Pinkie the Mighty
Chapter 1
B.Lulaoon
The great and powerful Trixie, was not feeling so great and powerful at the moment. In fact, she was feeling rather melancholy. “Ah- CHOO!” Trixie readjusted the helmet so that she could once again see out of her liquid visor. The helmet, of course, being a testament to the engineering of nano-biotechnology…using the viscous spit bubbles of tentacle monsters that consume boogers, brainwaves, and gelatin while farting oxygen to create an economical life support modules was pure genius… especially when said spit bubble sort of inflated like a balloon when you sneezed.
“Ohmygosh!” Pinkie Squee’d “Even your sneezes are adorable.” Describing the helmet as resembling something like a bubble with four tentacles lining up along one’s lower mandible, with two additional tentacles wrapped around one’s ears like the horns of a ram would still be a horribly vague description of the ovoid bubble shaped bunny eared device that was her space helmet.
“Dam’mit Pinkie! You‘re not helping” The sulking unicorn huffed indignantly. An extra set of long flat tentacles that resembled antenna, often described as bunny ears because they were so long and flat (despite being closer to eyestalks), pulled back to reflect Trixie’s grouchy mood. Pinkie, naturally, was not wearing a space helmet as her species apparently did not follow the normal laws of physics when it came to breathing… Still, in this case, it was probably safe to assume there was air (if not a breathable atmosphere) based on the fact that Pinkie Pie was still talking.
“Awe! But you’re so cute Bloo.” Pinkie was anxious, it wasn’t often she found herself resisting the urge to pick her partner up and hold her, squeeze her, and play with her like she was kewpie doll. But, thanks to those seminars on boundaries, sexual harassment, inappropriate touching, and affirmative action she was forced to take back at the home office [for the twelfth time] she knew better. . . When it came to little kids.
“Trixie told you to stop calling her that!” The young unicorn grumbled. Although she had to admit it was better than ‘Suicidal’ or ‘Berserker Buddy.’
“I ‘ll bet you need a hug.” Pinkie’s voice was phishing for approval. And, it promised a curry comb through her mane and a hair brush through Trixie’s tail if she gave in to the pink pony’s veiled desire for physical contact.
“No. YOU need a hug. __We__ need to track down Borf, Revi, Geega, and that infanto-ray thingie before they use it to take over the galax-SEE” it was then that the transformation induced by the infanto-ray wore off as Trixie was restored to her former glory. Faster than a lightning bolt, in half a filly second, Pinkie latched on to Trixie like white on rice and glommed onto her partner with the force of accretion known only to the gods of plushie dolls and puppy dogs. “Yes. Yes. Trixie knows she’s bestest pony,” Trixie stated as she tried to pry, wedge, and dislodge her partner. “But, if you don‘t let Trixie go right now, Trixie will hurt you and have you thrown in a rubber room.”
“That‘s okay, I like balloons.” Pinkie Replied. This, of course, was followed by another tight squeeze which incidentally forced all the air out of Trixie’s lungs; Effectively inflating her helmet further beyond the dioxide per square inch rating it was intended to endure. Immediately, and with a wet pop, the clear gelatin like substance that comprised the face shield of her squid turned bascinet exploded in a way that only a slime (with the viscosity of paraffin wax and ky jelly) can. Naturally the word “Ick!” accompanied this loud splurt of explosive flatulence and both space ponies were coated in the sludge of an onomatopoeic silly putty.
That is to say two things happened to Trixie in that very moment. Pinkie let her partner go in order to shake the transparent ice blue slime out of her fur like a strigil slaking oil, and Trixie took in the largest, deepest, and shortest gasp of breath she could before holding her breath like an ocean blossom. Hoping that her helmet had enough ink left in its reserve to fart out a new respirator just before she suffocated like a fish with no water, which was unlikely given any form of symbiosis and sentience the squid had was tied into their spaceship’s A. I., and calling the downed patrol shuttle a ship was a generous description of the now totaled spacecraft before it was wreckage.
Bellatrix Lulamoon was about ten seconds from panic. Of course, for Trixie, breathing in the chemicals through every available orifice as expediently as possible _without resorting to sewing her lips to the anus of a genetically engineered invertebrate_ meant that her nostrils burned with the fire of polluted monoxide and with a subtle hint of pine and apples. Oh sweet juniper berries, she hoped the atmosphere here, on this planet, wasn’t too oxygen rich. She’d either be higher than Pinkie Pie or look quite the fool if she had to kiss a swollen jellyfish’s ass all day…
A short while earlier, and a rather fortunate coincidence for the two galaxy federation police officers (because Trixie could no longer reach the buttons or pedals necessary to pull it off), Pinkie managed to land most of the doomed spacecraft in a bog on the outskirts of a large forest that bordered a nearby village. It didn’t keep the ship from breaking apart or exploding, but the trees of the mostly evergreen forest managed to brake down the speed of the craft just long enough to eject the control module. Which, ideally, could have been used as a rather limited two seat habitation module with a cloaking device and radio (to use an anachronism) capable of transmitting their location back to headquarters. That was assuming said module had not gone into a barrel roll, released the parachute upside down, caught fire, or decided this would be the day the airbags, safety foam, and safety belts would all malfunction spectacularly. . . At least they wouldn’t starve with all the potatoes, sweet or otherwise, those contemptible engineers had the foresight to use as packing peanuts. Because, clearly, being stoned to death with a hailstorm of tribble sized potatoes was the ultimate back up to the backup's, buck-up plan should all the safety features of the vehicle stop working at once.
Granted, Trixie would have preferred fewer nuts both preceding and following the current disaster. A disaster involving intergalactic criminals _setting up something slightly less spectacular than a probability advantaged shell game_ that had apparently stranded both her and her partner in some godforsaken forest (in the middle of a gravity well), on some backwater blue drop [orbited by a sun of all things,] in the horsehead nebula (surrounded by worthless potatoes). Shockingly, the only reason Pinkie survived after the fall was her body was made out of rubber and her horseshoes were made out of springs. It goes without saying those springs were made up of highly woven nano-fibers, and by rubber one means something analogous to living bubblegum. Again, Bellatrix in her diminutive state, used telekinesis to wrap herself with a ball of metaphorical bubble wrap; but this more or less had the effect of converting the blue unicorn into a rubber wrapped hamster ball filled with glass putty. Soon, Both Pinkie and Trixie were bouncing off the walls and destroying whatever electronics and consoles the potatoes failed to ruin with the force of a bowling ball striking nine pins.
However, rather than contemplate why the administrators at headquarters insisted on pairing up a schizo with a psyknic (beyond the fact they were good at pooping…that is to say denying the virtue of cartoon physics) Trixie should have held her tongue as she looked at the damage that she had wrought upon the module with the assistance of her playful partner, but didn’t, before screaming a sting of incomprehensible obscenities in every language she knew.
Knowing full well her survival would be meaningless if she died. Trixie was once again holding her breath, praying for some miracle or magical solution to her current dilemma. As what was left of her sanity seemed to evaporate, mostly due to hypoxia, she stared off into the burning forest and started hiccupping like a squeaky toy or dolphin. Her body clearly wanted to breathe, badly, and her diaphragm was letting her know it. She figured she had a minute of air left. Six minutes holding, and one minute of lucid consciousness after exasperating. As long as she kept her mouth shut and didn’t-“Ah- CHOO!”
M.F. Surprise (in progress)
Pinkie the Mighty
Chapter 2
M. F. Surprise
It was the dawn of a new millennium, literally. Not a figuratively literally, but really literally literally. The summer sun celebration was only a day away. Soon, Princess Luna would return from the stars in her chariot of diamonds with teddy bears and chocolates for all her loyal subjects, before she smote those sun loving non-believers so far past heaven and hell they came back as puss. The abandoned building exploration club, consisting mostly of leather winged threstals and a screw loose pegasister, was comprised of three acolytes and an outsider. Although, in all fairness, that outsider felt a little responsible for bringing them all together. After all, it was her mistake that caused them to become orphans in the first place. It was an honest mistake and a lack of common sense really. How was she (the outsider) to know poking that Ursa-Major with a stick would come back to bite her with the wrath of a stone Grendel. Fortunately, she was small enough to get swallowed whole, but large enough to be wedged in the beast's windpipe like a bad penny... and it still took her parents and two members of the lunar guard to subdue the beast, assuming subjugation had been achieved at all during the crusade. Either way, she managed to survive, or this would be a very short chapter indeed.
Surprise was also the one who turned the others, all bat ponies, onto the thrill of exploring derelict buildings in middle of the night. She literally had nothing else in common with any of her friends, not gender, not politics or religious beliefs, and she was the only one they called Miz. If her childhood plans had panned out she could have been one of the power-ponies, because the wonderbolts were all shit-birds, and anyone who wanted to be one was a big fat turd. If her childhood plans had worked out Big Macintosh would be _her_ boyfriend instead of mooning over Rainbow Crash. If her childhood dreams hadn't been crushed by the time she reached middle school her closest friend would be a real dragon instead of a retarded alligator like Gummy. More importantly, her backyard would have a water park, her friends wouldn't all live in the same foster home, and dinners wouldn't consist of white bread rolled into a little ball filled with peanut butter and fritos. Well, she'd be damned if she couldn't find her own castle grayskull to rule equestria from with an iron hoof. One day, Celestia and her corrupt regime would be overthrown and Surprise was going to be the one to do it. . .
Plus, for the Tyranny of calling her Miss Fortune that mule was going to pay. She couldn't even be bothered to remember her real name. And, of course, being Princess Celestia no pony corrected her EVER. The name 'Surprise' was bad enough, being posthumously renamed was the worse, not to mention her turd shaped cutie mark didn't help. No one really cared that she was really good at pooping. And, nearly everyone knew calling her Miss Fortune got her goat. After all, literally every pony could do it. Even if her special talent was that she could lay out a steamer in the shape of a chocolate bunny, her gift was absolutely worthless without the power to perfect it... and it wasn't as if the surprise was that her skat smelled like a bed of roses either. It wasn't her fault she wasn't born a horny devil bird like Twilight Sparkle, and the only magic she could perform was literally pulling a rabbit her backside. Plus, the only person she could ever manage to convince the pile of mousse droppings on her rump was ice cream was a diamond dog.
Teddy bears and chocolates be damned, Princess Luna was a fairy tale for foals and idiots and if Surprise didn't know better she'd reveal it was all a conspiracy created by Princess Celestia to keep the batponies in line (and away from worshiping the mare on the moon)... but her father made sure she knew better. After all her daddy, Bless His Heart, was one of Celestia's personal escorts. He was one of the ponies that carried Celestia across the sky in her golden chariot with Filligree. The real mystery as to why the orphans were all exiled to the sticks of Ponyville, outside of Canterlot no less, after the ursa major incident was never fully resolved. But, Surprise bet it had something to do with Twilight Sparkle, that brown nosing cosset would have her lips sewn to Celestia's plot if she could get away with it.
Surprise took a moment to look throughout her saddlebags for her crudely hand drawn map of the everfree. Naturally, her saddlebags consisted of a rucksack, tactical bailout satchel, attache case, mess kit, a chum-buddy shark themed napsack (because sea ponies are awesome), and the ever popular filly guide survival manual [which Surprise had taken special care to make into a power-ponies fancomic, _because poor literacy is cool... (and it was an autographed copy Celestia had given to Twilight Sparkle). This was not, by far, the most evil (nor least annoying) thing she had done to Twilight Sparkle during the last Filly Guide Jamboree. But, Surprise thought it well worth the sacrifice of her own manual when Twilight went postal... and burned their camp down].
After throwing the edited version of the Filly Guide Manual to the zombie apocalypse over her shoulder, while trying and failing to recover the map she had taken special care to draw on one of the paper placemats back at Sugarcube Corner, the survivors manual landed next to her paperback copy of Daring DoNU7 and the Wascolly Wabbits along with the envelope of rattlesnake eggs she was using as a bookmark.
No, she wasn't lost. She just needed the map to update (if not cross off) one of the landmarks. The Ace Swift Mausoleum, located somewhere in the froggy bottom bog (because the politicians couldn't be bothered to do more than remove the bodies when they built that dam thing) was now a thing of the past. Lately, the ramshackle outhouse that was Swift's burial place, the ones Surprise and her cohorts had been using for the hastily renamed ruin explorers club (and not used for counter intelligence espionage of the shadowbolts) had now been demolished and replaced with what appeared to be a giant half melted potato warmer in an impact crater. Granted, It looked habitable... and had lots of shiny buttons, but Miz Fortune was Surprisingly peeved, after fishing out the paper place matt and a pink crayon she flipped the map over, grabbed Gummy to use as a clip board and quickly scrawled out something.“Ok Gummy, New agenda! We have to destroy Princess Celestia. Vengeance isn't enough, This means war.”
That mare was going to pay for this, pay in spades. Their prank war had officially escalated to the mattresses, now it was a Troll war. With a Capital T. Destroying her evil fort of doom was the last straw. Becasue as far as Surprise was concerned Celestia was nothing more than a tyrant on a power trip. She molded Equestria into exactly what she wanted, and destroyed anyone who broke away from her ideals. Turning poor Fluffle Puff into Princess Mi Amore Cadenza was only the tip of the ice berg. Just because Fluffle Puff was raised by timberwolves in the everfree forest, didn't mean Celestia had the right to brainwash her into becoming Twilight Sparkle's nursemaid. If Celestia expected to be feared and worshiped like an omnipotent god that could strike anyone down (especially puppy minded sycophants that weren't hurting any pony), the second they stepped out of line; then, there was no excuse for trolling the gullible, ignorant, and-
“Gummy! Quit eating my itinerary. I'm trying to work here.” This proved to be a mistake as the minute the baby alligator stopped chewing on the ketchup stained paper the winds immediately caught the parchment and carried it off into the everfree forest. “Celestia Damnit!” Cursed the irate Surprise as she chased after the paper's trail leaving Gummy and her sacks of goodies behind. Gummy, really having nothing better to do, licked his eyeball.
Once in the forest, directed by the cold wind of nature's maniacal design, and with the reckless abandon of a team of wild horses, Surprise nimbly managed to capture the flagging parchment that contained her itinerary. She accomplished this feat not with prestidigitation, or trichnoid coiffure no jutsu, as one would expect. No, she accomplished this feat with dumb luck becasue the itinerary had managed to catch itself on the bramble of a broken bow of a tree. One that had been conveniently shredded, if not destroyed by the fallout of some sort of giant potato warmer crashing into the earth below.
