sighed. "Perhaps Zecora was right. Maybe it was all just a stupid little rumor."

"Hoo! Hoo!"

"Mrmmff..." Spike rolled his eyes. "Well the least you can be is supportive." He turned tail and made to lurch down the mountainside. "Let's head on back. I'm in the mood for pizza rolls anyway—"

Then, from behind: "Crkkkk! Do you wish to kn-kn-know your future? Then you c-c-came to the right place! Crkkk!"

"What..." Spike slowly turned around, his eyeslits narrow and searching. "...the fudge?"

The petrified tree—previously inert and lifeless—was now wriggling like a vertical snake. Crooked limbs twisted and turned on wooden hinges, filling the chilly air with a constant creaking noise.

"Step r-r-right up and d-d-discover your fortune! For I am the wise Oak of Oakenstein! Crkkkk!"

Lips pursed, Spike walked slowly around the stump of the tree. Owlowiscious followed, and soon both were gazing up at the north end of the tree.

"Hello there, little b-b-boy!" A splintery mouth full of wooden teeth opened and closed like a hand puppet's.

"Gaaaaaah!" Spike and the owl jumped back, hugging each other.

"C-C-Care to learn the secrets of the universe?!"

"Uhm... s-sure!" Spike smiled nervously, shivering. "I mean, who d-doesn't? Every time I sit down to breakfast in the morning, I'm all like... 'wow, this strawberry strudel is nice, but if only I could grasp an ontological certainty to the all-encompassing reality of everything!'"

"Well you're in l-l-luck!" The tree mechanically gyrated its stiff limbs, rocking from side to side like a sentient flower inside an invisible soda can. "Ask any qu-qu-question of the wise Oak of Oakenstein, and my eternal knowledge... shall be... granted...to..." The tree suddenly lurched to its left side, its wooden eyes spreading apart as its mandibles hung open. "Youuuuuuuuuu," it gargled in a deep, guttural voice.

Spike blinked. He and Owlowiscious craned their necks to the side.

Along the west end of the tree's stump, there was a narrow vertical slot. Above it had been notched the words: "Please insert coins here!"

Spike glanced at his feathered friend. He shrugged, produced a bit, then slid it into the slot in question. Pl-Plink!

The tree shook, wobbled, and ultimately came back to life. "R-r-r-r-rrrrrrrrrighty then!" The trunk stood erect, branches waving uselessly. "What is your question, little g-g-girl?! Ask it and the wise Oak of Oakenstein shall deliver!"

"Yeah... uhm..." Spike pointed at himself. "I'm a dragon."

"Well, g-g-good evening to you, handsome squirrel!"

"No, dragon! I'm a—" Spike waved his hand. "Look, doesn't matter who or what I am. Do you know anything about dragons?"

"Well s-s-sure I do! The wise Oak of Oakenstein has been an ambassador to dr-dr-dragonkind for every nut harvest season since the Grand Chipmunk War!"

"Hoo! Hoo!"

"Shhh!" Spike hissed. "Lemme ask the question, 'kay?" He cleared his throat and leaned forward. "Oh wise Oak of Oakenstein... just how long do magical purple dragons have to live?" He gulped. "And at age fourteen... am I a baby or a teenager?"

"Have you c-c-considered slicing yourself in half and c-c-counting your rings?"

Spike blinked. "Wat."

"Ha. Ha. Ha." The tree wobbled and shook, its wooden jaws swinging as well as its branches. "Just an old tree j-j-joke!" It lurched forward with a groan. "The wise Oak of Oakenstein will answer the squirrel's question for a f-f-favor!"

"A favor! Right!" Spike nodded. "Zecora told me about this! Well, name it! Cuz I really want to know about dragon maturity!"

"You m-m-must go fetch a Seed of Magical Rejuvenation from the Hall of the Termite King!"

"... ... ..." Spike blinked. "...huh."

"Do not worry! The path through the Termite Mounds has b-b-been clear of Chipmunk Incursion for centuries now!"

"Just... uh... how far away is this Seed of Magical Rejuvenation anyway?"

"Five miles to the west!"

"Hey..." Spike shrugged. "That's not so bad!" He looked aside. "Right, Owlowiscious—"

"Or five thousand miles to the east."

Spike's spines twitched.

The tree wobbled backwards with an apologetic groan. "Roots. These roots keep the wise Oak of Oakenstein from fact checking—"

"Uh huh. Yeah, sure. So if I go and grab this Seed and bring it back, you'll answer my question?"

"Absopositivolutely!"

"Right!" Spike rubbed his palms together and swiveled around. "Then what are we waiting for, Owlowiscious? Let's go do this!"

The owl glared at him. "Hooooo..."

"Pffft... come on... it's just a fetch quest." Spike shrugged with a smile. "How hard could it be?"

CRACKKKK!

Lightning struck the mast of Spike's makeshift raft.

"Gaaaugh!" Spike howled into the blistering squall. Mountainous waves of ocean water surged all around him, spraying his scaley little body with brine and seafoam. "Grnnngh! Don't let go of the rudder, Owlowiscious!"

"Hooo!" The bird perched on the instrument in question, garbed in a wet raincoat. "Hoo hooo!"

"We've been over this time and time again!" Spike gnashed his teeth. His eyes glinted in the next flicker of lightning. "We must sail into the eye of the storm." His claws tightened to his grip of a rope as he struggled to raise the sail again. "Otherwise, the sea serpents will devour us... just like they did last time."

"HRESSSHA!" A bipedal lizard with a dagger leapt over a river of lava and flew at Spike.

"Grnnngh!" Spike blocked with his shield and knocked the beast back across the cavern. "Raaaaugh!" He slashed a two-edged sword.

"HISSSS!" The reptile leapt backwards. Within seconds, an owl in tiny plated armor attacked its skull, blinding the monster. The beast flailed and hissed, teetering precariously on the edge of a tall cliff overlooking a lake of liquid magma. "HRESSSSSH!"

"That's right!" Spike panted. "You distract him while I go for the chest with the compass in it—" Spike ran across an earthen bridge, only to have a mess of gigantic arachnids fall from the ceiling and form a chitinous phalanx in front of him. "Awwwww shoot, he summoned scorpions again!"

"Hoo! Hoo!"

"Of course I'll hit 'em in the stinger!" Schiiiing! Spike readied his sword, snarling. "You just keep Miss Beauty Queen over there busy! Psssst! Hey! Flash Funk wannabes! Come and get some!"

Drooling, the scorpions converged on the little dragon. Sparks flew wildly as stinger met blade.

"Raaaaaaaaugh!" Cl-Clank!

"Okay..." Spike took a deep breath, perching on the back of a tall suit of armor. "B4 to C6."

The gigantic statue sliddddddd magically across an enormous marble slab comprised of black-and-white tiles.

"Hoo!" Owlowiscious flapped its wings wildly from the sidelines. "Hoo! Hoo!"

"What?!?" Spike flashed him a sweaty look. "Why didn't you tell me that before I made the move?!"

Just as he spoke, the twelve-foot-tall queen piece from the opposing pivoted to face him, then slid towards the dragon with menacing grace.

"Awwwwwwwwww fudge." Spike's spines drooped, along with the rest of his body. "Not again."

"Hoo..." Owlowiscious covered his eyes with two feathers.

SCHIIIIING! The queen swung a massive scepter at the other statue. SMASSSH!

"Aaaaaaaaugh!" Spike fell hard to the floor amidst a sea of armor pieces.

"Hah hah hah!" A balding stallion sat across a tiny table erected in the middle of a verdant green field. "You fell for it! My ultimate trap!"

Spike finished drinking from one of two goblets. He placed the container down and squinted through a black mask. "And what do you mean by that, good sir?"

"I switched the poison while you weren't losing, you moron! Your intellect can't stand against mine! And now everypony in Equestria will know that you lost the ultimate game of wits against me! Hah hah hah hah hah—" The stallion froze in mid grin... then teetered over to the ground. THUD!

Spike sat up and calmly took the hoof of a dainty princess dressed in flowy white silk. "Alright. Let's go and finish that negotiation with the griffon ambassador over contested farmland along the fringes of Termite King territory."

"Hoo!" Owlowiscious flew overhead, blinking. "Hoo! Hoo?"

"What?" Spike shrugged. "They were both poisoned. I developed an antidote back in the harbor of Constantinopony, remember?"

"Hoo..."

"Uhm..." The princess trembled. "Can we go now, Dragon Pirate Spike?"

Spike nodded, hurrying along. "As you wish."

Panicked ponies galloped left and right across a rain-swept ship's deck. Bloodthirtsy harpies shrieked, divebombing them constantly with their razor sharp talons.

"Aaaaaaaaaah!"

"Gaaaaaaaah!"

"The Princesses of Canterlot have abandoned ussssss!"

"I don't want to die!"

"Aaaaaaaah!"

"Relax! Everypony relax!" Spike huffed and puffed, swinging two blades around at the end of rusted chains attached to his forearms. "I've got this! Really, I do—"

"SHREEEEEEEEE!" A half-dozen harpies dove at him all at once.

"Gah! You chicks really don't let up, do you?" Growling, Spike spun with a flash of red-and-white body paint and knocked the harpies out of the air. "Didn't I tell you to back up?!"

Just then, something bubbled from deep beneath the waters. A mess of massive hydra heads lifted, shrieking and spilling water everywhere.

"Huh..." Spike slumped against an anchor wheel, gazing up at the reptilian necks towering above him and the ship. "Guess they followed us all the way from Spartrot."

"Hoo! Hoo!" Owlowiscious hooted into the torrential rain.

"Can't! Spike gnashed his teeth. "I haven't unlocked that ability yet!"

"GRAAAAAAAAAAWL!" The hydra heads shrieked.

Spike twirled his chain-blades. "Guess I gotta do this the vanilla way." He ran straight forward. "Get ready with the quick-time prompts, Owlowiscious!"

"Hoo!" The bird saluted.

And Spike threw himself off the ship's edge, diving against a backdrop of forked lighting as he sailed towards the hydras with a warcry. "RAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!"

"Alas, I have followed your travels very... very closely, purple hero," hissed the ravenous Termite King through his jagged mandibles. His multiple beady eyes twitched between sharp black follicles as he equipped a sword and shield in his hooked insectoid limbs. "I have studied your every tactic... your every talent—both learned and ingrained. You have traversed many mountains and oceans, defeated many monsters and despots to get to this point. But your brave journey ends here, draconian fool." His booming voice echoed against the cold earthen walls of the ginormous mound interior surrounding him. "For I am the Termite King! I am Death Incarnate! The End of Forests and the Reaper of Sawdust! The only way you're getting your grubby little claws on the Seed of Magical Rejuvenation is as a corpse! Mark my words, hero, I shall consume your flesh and spit out your bones to make a trophy for all my workers and soldiers to gaze upon and marvel at the foolishness of those who seek to oppose my might and challenge my throne! So try your best, hero! But your next move shall be your last! That is my firm promise! A promise made in blood! YOUR blood! Mwa ha ha ha ha haaa!!!"

"... ... ..." Spike stood, clad from head to tail in glowing, epic, enchanted titanium plates. Adjusting his grip of a series of levitating shards extended from a translucent gemstone hilt, he turned to look at Owlowiscious. The bird looked back from his hovering rocket perch powered by faerie fire. "... ... ..." At long last, Spike turned once again. He gazed down at the tiny little speck of a Termite King situated on the cold floor beneath him. Stifling a yawn, Spike leaned a hand forward... and flicked the Termite King across the room with a single claw.

"Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" The subterranean dictator's screaming voice grew faint as his body flew endlessly down a long, black corridor. "I... ammmmmm... defeateddddddddddd..." Silence. More silence. Then—at last—a thud. Followed by a distant explosion. POWWW!

"Zoop." Spike spun around. "Now. Where's the Seed?"

"Hoo! Hoo!" Owlowiscious pointed across the chamber to a giant glowing acorn situated atop a cylindrical dais.

"Sweet!" Spike sheathed his weapon into a vibrant purple void satchel and happily waddled towards his target. "Time to grab this and bring it back to the wise Oak of Oakenstein... er..." He smiled aside, blushing. "After the dinner date we've promised to Princess Butter Clop, of course."

"Hooooo-hoooo." Owlowiscious winked coyly.

"Mmmmfff... guh... grkk..."

Huffing and puffing, Spike climbed to the top of the blue stone mountain surrounded by forest.

"Nnskkt... whew..." He stood in his magical gear, wiping sweat from his brow. "We're back... oh wise Oak of Oakenstein..."

"Hoo! Hoo!" Owlowiscious flew up to Spike's side.

"Let's see now..." Spike rummaged through his belongings. "...I've brought you the Mythical Dredge Eye of the Abysmal Ether Kraken... the Sacred Cogwheel of Eversteam... a lavender scented hoofkerchief—don't ask—this... weird glowy triangle thingy... Oh! And who can forget..."

Plunk! He dropped the glowing acorn to the surface of the stone summit.

"...the Seed of Magical Rejuvenation, just like you asked for. Now..." He slumped in place, exhaling. "How about lecturing me on dragon aging, huh?" Silence. "... ... ...Mr Oakenstein?"

More silence.

The dragon and owl craned their necks.

A limp tree lay on its side. Exposed gears and wires spilled out of its hollow interior.

"Uhhhh..." Spike scratched his chin.

"Hoo?" Owlowiscious' feathered brow furrowed. He urged the dragon whelp forward. "Hoo! Hoo Hoo!"

Fidgeting, Spike reluctantly approached the collapsed tree. He tilted his head sideways and stared at a series of words etched into the base of the trunk: "... ... ...'Made in Mexicolt?!'" He grimaced, hard. "Ohhhhhhhh..." His eyes rolled. "...you've gotta be kidding me!"

"Crkkkkk!" The stiff limbs of the horizontal tree suddenly quivered to life. "'Please insert a c-c-coin and I will t-t-tell your fortune, little boy or girl! Crkkk!"

Frowning, Spike shoved a golden bit into his trunk and lifted the thing's jaws by its knotted hinges. "Hey! Jerkwood! I went and defeated the Termite King for your stupid little acorn! Now will you tell me how old dragons live or not?!"

"Crkkkkk! Have you considered slicing yourself in half and c-c-counting the rings?"

"Graaaaaaaaaaugh!" Spike lifted the tree over his head and threw it down the mountainside.

The tree laughed mechanically on its way down. "Ha. Ha. Ha—" THUD! Then all was silent.

Spike panted and panted.

With a sympathetic sigh, Owlowiscious levitated down and patted the whelp's shoulder with its wing. "Hoo Hoo..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know..." With a shrug, the dragon turned around and shuffled south towards Ponyville. "...takin' orders from a piece of flippin' firewood. What was I thinking? Guess I am a baby dragon after all..."

"Hoo..."

"Me! That's who! Mrmmmff... I need something to make me feel better."

Spike's claws clutched the last pizza roll from a paper plate and tossed it down his gullet. After munching on the saucy treat, he gulped and swallowed it down with some soda. "So... mrmmfff..." He looked across the palace's glossy throne room. "...in the end, he couldn't even tell me anything about how a dragon ages, matures, or whatever. So... I got a tad bit angry and threw the wise Oak of Oakenstein down the mountainside, where he presumably crumbled into tiny, splintery pieces. But... that's okay, right? Mechanical wooden automatons don't have souls... at least not in any religion I know. But you've been studying the topic for much longer, Twilight. What do you think?"

Silence.

Spike slurped and slurped from his soda. At long last, he glanced up again. "Mrmmmff... Twilight?"

The alicorn gawked at him. She turned to look at Owlowiscious on his perch. The bird merely nodded.

"Spike..." Gulping, Twilight turned to the dragon once again. "Do you mean to tell me that—all this time that I was in Dream Valley teaching a friendship lesson to Starlight Glimmer—you were sailing a stormy ocean, ridding dungeons of reptilian mercenaries, saving kingdoms from tyrannical rulers, rescuing a princess from the clutches of a bald psychopath, crossing extra-dimensional realms, and removing the despotic Termite King from power?"

"Yeah, so?" Spike brushed his claws off. "Say, do you mind if I nuke more rolls? I know it's late and all, but I'm famished."

"Spike! Don't you get it?!" Twilight grinned. "You're so worried and bent out of shape over how old you are... but in the meantime you've actually been accomplishing a lot of very challenging, very amazing things!"

"Well, the Halls of the Termite King were really... really far away." Spike snorted. "I would have gotten there a lot easier if I had... y'know... grown some wings."

"That's not the point, Spike!" Twilight trotted over, smiling proudly. "It took a great deal of experience, wisdom, and—most of all—maturity to manage the hurdles you've faced!" She rested a hoof on his shoulder. "What does it matter how old you are? You're already making a difference in the world, and that's something ponies will forever remember you for! Isn't that timeless enough?"

"Huh..." Spike blinked. "I never thought of it that way."

"Of course not, you silly dragon!" Twilight giggled. "I've taught you by example how to be a nervous basket-case. And I'm awfully sorry for that."

"Heh... apology accepted and forgiven." Spike winked up at the perch. "Ain't that right, Owlowiscious?"

"Hoo! Hoo!"

"Just one thing I want to know," Twilight said, blinking. "What... made you think you had to go on such a crazy, ridiculous bunch of quests in the first place?"

There was a knock on the door. Starlight Glimmer stuck her head into the throneroom. "Princess Twilight? You have a visitor."

"Send 'em in."

Zecora trotted into the room. "Good tidings and gifts I bring." The zebra smiled. "I certainly hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Not at all, Zecora!" Twilight smiled. "Spike was just telling me about this amazing journey he went on! You should hear all about it too!"

"Ah! Spike! What a coincidental pleasure!" Zecora reached back into her saddlebag. "I do believe he misplaced something of no small measure."

"Hey! My fishing rod!" Spike waddled over and grasped the stick in question. "Sweet! You even kept it in one piece!"

"Heheheh... oh, but of course." Zecora smiled. "I am not a dishonest horse."

"Now I can relax and catch some trout to feed my buddy, Owlowiscious."

"Such a reward is completely befitting." She leaned in with a wink. "For a soul that's so naturally maturing."

Spike stared at her.

She stood still, smiling back.

"Heh... yeah..." Spike nodded, hugging the fishing rod to his chest. "True that."

"Well, Spike, I'm glad that you're no longer so obsessed with your age," Twilight said. "As far as I'm concerned, you're virtually timeless."

"I'm inclined to agree." Zecora chuckled. "No need for the dragon to give himself the third-degree."

"Say, that reminds me." Spike placed the fishing rod down and kicked at the palace floor with his feet. "If I'm so... y'know... timeless... then does that mean that the age of consent is up to interpretation?"

Both Spike and Twilight did a double-take.

"Huh?! What?!" Twilight made a face. "Why would you even ask that question?"

"Oh, y'know..." Spike smiled rosily as he produced a lavender-scented hoofkerchief and nuzzled the initials P.B.C to his scaley cheek. "...no reason."

"Hoo Hoooooooo..." Owlowiscious drew into his feathers.

"... ... ..." Twilight snarled, swiveling about. "Zecoraaaaaaaaa..."

All she could see was a flash of stripes as the shaman leapt out the Palace window.

March 2016 - Fana Farouche - A Stallion and His Train Engine

Author's Note

User: Fana Farouche
Prompt: "I was going to request a day in the life of Farouche the Engineer, but in light of the above I'd be very happy with a day in the life of a pony who drives a steam train (possibly with an unexplained bump on his head). "

The story takes place in the Austraeoh universe and will make more sense for those who have read Chapter 118 of Utaan.

March 2016 - Fana Farouche - A Stallion and His Train Engine

"Another shovel of dredge coal for the firebox. Just like that. See? Simple. Easy. Done."

"R-Right. Uhm... just like that..."

"Is there a problem, Fana?"

"N-no, father! I was just... uhm..."

"This is the way it's always been done. Pay attention or you'll never get it down right."

"I am paying attention father."

"Then what's the damned problem?"

"Are... are we ever going to talk about Uccixef? She should be here learning the ropes too, don't you think?"

"... ... ...I am teaching you, Fana. This is for your ears and your ears alone."

"But father—"

"Uccixef made a choice! And now the crazy mare's gone! For Verlaxion's sake, am I going to have to nail your hooves to the engine room floor for you to pay some Goddess-damned attention?!"

"I'm sorry, Father."

"Don't be sorry. Be responsible. Now take heed. You shove the dredge coal into the firebox, like so, and then—"

Fana's amber eyes flickered open.

He saw the green and gray streaks of fir trees blurring by.

He blinked. Rubbing a hoof over his face, the stallion collected a few stray tears in his hoof. He glanced at his fetlocks, seeing moisture soiled with dust and embers.

Nostrils flaring, Fana reached his hoof outward and slapped the window shut. The cold air echoed outside the body of the locomotive. Once again, the stallion was alone with the rumbling fire of the train's engine.

Taking a deep breath, he marched into the train car behind him. A metallic door schwisshed open, revealing cage after rattling cage full of flammable ore beneath glinting manalight. He hauled a bunch of dredge coal into a shovel, turned around, and carefully limped his way back into the engine compartment. Opening a firebox, he dropped the ore in, squinting his eyes from the resulting wave of heat. Then, slapping the box shut, he adjusted a few knobs along the controls, redistributed the engine's manabanks, and accelerated the train down a straightaway as he approached another Prefecture.

"Easy! Easy does it!" hollered a worker in Shoreline Trade Consortium fatigues. He backtrotted across the tracks before of the slowly coasting engine, waving a baton in his telekinetic grip.

Fana leaned his upper body out the window of his engine. His ears twitched against the gentle drift of snow from the mountains overshadowing the company depot. Working carefully with the conductor in front of him, he rolled the engine onto a set of conjoining tracks.

"Aaaaaaand... hold it right there!" the worker shouted.

Fana ducked back into the engine compartment. He jerked a lever. The engine lurched to a stop with an ear-splitting screech of metal wheels. Soon, all was still, save for the puttering of steam vents.

"Alright!" The worker spun and whistled towards the nearest loading platform.

A unicorn crawled up into a steam powered crane. Using a magical boost, the other Consortium employee swung the arm of the apparatus around so that it loomed above Fana's train cars.

Fana trotted briskly to the rear compartments and slapped several levers. The compartments flooded with daylight as multiple sunroof panels opened, one after another. The crane descended, slipped neatly through the openings, and latched onto heavy crates full of supplies and ordinance.

One by one, the crane relieved Fana's train of its precious cargo. This was a process that would take well over forty-five minutes.

Fana took the opportunity to step outside his engine. The mountain air slammed into him with a bone-chilling breeze. He tried not to show how much his skin enjoyed the sensation. Instead, the engineer made a bee-line for the other conductor.

"This will take a while. To be honest..." The conductor chuckled. "We didn't expect the delivery this early. But you're always punctual, aren't you, Farouche?"

"Hey..." Fana shrugged with a soot-stained smile. "Month of Thawing's coming up, but we don't ever slow down, do we?"

"Got that right."

"Ready for me to sign the delivery order?"

"Oh. Uhm. Totally." The conductor levitated a clipboard out of his fatigues' pocket. "Don't you wanna... y'know...?"

"Hmmm?" Fana whipped out a pen and began scribbling notes onto the page, along with his signature.

"Well, we're having a belated Unification Day celebration, and you're well ahead of schedule." The conductor smiled. "Why don't you hang out a bit, Farouche? You're not expected at Steamfall for days."

"Yeah..." Fana exhaled, finishing his name with a swirly "E" at the very end. "Thanks, but I'm good."

"Awwww, come on, guy." The conductor smiled. "An engineer with that many years under your belt—you've gotta have some crazy-flank stories to tell about the stuff you've seen all over the Northern Prefectures!"

Fana merely cleared his throat. "I... uhm... I-I've really got to get going." He hoofed the clipboard back. "Alert me once the extraction's complete, okay?"

The conductor merely nodded. He looked the engineer up and down. "Hell of a lot of gunk on you. We've got showers here, y'know."

"I'll be fine." Fana turned tail and climbed back into the engine.

"Look. I don't mean to pry, buddy." The conductor's face contorted worriedly. "But are you glued to that engine or what?"

Fana closed his eyes, took a deep breath...

...and climbed the rest of the way in.

Snow fell in gentle flurries, dragging horizontally through the mountain air.

Fana stared at them... and past them.

He had time to kill towards his destination, so he puttered the engine westward at a leisurely pace. Forests and half-frozen lakes bent around him. All the while, mountainous plateaus loomed directly to the north, ancient and unmoving. If Fana squinted hard, he couldn't tell where the peaks ended and the sky began. It all became a single gray wall for the stallion—one he couldn't pierce, but was somehow comforting all the while. Like a ceiling to an endless room.

Steam pipes hissed right on time.

With a stifled sigh, Fana reached forward and slapped a lever or two.

The engine rumbled back to its usual dull roar. Everything was safe and steady. It was almost too easy.

Fana took a deep breath. He gazed towards the left of the engine compartment.

A sheet of paper lay across a corner shelf. The page was blank, despite a pen and inkwell resting atop of it, weighing the material down.

Fana bit his lip. With a slight shudder, he turned to gaze outside the window once again.

A strange noise lit the air, deep and resonating. Like moans.

With a slight gasp, Fana instantly slowed the engine. He flung the window open to a snowy breeze and stuck his head out to look ahead.

A group of earth ponies were herding cattle across the tracks ahead of his engine. One stallion waved his hooves wildly at the Consortium vehicle. Upon seeing it decelerate, the farmer calmed... then continued urging his livestock forward.

"Hello!" Fana called out with a bright smile. "Uhm... Verlaxion's blessings!"

"Verlaxion's blessings," the farmers apathetically droned back, hurrying along.

"I didn't see you there! Heheh... sorry... uhm... if I caused any distress!" the engineer exclaimed.

"It's all good," said one of the herders, urging his cattle towards a stretch of tundra in the shadow of a mountain peak. "No harm done."

"Where... uh... are you headed?" Fana asked.

"Cleft Prefecture," said one pony. "We gotta make time. Put these steers into shelter to wait out a blizzard."

"Well, the sky's looking clear right now!" Fana smirked. "I've got time to spare as well! Heheh! How's the season treating you? Looking forward to the Month of Thawing?"

"Look. We have a lot of work to do."

"Oh! Uhm... right! I was just—"

"I'm sure many ponies need dredge coal to the west. We won't distract you."

Fana blinked. "It's... it's not a distraction! Honest—"

"So long, Sir. Verlaxion's blessings to you."

Fana gulped, waving limply. "Yes. Yes, of c-course. Verlaxion's blessings."

The herders grew more and more distant, hurriedly urging their cattle uphill and into dull gray obscurity.

Fana stared after them. With a sullen sigh, he sank back into his compartment... and slid the window shut before accelerating the engine.

Fana sat with his back slumped against the wall of the engine room. With nimble hooves, he knitted a sweater together. It was dull, dark brown, and rough—much like the soot clinging to the interior of the compartment all around him.

His nostrils flared as he glanced up at the window. It was open just a slit, exposing him to a narrow band of gray morning light.

He blew out the side of his muzzle. With a lethargic breath, he gazed across the compartment.

Stacked up in the corner—like a mountain of wool—were ten sweaters identical to the one he was just then making.

The engineer looked down at himself. He was wearing was his fatigues and nothing else.

Fana sighed.

His ears twitched. The pony stood up, reached a hoof out... and he stopped his alarm clock just half-a-second after it began ringing.

He hadn't slept in days.

"Hahaha!" A stallion stood beside a depot's crane, smirking in his clean Consortium uniform. "You should have seen her, dude! She put a windigo mask on and danced her flank off!"

"No kidding..." The operator of the crane lifted more dredge coal before depositing it into the second car of Fana's train. "Isn't that... y'know... sacrilegious?"

"Pffft. She was drunk, dude! Besides, I'm sure even the Goddess Verlaxion herself would enjoy a bit of carefree stupidity from time to time."

"How'd she even get the mask on?"

"Someone lost it before the lighting of the effigy." The conductor whipped out a clipboard, chuckling to himself as the crane beside him whirred and groaned. "My fillyfriend found it, took a few shots, and... well... the rest is history. Ha HA! I wanna see Kunmane beat that kind of a show!"

"Awwww... nothing beats Kunmane this side of Frostknife."

"Says you."

Leaning out the window of his train engine, Fana bore a crooked smile. "Heheheh... y'know... my sister and I once lit the effigy when we were foals!"

"Yeah. Cool. That's great, buddy." The conductor hobbled over and lifted the clipboard towards the engineer without looking. "So, after she danced like a moron, she went off running across the neighborhood. My brother and I had to chase her down."

"No way!"

"Totally! You think it'd be friggin' easy to track down a redhead with a windigo mask but nooooooo! Damn fireworks didn't help us in locating her either!"

"You've got yourself quite the catch, pal."

"Heh... tell me about it. At least she gives me exercise, one way or another."

"Heheheh... I get it."

Fana bit his lip and quietly, obediently filled out the report before hoofing the clipboard back. The air smelled like raw dredge coal. He scarcely noticed.

Stars twinkled overhead.

The gray snowclouds were clear for once.

Fana couldn't stop staring. His eyes glistened with nebulaic color and mystique. He breathed vaporously into the cold night air, only for the high winds to sweep it away in a gasp. He didn't shiver.

He leaned back into the engine, basking once again in the dull, sterile warmth. Metal crates and toolboxes rattled all around him, forming an endless percussion in his twitching ears.

At long last, he looked into the corner once again.

The sheet of paper remained, untouched... blank...

He gritted his teeth. Pin needles rolled through him. His body scrunched up until he collapsed in the engine room's corner like a scared little foal.

At long last, his forced his eyes shut.

That's when his ears betrayed him.

"Another shovel of dredge coal for the firebox. Just like that. See? Simple. Easy. Done."

"... ... ..."

"Are you even paying any attention?!"

"... ... ..."

"You're lucky, you know? I've pulled a lot of strings to get you this job. But have I ever asked for you to thank me?"

"... ... ..."

"I'm telling you, son. The Consortium is the future. It's the lifeblood of this damned Continent. You wanna end up like those muck-sucking Colonialist bastards?!"

"... ... ..."

"Then pay attention, Verlaxion damn it! This is your life, I'm talking about! Don't be a Goddess-forsaken coward like your sister! I swear... you're all this rotten, thankless family has left!"

Fana's eyes flashed open. Trails of soot trickled down his cheeks, and they curved over a frown.

Sniffing, he rubbed his nose dry, stood up, and reached across the compartment.

With shaking hooves, he grasped the paper and pen...

...took a deep breath...

...and began writing.

Dear Uccixef,

How are you doing? Are the seas making you sick anymore? You told me once that it was an issue you had to deal with. Granted, that was the only letter I ever got from you. I've sent many back in response, but... I honestly don't know if you've received them or not. Ponies tell me that steamships like yours arrive all across the Shoreline. One would think that my connections through the Consortium would make it easier to reach you. But, I don't know. I simply don't know.

To be honest, I don't know what to write about anymore. I wish I could say that a bunch of exciting things have happened to me. But that would be a lie. And I'm tired of lying. I'm tired of having so few things to say to other ponies, and all of them being half-truths. Am I happy? Sure, happy enough. Am I doing okay? Well enough. I mean, I can't complain. Life is simple. Life is good.

But sometimes... I want more than simple and good. Sometimes... I don't know... but I guess I want a little bit of crazy. That is to say, I've done crazy things.

Like, just last month, I began this... habit. I can't believe I'm telling you this. If I told any of the conductors or overseers this, they'd fire me on the spot. Then where would my monthly bits go? I mean, I have enough stored up already. But... but that's no excuse. No excuse for what I've done... what I keep doing... what I still want to do...

Fana shivered.

It was cold.

Dreadfully cold.

Nevertheless, he kept climbing, one hoof after another.

He nearly slipped once or twice, so he paced himself carefully. It's not as though he had to be in a hurry. There was nothing but snow and starlight as far as he could see.

At last, after much struggle, he climbed onto the top of his moving engine.

The train wasn't moving very fast. He had no fear of the wind blowing him off. He almost wished he had something to fear.

Instead, he sat there... squatting atop the train, alone in the frozen bosom of a continent.

He opened his teary eyes to the frozen sky.

Clouds drifted past him, exposing whole swaths of starlight. Constellations and cosmic streams swirled above him, framed by mountains and forests and frost.

He felt like weeping. He flew instead. Holding his forelimbs out, Fana sailed the breeze with his upper body, savoring the bliss of bittersweet windbursts. For a brief moment, he had the insatiable urge to scream. He held it deep inside him, balled up in a lump that nestled deep in his throat, then sank into his heart until tears came loose.

This has taken place more than five times in the last month alone.

Whenever I do it, I feel like falling. I know it could be the death of me. It'd definitely be the death of my career—to allow a runaway train to go wild like that. It's crazy. I hate it. I love it.

Father once called you crazy. For years, I thought there was something wrong with you... and something just as wrong with me for not being ashamed of it.

But these days... especially lately... I'm beginning to wonder if it's the other way around. I get less and less letters from home. Mom barely has anything interesting to say. It's more than the fact that she's stopped trying. The household is emptier and emptier with each passing month. Our cousins are all moving to Frostknife... joining the Central Guard or something. From the sound of things, Father's not too happy with it. But he's not been too happy with anything since his lungs started going bad. No matter how many times I try to shake it, I'm becoming just like him. He worked on this train line for nearly thirty years. Me? I'm going on year twelve and...

And I want to go crazy. I want something wild to happen. I know it sounds silly... even stupid... but whatever it takes to get me off this train I'm on, I welcome it. I miss everything... but I don't even know what "everything" tastes like.

And you know... there was a time when I was angry at you, just like father was. But I can't feel that anymore. In truth, I'm happy for you, sister. You found what I can only dream of years ago, and I hope it's taking you to wild, exciting places. And despite my usual doldrums, day in and day out, part of me sings with joy to know that someplace... somewhere... a crazy piece of our family is out there, having wild adventures on a steamship, immortalizing the name "Farouche."

Verlaxion's blessings to you, Uccixef. If fate should have it that our tracks never converge in this life, then I look forward to holding your hoof beyond the Spring Havens. By the Goddess' grace, maybe we can even hug each other. Father too.

Please, don't feel bad for me. I will find my place, some way or another. I just... I just have more dredge coal to deliver. After that...

I'll be okay. I promise. I will be okay.

Sincerely,

Your Brother Fana

Schwissssh! The door to the engine compartment slid open. Yawning, Fana shuffled out into the air of Steamfall, carrying an oil can. He strolled along the edges of his engine, checking the dormant reserve tanks.

"Hey Farouche!" another stallion hollered from a nearby supply shack across the township's trainyard. "Do you sleep inside that thing or what?"

"It's my baby, so you bet!" Fana managed a tired smile while oiling the exposed valves and wheels. "It'd take a Tribal War to get me out of it for good!"

"Heh! So old-fashioned, dude!"

To that, Fana could only sigh. To his curiosity, he heard several loud noises from the heart of Steamfall. He glanced over, muzzle scrunched as he examined a suspicious column of rising smoke. "Say... What's with all that commotion on the other side of the complex?"

The other stallion shrugged. "Hell if I know. Probably a runaway manticore."

"Again?" Fana shook his head, chuckling. He tried to ignore the flicker of excitement in his heart at the prospect. "And that's why the best kind of life is one on the move," he eventually droned.

He knelt to examine another piece of the engine. The reflection in the metal surface was dull, grimy, covered in suit. He thought of his father, and his eyes closed on their own. When they opened again, he suddenly saw a burst of blue fur and a spectral-colored scalp.

"Hey!" A mare's voice cracked from behind, matching the reflection. "Wh-where does this train go?"

"To the furthest end of Dust Prefecture," Fana muttered, applying more oil and rubbing it with a rag. "Why? Does Dillon have a message to deliver?"

"Does it get anywhere near Wyvern Point?" the mare asked.

"As close as anything can get." Fana turned towards her with a lazy smirk. She was a disheveled creature in sweat-stained winter gear. His eyes spotted the hint of an immaculate golden necklace beneath her chin. "Don't tell me we're trying to make another business deal with those freaks again."

"Eh... something like that." The mare pointed at the engine. "Say, you missed a spot."

"I did???" Fana squinted just inches away from the engine's surface. "Where? I never miss a sp—"

And that's precisely when the mare's hoof slammed his skull against the engine.

With a grunt, Fana collapsed...

...and saw nothing but starlight.

"That's your cue, Uccixef! Quick! Light it! Light it!"

"Shhh! I did! There! Now release!"

"Whoah! Look at it lift!"

"Step back! You don't want to be too close when it—"

"Omigosh! The fuse! Here it goes! Here it goes!"

P-POW!

P-P-POW!

KAPOWWW!

"Wooohooo! Lookit, Fana! Lookit!"

"Oh wow! Oh wow wow wow!"

"Isn't it crazy?!"

"Take that, crazy windigoes!"

"Woohoo! We did it, Brother!"

"Best. Unification. Day. Ever!"

"Heeheehee! Verlaxion's blessings!"

"Heeeee... Verlaxion's blessings, sis..."

"Hrmmmf... gnnngh..." Fana winced. Fana stirred. His eyes fluttered shut, peeking out from beneath a thick bandage over his bed. He lay on a cot inside a Steamfall bunker, staring at a dull concrete ceiling. In the corner of the room, a lone stove crackled, generating meager heat. He shivered slightly, then became aware of the throbbing pain in his skull. "Argh... sonuva..." He raised a hoof to his temple.

Gasping slightly, a Consortium nurse shuffled over and sat at his bedside. "Uh uh uh... don't touch it."

"What... wh-what happened to me?"

"It... it was the Rainbow Rogue," the nurse said, frowning slightly. "The wicked wretch from beyond the Blight hit you awfully hard in the head before hijacking your train engine. But don't worry. It's a minor concussion. You'll be recovering in no time."

"You... you took care of me?"

"Of course!" The nurse nodded, examining his limbs closely. "The Consortium looks after all its employees."

"Right... of c-course..." Fana nevertheless gulped. "And... and my engine?"

"Uhm..." The nurse bit her lip.

"What... what's wrong?"

She fidgeted where she stood. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Farouche. But... according to the Talon's report—"

"Wait, you mean the Right Talon of Verlaxion?"

She nodded. "They... they pursued the train into Dust Prefecture and..." She sighed. "I'm sorry, Mr. Farouche. But your engine is gone. It exploded deep within a mountain tunnel, courtesy of the Rainbow Rogue. There's very little of it left."

Fana blinked. Tears formed in his eyes.

"I know that... that this must be very hard for you..."

With a jittery forelimb, the stallion reached a hoof up to his cheek. He examined the tears on his fetlock.

They were clear; all the soot was gone.

"I've already spoken with the overseer. They'll reassign you to a temporary position in Steamfall until... we find... a new rail line job... for you..." The nurse's words trailed off. She stared blankly at the stallion.

Fana was crying... and yet he smiled maniacally. Between each hiccuping sob, he chuckled and chuckled harder. His body shuddered, his lungs exhaling and inhaling with such ease that it gave him a queer sense of weightlessness.

Biting her lip, the nurse nervously backtrotted, then returned to her station.

Fana laughed and sobbed. His head hurt, but he welcomed it. Somewhere, he found a pillow and hugged it to his chest, and he grinned even harder. The chuckles lasted until exhaustion set in. His smile carved a path through his dreams, then charted a path west by the stars.

March 2016 - viofriedsevey - My Dearest Eternal Madame of Apples

Author's Note at Bottom of Page

My dearest eternal madame of apples, Applejack, the fair and the beautiful, of apples,

I write this letter to you with a heavy heart, a happy heart. Heavy with the bountiful consumption of emotional bounties—happy with the sweat and sweetness that comes with exercising the energy enthusiastically bequeathed by your freckle-laced face fountain of fermented wisdom, my adored apple mistress, most merciful, mercifully, madamely.

With patience and palpitating thought clouds do I precipitate this pronounced projection of warm toasty chestposition to thee, thou, and thine green eyed soul seams that have my heart sewed so tightly into a tight nub of ecstatic anti-nothingness, carried aloft by your tongue twangs and "darlin' thangs," ifest thouest wouldest forgivest the playfulest indulgesties.

But I digress, and release distress—that which you have so lovingly de-stressed with your enchantress dismissal of all things crazy, cowardly, and charismatically constipated within the circular self that was me, mine, my own—beforehoof—but now yours, as exorcised unto the surface of all undigested sky chunks before the hungry scarf goddess of joy and virtue with an empty plate hot out of the ontological oven of life love, the lesser lust of existentialist dramatic desire.

Fairest Applejack, otherworldly freckled fae, fallopian-tube'd with faith and steadfastness, I worship thee as a termite worships the forest of endless joy and insectgasmic rage release. You are my rising sun on a planet that has no sun. That's just how special you are, a phantasmagorical star that scars my brain sheet into having the sockets for eyeballs of prettiception, only to witness you, your you-steps, and the truth that righteously seeps from your honest applefices, laced with sawdust and jasmine and then somely.

Every day is a dismal death dream until the night shroud falls and I can once again snuggle up to the voice beams issuing forth from your open barn brain. You only close the door when I'm around, and the ceiling beams loom lovingly above us, not like the bars of a cage, mind youish, but rather like the righteous picture frames to a masterpiece that hasn't been drawn yet, for you and I are painting it together, using the divine phlegm of our soulessentialist dream palette for colors, hues that are immortal and immaculate, like nebulaic comet streaks forming lines that intersect and—in the endless end—illustrate a pair of hooves joined as one while we stand upon the heart palpitating precipice before the gaping ravine of uncertainty, melted into a warm and inviting pool of peace and contentment beneath us by the heat of our grins and thin spinning giggles in the sheer presence of each other.

But you are the biggest ball of heat birth, and you've foaled me a smile every day, and I gnaw on the placenta one apple tree bucking at a time, delighted to christen myself with the sweat of your farmland chores, if only I can—for a brief gasp in flatulential fecal time—understand the joy that is to be had in adoring you, serving you, pedestaling your pony pedi upon a lofty promontory for all of Ponyville to see, to know, to preach unto the pulpits of love congregations that you are my everything, and I ever sing the truth of my fervent anti-hate for you from now until the bone white fringes of not-now.

There was a time when there was no time. And yet, in that abysmal black colorlessness, your fair freckles were surely blueprinted into the constellatory contours of time, only for me to embrace with utmost humility sobs. If there was ever another stallion as lucky as me, then he would not be me, for I am me, and you make me an even greater me every second, just by being you, and being willing to share that you-ness with me-ness, youesquely, and truthfully so, youfully soul—oh fair she who would be this stallion's mercifully maidenful madame, applefully.

My joy at knowing you is something that simply cannot be equinistically described. So allow me to describe it anyways, for you have filled me with goddess rays of contentment that photosynthetically conjure forth a apple-flavored horsemunculus of ecstasy and purpose, a daring new dagger that rips through the previously assumed metastability of the universe, just to rewrite all physics and energy to revolve around you, your golden mane, your golden voiced laughballs of angelic aneurysms. If there's an apple inside a box, it exists and doesn't exist at the same time, unless you put it there, because you have something that Schrodingoats never did, and that's beauty, and love, and beautylove, my darling twangy bootylurve.

More than anything in this deathlife—or lifedeath—I would love to be your love, lovingly, in this wasteland of wasted lands and wanted loves, but not wanting around you, for you are giving, and I give thanks for this thanksgiving of horse happiness that's been birthed in the celestial carrot garden of your twinkling eyes when I so much as fathom a flighty wink in your darling direction, darling. And you allow me that glance, that chanced gleeful gleeing of glee sticks, pricking my heart every hour of every sweet and sour soul shower, and you are the apple-scented soap that lathers up my fetlocks and unfetters the dirtied stallion stirrup that's been reining my soul into dullblivion without you—previously speaking, of course—before the ravaging Ragneighrock of your righteous fury burned my depressing forest dirges into ashen detritus to forever sweep away into high sighs, by your side, one apple tree after another, into the blessed wet soul sweat of collective cerebral copulation.

You are my other, my inside out bewb brother of bliss, Miss.

When I'm out in public with you, it's an eternally more awesome thing than being in private without you, and now that the heated friction of our amorous entrance into the Ponyvillean sphere has been cooled, I can shake loose the embers with the full faith that you will catch them in your ever-scooping saintly sighs. You counterbalance the ballast of my anti-brassiere waif soul with your spirit bosom, and I am safe and warm there, like a baby kangaroo or seahorse, only happier, because I am yours, and not a kangaroo's or seahorse's, which you are neither, dearer.

And what a daring thing to say, that I am yours, and not theirs... or hers. And by "theirs" and "hers," I speak of course of the ethereal maidens of emptiness, which you are not and never could be, because you kick apple trees, and everypony knows that a mare who kicks apple trees is a mare who exists. And on top of that, you enjoy kicking apple trees. So not only do you exist, but your love does as well, and I've been joyously entangled in the web of such intrinsic anti-emptiness, so that I can share with you the core of the greatest fruit that was ever plucked: Applejack.

And Applejack is the Applejuiciest Applejack there ever was, a name made for an angel, a seraphimic goddess of golden juicy proportions. And as I bathe in the baptism of this anti-bastardly bodaciousness, the fluid runs down my fur ravines to form an ocean. I swim the joyous jetstreams, guided by your luxurious lighthouse of intrepid truth. And if I occasionally whimper in righteous release, it's due to the religious deflowering of springfelt purpose that you have allowed in my outrageous new spiritphanies of romantiphoria, my lovelette.

Oh, that I might drown someday in that deeply flooded trench of intrinsic wisdom flakes, a cereal poured for an apple queen and nothing less, nothing more. I've moored myself up against your salty milkbanks, and the earth welcomes me. I stumble along the beach, and your hoofprints guide me to greener pastures. A stallion born among clouds can only hope to be so blessed, and with you I've been anointed with no less. This is not mere mud fever of a stiff-winged pegasus speaking, but rather a sincere heart speared with vehement love darts, and they've impaled me to your fertile plains, sloping beyond the clifffaces of platonic happenstance, and drawn downhill by gracious gravity into a valley fenced in by your loving forelimbs and wholesome hugs and overflowing apple jugs.

To be a member of your family, to be the kissing cousin of your unwritten hearth journal, to be the picture frame that you suckle the corners of with squeaks and giggles every night before candle-blown pillowfall—it is a felicitous future I never before had any hope of feeling, facetiousing, or even fabricating. And my imagination has been a wild place where I've done many wild things. But only in the tame tamespace of your loving gaze have I found a simpler purpose, a pimpler popping of once dormant dreams, and the grease spreads to my every outsides until I am coated, unbloated, and re-wroted like tomorrows mirthful magazines of marital majesty.

And should I even tempt the tongue twitch of having our hooves touch with golden armbands attached? To spend the rest of my life with you is like capping eternity inside an apple cider jar and nuzzling it in a fermented coffin lined with spiffy spices of happy sauce. Watch upon the morrow as we float away in such a once-dismal dirigible, turned into a tempest-tearing pontoon of nuptial neverendingness. If there be any souls to witness our passing, they will say that we hugged each other into the ether, and our last loving gasps formulated the dust that filled the black spaces between stars. And in that blackness, a spark—perhaps—will attempt to emulate the passion that bound us together in tranquil togetherness, and new universes will unblink into being, with entropy bowing to the ever expanding mirth that comprises the shadow of our conjoined permanence, and every time a pony bucks an apple tree and every time a mare bats her eyelashes at a stallion and every time a stud swoons at the merest glance of a femme fae, it will simply be an enchanted echo of our everlastingness, my apple love.

Dare I dream this into existence alone? Or wouldst thou share with the un-thou such a wedding vow, eternally never ending that which eternally never began, so that the middle stretches outward into romantic infinitude, and that is where we both land, caught in the flouncing bouncing net of apple-scented home nestness, with your forelimbs in mine, and my forelimbs in yours, so that together we transform into the eight-legged celestial spider that weaves the universe into undwindling joygasmagoria, a finite reality etched into the scowling face of infinity, so that the galactic frown turns upside down and gives us the most wicked ski jump to launch our lovely memories into, bright and sparkling, like Equestrian comets bound for the edges but never finding it, for there is no end to that which nuzzles this warm moment of spontaneous realization so applejuicily, my dearest applemadamely, the core of my life and the seeds of my afterlife and the peel that causes me to squeal with utmost zeal in between.

I pray that you meditate on my words, be they absolute, amorous, or absurd. For only by your grace are they formulated, fermented, like cider on a sunday, like all of the ambrosia you've taught me the fine arts of, a mistress and her pupil, alive and dead in every blink, an emerald-eyed comedy and tragedy that travails upon my senses each second that I spend sucking on the teat of existence before you every living-dying day-night of this new life of luscious luxury that you've so graciously graced me with, applegrace.

I await your response with patience, virtue, and all of the gently snoring dwarves in between, thou applemost deliciousnette.

Sincerely, and with utmost loving love,

-Stu Leaves

P.S.: I was very, very nervous about the initial quality of this letter. So I ran the first draft by your best friend, Rainbow Dash. She said "It's perfect in every way; don't change a thing, Stu!" So I didn't! We're so lucky to have friends like hers, aren't we, Applejack? Love ya!

Author's Note

User: viofriedsevey
Prompt: "Okay, so I'm sorry I couldn't come up with anything that makes any sense at all. If possible, try an write a story that embodies this.

A wet, peanut butter slathered fore leg struck me in the cheek as the cool sensation of eternal rest collapsed upon my body.
“Who are I if not a bottle among cans? Paper among plastic?!?”
If it is that I collapsed upon the empathetic composite of my ego, no more would I subject you to the never-ending fury of my distilled rampage, withered away in the dusty pages of our shared subconscious, again to feel the sacred, beautiful, palpable loss of our uniform intelligence. But someday, when I no longer possess value, I’ll be decrepit to walk with the young and breathing. I’ll be here with you, I am not wary. I am as a pencil who grows duller. I may be sharpened only so many times before my pieces drift away in the veins. But not is lost, for the veins breathe, and I will then be apart of them. Apart of the body that is we. It is you, you which I am now. You, which you have always been. It is him, It is her. It is we.

Now, that might be the most nonsensical pretentious thing you have ever read, but hopefully that's the point. I think it would be awesome if you could write something hilarious, that I literally cannot make any sense of. Something that makes fun of over the top pretentious "deep" writing. (. . .) I'd get a kick out of a shipping story between Applejack and Stu. But I think there already is one with like 800 chapters. . .? Joking, but honestly I'm not picky, I just love reading you're work, whatever it's about. Oh, and it could be equestria girls or ponies, whatever you prefer. "

Stu Leaves is from Appledashery

June 2016 - DrEggnog - Cyborg Pony Picnic

Author's Note

User: DrEggnog
Prompt: Da Rules:
- The setting must be an outdoor picnic on a nice day.
- The mane six must be robots.
- The only other character allowed is Spike. His presence is optional. He may or may not be a robot.
- There must be battle. It must not be the focus of the story.
- There must be cuddling. It can or can not be the focus of the story.
- Applejack must get sentimental looking at the clouds.
- Rarity must have on her pretty robo-socks.
- The ending must be uplifting and/or sweet.
I'm sorry.

June 2016 - DrEggnog - Cyborg Pony Picnic

"Snuggle. You."

Clank!

"Snuggle. You."

Clank!

"Snuggle. You."

Clank!

"Snuggle. You."

Clank!

Afternoon sunlight glinted off Rarity's curvaceous titanium chassis as her skull repeatedly thrust forward, colliding her riveted jawline with the nape of Fluttershy's cadmium alloy neck. The two sat on a tinfoil picnic blanket outside of central Ponyville, surrounded by their closest of synthetic companions.

"Snuggle. You." Rarity thrust her neck forward. Clank! Her skull bounced off Fluttershy's shell, only to repeat. "Snuggle. You." She ricocheted. Clank! The unicornbot paused, her optic apertures momentarily rotating in and out. Steam vented from the seams between her legjoints, and then—after a digital bout of silence: "Snuggle you." Clank! "Snuggle you." Clank!

Fluttershy—undaunted by the android fashionista's platonic advances—continued tying a rust-red bow with iron fibers. When her efforts yet again proved too stiff—CRACK—the half-completed bow shattered into brittle pieces. The hydraulics within Fluttershy's neck hissed—almost like a sigh. Limply, she tossed the bent piece of shrapnel into an ever-increasing landfill of scrap cascading down the side of the hilly picnic area. Then, with whirring joints, she reached to her immediate left and—SCRKKKKKKK—peeled loose a ten-by-three foot strip of metal off a derelict battleship's hull, further skeletonizing the once-proud dreadnaught.

"Ecstatic Proclamation of Joy." A robot horse made of shiny pink servos and motors hopped towards the blanket, shaking the earth with her thousands upon thousands of kilograms of steel-reinforced cybermass. THUD! THUD! THUD! Her head pivoted until a burning mess of fuchsia wool spilled sparks across the burnt grass. "The solar exposure of this current solar cycle does wonders for my equine complexion. Imperative requisition of information: does this unit's collection of familiars with female exoskeletal design experience the bumps of the goosing?"

Whirrrrrrr! Fluttershy's head pivoted to meet Pinkie Pie's. "I am comprised of neither water fowl nor awkward epidermal topography." She finally tied a bow with the titanium material and reached forward.

Angel Bunny—already pinned to the earth by his left ear—shrieked and squeaked desperately. He was too late to stop his owner, and soon he was faceplanting from the weight of the metal bow on his right ear.

"There, there, Organic Unit Known as Angel Bunny," Fluttershy rustedly gurgled. "It prevails upon you as of this microsecond to be the most verile participant of a superfluously cultural meat pageant."

Pinkie pivoted her burning head towards Rarity. "Obligatory social inclusion: does the Rarity unit also enjoy the current social simulation of atmospheric resonance?"

"Snuggle. You." Clank! "Snuggle. You." Clank! Rarity paused briefly in headbutting Fluttershy. Her head tilted aside. "What she computed." She turned back to Fluttershy and resumed. "Snuggle. You." Clank!

Pinkie Pie leaned back. "Acknowledged. Initiating OkieDokieLokie.exe." Scht-Schtunk! Several metal barbs shot down the lengths of her legs and anchored her deep in the burning soil. Whurrrrrrrrrrr! Two lateral VTOL engines opened in her flank, generated a cyclone of heat, and then culminated with—POWWW!—a blast of tarnished confetti exploding from her metallic orifices. "This concludes the emergency broadcast soiree."

"Grfdlkgjkgllff!" Angel Bunny gurgled into the wet soil.

Off in the distance, a mountain exploded. It took over ten seconds for the shockwave to reach the picnic scene. When it hit, the blast was deafening. Angel flipped upside down—flailing in the air like a windsock from where the bows anchored him. Then—when the blast was over—the creature fell whiskers-first back in the dirt.

Overhead, two alicorn bodies soared after one another, blasting bright red beams of deathly energy from their horns. More mountains exploded while forests caught on fire.

It was at this moment that Spike spontaneously arrived in an orange-and-lavender mech suit. Whirrrrrrrr! Thunka-Thunka-Thunka-Thunka-Thunka! The dragon yanked at the controls, calmly grinding the eight-legged machine to a stop. Its steam pipes hissed as he wiped his brow and climbed out of the pilot's compartment. "Sorry for being late, girls! There's a big crater in the spot where the clothes store used to be."

"Patronizing form of shallow forgiveness: you must not worry your squishy organic cranium about it, draconian breeder known as Spike," Pinkie Pie said.

"Hey, Rarity!" Spike smiled. He reached into mallet space and pulled out a quartet of striped pink stockings. "I brought you the socks you asked for!"

"Snuggle. You." Clank! "Snuggle. You." Clank! Rarity paused again, looking over from Fluttershy. "My name is R4R1T33 Version 1.337. Please insert socks."

"Your wish is my command, my lady." Buildings erupted in flames and death lasers tore through the earth as Spike squatted down besides Rarity's titanium-capped limbs. "Now... they may not exactly be oil resistant, but I think you'll find them water-proof enough for—"

Fluttershy interrupted: "What of lavender unit and freckled unit?"

"Oh. My bad." Spike cleared his throat and spoke over his shoulder. "Computer. Initiate Bifurcation Protocol Spike Zero Zero Delta One."

At his command, the orange-and-lavender mech split apart from the inside out, unraveling with a ridiculous array of articulate motions and rattling sounds. Twenty seconds and a three hundred million bit budget later, Twilight Sparkle and Applejack stood atop the aluminum picnic blanket.

"Commencing with the picnic of the horse friends," Twilight Sparkle said, then twitched with sparks flying. "Friends." Zzzt! "Friends." Zzzzt! "Friends—"

CLANG! A pair of orange hooves swatted her in the center chassis.

Twilight's eyes strobed. Her ears retracted, vibrated, then shot back out with a ding(!) sound. "A thousand grateful platitudes, Agriculture-Jack-Bot."

"You were stuck in a friendship loop, Sugar of Cubes." Applejack positioned herself over a fallen log and sat down. SMASH! Wooden splinters splashed outward in every direction as the mare removed her hat, exposing glowing fiberoptics and flickering circuitry. "One can feel the wind through one's artificial keratin simulants."

"I concur," Twilight Sparkle droned. Two alicorns collided in the sky overhead. Their combined weight plowed into the earth, producing a mushroom cloud of erupting magic and energy. After the ensuing blast wave of soot and smoke, Twilight Sparkle rotated her head until she was staring at the others. "Has anypony seen Rainbot Dash?"

FWOOOOOOOSH! A burning blue missile flew straight towards the earth. "AWESOME.EXE HAS EXPERIENCED AN ILLEGAL OPERATION—"

THUDDDDDDDDD! The rusted battleship behind Fluttershy exploded into a thousand bits of burning shrapnel. Angel Bunny yet again shrieked into soil.

The thunder took half-a-minute to settle.

Whurrrr. Twilight Sparkle jerked in place. "Has anypony seen Rainbot Das—?"

"Interjectory inquisition." Pinkie Pie faced the two new arrivals. "Would Twilight of the Sparkle desire unnecessarily fattening sustenance?"

"Affirmative," Twilight Sparkle nodded. "All systems have appropriated an acceptance of your generous offering."

Pinkie fired a missile into Twilight's skull.

POW!

When the smoke cleared, Twilight Sparkle stood on the edge of the picnic. Headless. Whurrr! A panel slid open in her chest, exposing a plasma screen that broadcasted a dancing sound wave: "Much appreciated," her voice crackled.

Regal screams lit the background. Two alicorns sailed out of a mound of collapsed earth, wrestling in mid-air.

"Sister!" Princess Celestia's voice rang. "You must dethrone Tiberius! Possums are not allowed to rule Equestria as kings!"

"How many times must we tell thee?!" Princess Luna hollered, her eyes glowing white hot. "He is a steward!" She opened her mouth three times large and vomited a flock of spectral bats into Celestia's face.

Celestia shrieked. With dexterous movements, she grabbed Luna from behind and suplexed her into Ponyville City Hall. POWWW!

The metal fibers of the ponies' manes settled after a few seconds, during which Applejack continued gazing at the sky.

"The aysmmetrical nature of the cumulus formations in the troposphere are occupying the majority of my operating systems."

"Snuggle. You." Clank! "Snuggle. You." Rarity looked over Fluttershy's skull. "Provide due exposition, she who would be Agriculturejack." She looked back. "Snuggle. You." Clank!

Applejack rubbed the exposed wiring in her cranial unit. "The moisture cloud on the left possesses polynumerous spherical geometry. If I was to execute an artificial simulation of organic retroactive pattern recognition, then I would venture to draw multiple conclusions, each with varying degrees of cyberpsychological authenticity."

"Yeah?" Spikie continued sliding the pretty robo-socks onto Rarity's limbs, one slinky pink article at a time. "Do tell, AJ '98."

"AJ XP."

"Heh..." Spike blushed. "My bad."

"I suggest that you illustrate the computational results in descending order from most to least relevant," Twilight said. Her torso then pratfalled, collapsing over Angel Bunny's writhing figure. THUD!

Applejack pointed at the heavesn. "Seventy-Five Percent Likelihood: The Clouds Resemble the Milk-Provisional Mammary Glands of an Adult Nursing Equine Female." Her ears twitched, shooting sparks. "Twenty-Two Percent Likelihood: The Clouds Resemble a Ball Pit for Foalhood Amusement and Fecal Sanitary Obfuscation." Another twitch. "Two Percent Likelihood: The Clouds Resemble Facets of Historical Pre-Classical Era Philosphe Jasperstallion's Abstract Existential Encompassing."

"Yeah?" Spike looked over his shoulder. "And what about the remaining one percent?"

Whirrrr! "Testicles."

"Heh..." Spike smirked. "I'm surprised you went with the Sigmane Freud part last."

"A consequence of not possessing reproductive organs tied with one's central neural net," Applejack droned. "Also tobacco."

"Well, it's easy to weigh in so many abstract thoughts into the visual spectrum," Spike said. He raised one claw. "No matter how you twist it, AJ, they're just clouds." He gestured with a metal limb. "On the other hand—" The dragon whelp froze in place. He blinked at the mechanical servos encompassing his shiny wrist. "Huh..."

Twilight writhed on the ground, her voice wafting digitally through the burning atmosphere. "One may posit that the spiritual zeitgeist of all living things—artificial or incidentally natural—nevertheless possess the same innate imposition of subjective presumptuousness." Sparkes flew. "Also, I have a small furry mammal entangled with my neurofibers."

"Isn't he so handsome in his bows?" Fluttershy murmured.

"Snuggle. Y—" Rarity paused. "Fluttershy—she, would be darling—are you programmed to pronounce contractions?"

A pause.

Fluttershy's head spun around multiple times. "ERROR. ERROR. ERROR. ERROR."

POWWWWWW! Fluttershy exploded. Because eggnog.

"Southern expletive!"" Applejack shook. "The cumulus formation has shifted! The mammary glands have decreased in percentage!"

"Yeah... uh..." Spike grimaced, gazing at an exposed metal endoskeleton beneath his fireblasted scales. "Hold that thought." Paling, he glanced down between his legs. "Oh! Well... that's not so bad..."

Thudddd! Celestia landed beside them, forming a trench in the smoldering earth. "Mrmmmf!" She snarled, standing up. "This ends now, sister!"

"Silence, thyself, foul wench!" Princess Luna spread her wings and shot a barrage of magic missiles down at her older sibling. "LUNAR JUSTICE RAINS FROM ABOV—" Of course, she was sniped by a pink missile. POW! "Aaaaaugh!" She fell hard, forming a crater.

Pinkie Pie stood, her lateral rocket launchers still smoking. "Belated interrogative formulation: do you want sprinkles with that?" And she retracted the metal panels. Clank!

February 2016 - Propmaster - Princesses and Guards

Author's Note

User: Propmaster
Prompt: Their Royal Highnesses Celestia, Luna, Cadance, and Twilight are all having tea and discussing politics. Their personal guards - A Pegasai Royal Guard, a Sarosian Lunar Guard, A Unicorn Crystal Guard, and a newly appointed Friendship Castle Guard - all argue quietly over who is Best Princess. (Optional: The princesses are trying to pretend they aren’t aware of the debate over Best Princess, but they all begin to try to subtly one-up one another in an attempt to convince the guards of their merits as Best Princess.)

February 2016 - Propmaster - Princesses and Guards

A refreshment table's wheels clattered against the polished marble floor of Canterlot Castle. Humming pleasantly to herself, the royal caterer turned the corner and continued pushing the tray full of treats down one last hallway before approaching the Palace's Chief Conference Room.

Three armored stallions stood guard at the door to the regularly scheduled briefing. One of them—a crystal pony with translucent peach skin—caught sight of the caterer's approach. Channeling magic into his horn, he opened the double doors just long enough for her to enter.

She paused to curtsy, smile, and then proceeded into the room with her tray. An observant pegasus guard's brown eyes reflected her in passing. Across the hallway—where the light was noticeably dimmer—a sarosian stood at quiet attention. His leafy ears twitched to the sound of three regal voices wafting out the open doorframe.

"...which is why I propose a tax holiday on the outlying colonies," Princess Luna spoke. "Now that the northern territory has been properly settled, we should focus Equestrian defense on the eastern coastline. And that will necessitate a fundamental restructuring of taxation."

"But the Crystal Imperial Reconstruction is far from complete," Princess Cadance's voice drifted softly, but emphatically. "For as long as I'm overseeing the interim government, we're going to need funds to support a military patrol of the adjacent wilderness. And let us not forget about the ill-temperament of the Yakyakistanians to our north."

"You need not fear about Yakyakistan, Princess Cadance," Celestia calmly said. The door slowly shut, cutting off the regal texture of her breath. "Princess Twilight Sparkle has made sure that they will not present any harm to—"

And just like that, all was silent in the hallway outside the briefing room.

The sarosian blinked. A pair of amber slitted eyes peered out from beneath a midnight blue helmet. He stared across the way at the Canterlot guard.

The pegasus blinked back. His ears twitched as he exhaled out his nostrils. Eventually, he looked to his left.

The crystal unicorn caught the glance. He raised one glittery eyebrow, as if waiting for something.

At last, the pegasus gave it: "You and the rest of your crystal brothers are strong," he spoke in a low, breathy voice that barely reverberated off the walls of the palace. "Even without localized funding, I've no doubt that you have the strength and fortitude to defend your homelands from any and all incursions."

Silence.

Eventually, the crystal stallion's voice rumbled beneath his helmet like a tuning fork: "This fact is not lost to us." His kaleidoscopic eyes narrowed. "Is there a reason why you must state such a fact out loud?"

"I simply do not wish for you to worry," the pegasus muttered back. A hint of warmth lit his cheeks, although he remained staring ahead with well-practiced deadpan. "Even if the unthinkable was to happen, Princess Celestia will undoubtedly protect the Crystal Empire to the best of her ability. She is a strong, faithful, and courageous ruler in that respect."

Silence.

"I am honored that you would think as much," the crystal pony once more murmured. "However, we do not depend on the protection and insurance of your Sun Conjurer."

A noticeable fidget rippled up and down the pegasus' body. He tossed it all through his well-groomed tail and forced a dagger-hard glance in the crystal stallion's direction. "I beg your pardon?"

"Princess Cadance's tact and fortitude have proven to be competent factors in establishing peace in our once dormant empire." The crystal stallion took a deep, proud breath. "She need not be in control of the sun or the Central Equestrian Government to display unparalleled grace in defending all crystalline brethren."

"It was not my intention to subtract from the importance of Princess Cadance," the pegasus said.

"Indeed not." The crystal guard nodded slightly, staring forward. "And I must thank you, dear soldier, for supporting my affirmation that Cadance is—undeniably—the best princess to grace this glorious kingdom."

The pegasus performed a savage blink. For once, his helmeted head tilted off-center so that he faced the crystal guard, squinting. "One moment, good sir. I never stated that Cadance was the best princess of this land."

"Is she not?" The crystal guard's voice rolled between them. "Princess Cadance has single-hoofedly resurrected an entire Empire from a frosted grave... and established both government and order. When was the last time your beloved Princess Celestia accomplished something so mighty and yet so humble?"

The pegasus' brow furrowed. "Princess Celestia raises the Sun. That is, in and of itself, analogous to raising the entire world from the dead every day."

"And since when was the night equated with death?" breathed the sarosian in a thick, midnight accent.

The sudden exhalation from the shadows forced the other two to rattle in their armor. They glanced across the hall at the fanged guard.

"Since the dawn of time, Princess Luna has taken on the humble, thankless task of protecting our forsaken horizons when all is gloom and darkness," spoke the leafy-eared stallion. His amber eyeslits intensified along with the tone of his voice. "One's might is not measured in might or in wisdom, but in sacrifice."

"Such as the sacrifice of morals?" the pegasus stabbed with a momentary glare. "How glorious is a princess who betrays her own subjects by submitting to madness?"

"All things that trot this earth are subject to affliction," the sarosian calmly retorted. "And Nightmare Moon was the worst disease to ever befall any being—immortal or otherwise. And yet, in over a thousand years of interminable toil and anguish on the moon, not once did the glorious Princess of the Night let slip her grip on the reins of dreaming. Call her insane if you wish, but our beloved Luna bore madness so that all living things that dream might not."

"A sizable burden for sure." The pegasus managed a smirk. "But does it equate to the weight that Celestia had to bear in lieu of Luna's betrayal?"

The sarosian sighed out a pair of nostrils. "Is this where you cite the thousand year starry reign?"

"For an entire millennium, Canterlot was ruled by a single alicorn, a mighty alicorn who wasn't afraid to raise both the sun and moon on her lonesome. This was a task that nopony else could bear, for Celestia was—for all intents and purposes—the only sane alicorn in existence for centuries." At the end of this, the pegasus tilted his head up with a helmeted smirk. "If that is not the qualification for the greatest princess who ever lived, then I shudder to think what is."

"Are you both so shallow as to think that age and antiquity are equivocal to greatness?" muttered the crystal pony.

Both the pegasus and the sarosian gawked at him.

The lunar guard's dark muzzle scrunched. "Surely you do not mean to suggest that Cadance—a mare barely past a quarter century in age—is deserving of superior reverence?"

"It is no simple task to become an alicorn," the crystal guard said. "You are born twice in this life. Once to yourself, and a second time to the essences of all that's around you. One becomes a vessel, a conduit for all of life's magic and passion. And what can possibly be more passionate than the fabric of love? That which channels hatred and adoration through an equine soul, with the power to spark wars and pacify continents?" He inhaled hard, then finished with: "This age has seen the resurgence of chaos, nightmares, and the abominable Sombra himself. But it was not power, might, or cunning that created harmonic equilibrium despite such strife. Nay, it was the shining heart of our humble and blessed steward, and you—my brothers—should be thanking your lucky stars every time you go home to your adoring families that there is a monarch out there who acts as the living buffer for such priceless emotions."

The air of the hallway heated up. With frowning expressions, the pegasus and the sarosian looked ready to retort, and the crystal stallion prepared to defend his stance with equal passion...

...when suddenly the door to the conference room opened. The caterer trotted out with her tray. She paused to take one look at the stallions. "You all wish to know who is the best princess of Equestria?" Her lidded eyes swept over each of them in equal turn. "I tell you, it is all three—for having the foresight to cast a Master Level Acoustics Spell on this wing of the Palace, so that they would be able to hear any and all sounds within one hundred meters of the Conference Room." She smirked. "Be they threats... or the incessant chat of juvenile guards."

The three stallions gawked at her.

She swished her tail, tilted her chin up with a smile, and exited the hallway with her refreshment tray in tow.

In her absence, the guards exchanged nervous expressions.

Just beyond the door...

...Princesses Celestia, Luna, and Cadance sat at their table. They each levitated a cup of tea, but nopony was actually prepared to sip. They looked at one another in utter silence.

And then Princess Celestia chuckled. Almost immediately, Cadance giggled. Even Princess Luna bore the hint of a smirk on her face.

"You must excuse my lunar guardstallion for his guile," spoke the moon princess. "He and all his kind are most loyal to my court."

"And I do hope you don't find the crystal guard too forward in his words," Cadance said. "It would seem that the citizens and agents of the Crystal Empire have grown quite fond of me."

"And, as you could expect, I command much respect of the pegasi who stand guard here in the Castle," Princess Celestia said. "It's precisely what makes them the strongest and most vigilant ponies in all of Equestria."

Princess Cadance cleared her throat. "Your Majesty, with all due respect, I beg to differ. After all, the Imperial Guard of the frozen north have displayed great fortitude and self-reliance long before the influence of any royalty, including yours truly. Surely, for that fact and many more, crystal ponies make for the best guards."

"And yet, did any of your beloved imperialists lie in patient wait for one thousand years so that you might return to glory?" Princess Luna turned to squint at her older sister. "While withstanding cruel and unfair persecution from daylighters in the process?"

"Beloved sister, the Celestial Guard are the very epitome of love and tolerance—"

"But who can respect love greater than the imperials?" Cadance folded her forelimbs in a pout. "Their most beloved icon is the crystal heart, after all!"

"So much emphasis on tolerance and love" Luna frowned. "What of the mind? If not for the wisdom and cunning of my beloved sarosians, all creatures of the night would have run amok by now."

"It does not negate the glory of the Celestial Guard—"

"The crystal empire's defense department has strength unparalleled—"

"Incorrigible hussies! What speakest thou of glory or strength—?!"

February 2016 - Cotton Fluff - The Last Geologist

Author's Note at Bottom of Page - Read Last

Ash and snow danced across the plateau of dull dead stone, stretching dark and gray from horizon to horizon, as far as anypony could see, as far as only she could see.

She sighed, her eyes thinning as they were encompassed once more by the perpetual grayness of that monochromatic world before her. A hint of moisture sprang from the trembling edges, but they cleared in a huff as the deadpan pony stood up straight and brushed a fuzzy fetlock over her violet optics. With a toss of silken tresses, she shuffled forward into that enigmatic expanse of emptiness, undaunted by the desolation that hounded her from all sides, scuffing her sensitive skin with serrated tongues of grit and grain.

In a miserable march, she lurched forward, drawn in a single cardinal direction that she couldn't name—but nevertheless had to follow—like a moth to a flame, or an abandoned dragonling desirous of the warm embrace of its mother's soft scales, but never to find that satiating comfort no matter how much it sought or soured.

"Alas, we are doomed, boulder," Maud Pie murmured, her eyes and cheekbones as straight as the lifeless plane enveloping her nubile figure. "The Wasteland stretches as far as any mortal can see... any mortal chiefly being me, for all others have surely perished in this grim deathscape of epic proportions, a malevolent fate brought upon us by a cataclysm of astronomical proportion that no sane equine had the common sense to predict much less provide a viable solution to."

Rock in hoof, Maud shuffled over piles of ash, through forests of jagged limestone buttes, and across arid fields of hexagonically spaced sand clusters. The heartless sky bubbled black above her, undulating with onyx clouds of obsidian misery and mahogany decay. Upon the fringes of a dead continent, skeletal rock formations formed fossilized figments in a formulative fashion.

"All I can see are the ghosts of civilization all around us," Maud murmured. "Taunting us like spectrals of the once-warm past, full of mirth and ignorant bliss. They are not unlike pebbles lying on a beach, freshly exposed for a singular gasp of hope before the inevitable tsunami consumes all the surf that has receded and the unsuspecting dry land beyond."

She paused in her march to gaze at the dull gray rock in her dull gray grasp.

"You are my one and only friend, Boulder," she droned. "After all, are we not all like rocks? Every single one of us, from our founding forbears to the last pony: lost pieces of a gravel sea that's been piling up like sediment since the dismal dawn of time. We've brushed up against one another, smoothing out our rough edges, yes, but in the end we are only good for making up a helpless, abandoned, forsaken sea bed of lost dreams, the vague vestiges of a society that didn't live long enough to die with a modicum of honor in tact."

A continental shelf rested before her, wide and gaping, full of howling wind carrying debris from the far corners of a dead and dying world.

"All rivers have dried up, Boulder, replaced by ravines full of screaming cyclones. For the only thing that stands to be animated in this environment of ennui is something mad, wild, unpredictable." Maud's eyes slowly blinked. "Chaos reigned in the beginning, and here—at the end of all ending—it reigns supreme once more. But it might as well be so. There is nothing left that lives to count the erratic lines between that which is order and that which is disorder... nothing save for me, the last pony, the end of geologists(™), alive now but forever unsung before the grand gasp of slain tepid time."

Boulder said nothing. There was no cause to. Thunder rolled in the distance, bringing flashes of deathlight to the evergray. The ground shook, and a fine curtain of dust lifted up, only to briefly kiss the mare's soft fetlocks and fall again with a ghastly gasp of soundless silence.

"My stomach growls, Boulder, but for what?" Maud limped along, coughing every now and then amidst the melancholic meter of her mundane monologue. "Cursed is the body that makes us thirst and hunger for that which is forever lost before it can even be found. Since the dawn of time, everything has been dying—everything save for the equine spirit, a festering parasprite imprisoned within the heart that pleads for sustenance and then punishes the mind and spirit once the soul recognizes that all things—not just some—are hopelessly unattainable. Just a bite of bread... just a nibble of pebble kibble... and I would be sustained, but to what end? Another second... another minute... another hour spent wandering the widths and breadths of this dreaded dead fetusscape that our masochist of a mother earth has miscarried? And to what end must I wander, and for want of what must I desire beyond the morsel of mortality's yearning?"

Her every step grew heavier and limper. One shuddering sigh after another, Maud's fuzzy belly was drawn towards the dusty stone earth below. Soon, she was crawling on all fours, shuffling and shimmying forward on her belly like a blue-gray serpent, encumbered by her emptiness and maligned by her musings.

"Oh untimely death," she muttered. "Now is the geological weathering of our discontent turned to glorious subsidence by this cataclysmic eclipse of existentialist angst. I have wrestled with death; it is the most unexciting clump of rocks you can imagine, full of igneous and fury, signifying nothing. Life is but a stage and we are all boulders in the background, Boulder. And so it came to pass that this world ended with a whimper instead of a bang, and oh how I wish that I could slouch towards my rock collection to be born." She turned to look at her pet rock, nuzzling him close. "I am glad to be here with you, Boulder. Here at the end of all things... but mostly rocks."

Her eyes closed.

Dead silence.

More silence...

...and then.

Maud's muzzle flew open with a gasp: "But let us not forget: to besalt or not to besalt. That is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the magma to subsidize the slade and amethyst of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a slab of tribolyte fossils." She sputtered and wheezed. "To slag... perhaps to dredge: ay, there's the rubble. The undiscovered concrete from whose bucket no tektite returns. Alas, poor essexite. I knew it, Boulder." She coughed and spat. "I've... seen things you pebbles wouldn't believe. Abyssal plains on fire off the shoulders of oceanic trenches. I watched silcrete glitter in the dacite near tectonic plates."

She gazed up at the cloudy heavens, her muzzle specked with flakes of ash. Her eyelids hung heavy as she gargled on her own tapering breaths.

"All of those... metasilicates will be lost in time... like... nnngh... trachyte in retrograde metamorphism." At last, her eyes rolled back, and she cuddled Boulder close as she issued her last breath. "Time to drill..."

Maud lay limp... and limper...

...then...

"Maud?!" An adult mare's voice rang across the rock farm. "Maud Concepcion Pie, come in already!"

A little gray filly's eyes fluttered open. Hugging Boulder to her chest, the tiny foal stood up from where she lay atop an ordinary pile of rocks in the middle of a fenced-in yard. "But mother," she droned, facing west across the gravel fields. "Boulder and I are exploring the existential reaches of an apocalyptic wasteland following an inexplicable cataclysm through the gratuitous use of purple prose."

"Well, you can do that after you've eaten two bowls of rock soup!" Mrs. Pie called out from the kitchen door. She adjusted her bifocals and hollered, "Now come in already and wash up! Or else Limestone is going to soak up all of the sweet broth ahead of you!"

She turned around and slammed the door shut.

The echoing clap resonated against the farmland. The windmill high above turned, teetered, then stopped with a muted groan.

Maud exhaled. "Well, Boulder, I suppose we could be rebellious and continue our brazen escapade into poetry and quasi-philosophical monologues."

Silence.

"But that would make mother mad." She lifted Boulder up to her muzzle. "What do you think?"

The rock was silent under the gray farmland sky.

"Hmmmm..." Maud nodded. "You are correct. I too am hungry for some of mother's delicious rock soup." She slid the pebble into her pocket and shuffled slowly... slowly towards the farmhouse. "It's a good thing that I have your wisdom and steadfast reason to rely on, Boulder," she murmured. "Goddess forbid if someday I gave into the impulsive whimsy of my uncontrollably wild imagination."

Silence.

Maud was barely a third of the way to her front door.

"Just shout if I'm moving too quickly, Boulder," she dribbled. "I do not want you flying out of my pocket because of how fast I'm galloping."

Author's Note

User: Cotton Fluff
Prompt: In a wasteland landscape, the only survivors were Maud Pie and her pet Boulder. She trots across the wasteland on a rough and tumble adventure where boulder is the only one she has to talk to (like Wilson from cast away) and she has to survive in harsh conditions in the remnants of her broken down old farm. Tired and close to the end, her tummy growling in hunger she lay in the dirt staring at a grey sky the color of her coat, she fades away too tired to go on anymore. Then her Mom calls Dinner from the porch and a young Maud Pie crawls out of the dirt with her pet rock to go eat dinner with her family.