The Ponce stood tall and distinct amongst its more modest neighbours along Manehatten's main road. The sparkling carriages and austere businessponies usually found roaming about were absent and left the city with a brand of eeriness all its own – perfect for Nightmare Night.
The Elements of Harmony gleefully trotted along a nearby footpath, having just left a Nightmare Night-themed dress-up party held by Coco Pommel, and wistfully exchanged stories of how badly they scared the foppish aristocrats who decided to attend even though they came uninvited. Rarity, who wore the garb of an overly pampered vampire, mentioned to the others the lack of any sort of ‘proper’ food, and also the lack any sort of good musical accompaniment.
“What’s wrong with candy?!” Pinkie Pie questioned vexedly. She had to unravel the bandages that formed her mummy costume from around her mouth just to say anything.
“And what’s wrong with rock?!” added Dash. “And don’t say it's ‘uncouth’.”
“I wasn’t going to say it was uncouth, I was just going to say that it lacked grace,” said Rarity. Twilight alone laughed at this, though she did try to conceal it with the sleeve of her lab coat. “Anyway, you’ll both find better things once we arrive at the Ponce!”
“Does it serve that durn awful stuff we had a few months ago?” questioned Applejack. She didn’t need much to be able to walk the streets on Nightmare Night. With her hat, all she needed was four old boots with holes in them and a holster with a toy gun to be socially accepted.
“No, no, not at all. It's similar to the Tasty Treat in some regard. It serves food from faraway lands and distant nations with a modern Equestrian twist. And the body parts of animals.”
“That’s disgusting!”
“Well, that’s just how they do it in some countries, I’m afraid.”
“And which one of them un-civul-ized countries do they come from?”
“Prance! We should be there one we take this corner.”
“This place is gonna suck, ain't it?”
And so the Elements took that corner and gazed upon the majesty that was the Ponce.
Ah, how the mighty have fallen.
Usually, the front veneer of the Ponce would be lit up with sparkling neon signs and the smiles of classy onlookers, but today, the onlookers weren't too keen on smiling and the front was anything but bright and cheery. The logo for the Ponce took the form of a rickety-looking wooden sign which had ‘The Ponce’ daubed on it with red, fluorescent paint. Skeletons of monsters and effigies of Nightmare Moon stood next to the door and beckoned them in with sly grins and obscure gestures – the windows (or, lack of them if logic should be followed) were bricked up and boarded over with planks that looked like they were made from the same driftwood the sign was. Rarity frowned and removed a pamphlet from her pocket. “This isn’t right. Where are the beautiful, embossed windows and fantastic ice sculptures?”
“Well, maybe if ya read the fine print ya'd know.”
“That's the menu, Applejack.”
“This place is already worse than Ah thought.”
The ponies sauntered through the doors of the Ponce and saw a podium covered in fake cobwebs and and real spiders standing behind a small stretch of velvet railing. The cobwebs were obviously made of string but the spiders didn’t seem to realise that and continued on with their attempt to eat a fake scarab beetle. They failed, gave up and presumably went to nibble on something else that was slightly more appetising, like a small, helpless fake fly.
After a few moments of waiting on the Elements’ part, a mustachioed maître d' hobbled towards the podium and quickly grabbed a table cloth to look professional. “Good evening,” he said. “Welcome to the Ponce; Manehatten’s best and most glorious purveyor of genuine fine foods and delicious drinks. A table for six, I presume?”
“Yes, Jeeves, thank you,” said Rarity. “If you don’t mind me asking, why is the Ponce like this?”
“Oh, Miss Rarity! I didn't recognise you behind that... creative disguise of yours. The Administration has decided that the wisest business decision for the Ponce is to jump on the Nightmare Night bandwagon and mindlessly slather the restaurant with childish ornaments and tasteless imagery. Needless to say, I don’t agree with them, but I have been having some fun with gathering the new staff.”
“New staff?”
“Plenty of them. One’s taken up a job as a skeleton up the front, one’s a cook, couldn’t find any waiters, though, so I’m working solo tonight.”
Rarity blinked once before nodding her head. “Could you show us to our tables now, Jeeves?”
“Certainly, Miss Rarity. Follow me... If you dare! By Celestia, I hate saying that.”
Jeeves led them to a circular table laden with elegant cutlery and beautiful plates. The ponies all took their seats and Jeeves skulked off to the kitchen to fetch them some menus. The restaurant was empty, save for the Elements, but nonetheless felt cosy and chic.
“Is his name seriously Jeeves?” asked Dash from behind her hockey mask.
“He had a difficult relationship with his father, OK,” said Rarity.
“Indeed I did have a difficult relationship with my father!” said Jeeves cheerfully from his place at Rarity's side. The ponies jumped at his sudden appearance, Jeeves shrugged this off and gave them all their menus. “I remember one night in particular when my father got very drunk on some Prench wine he acquired from a dubious source. He came in, screaming, hitting my mother with the force of a thousand tidal waves. He eventually finished and nine months later, I was born. That was the worst day of my life. Was I technically alive back then or was I just—”
“Jeeves, you’re scaring Fluttershy.”
Fluttershy pulled her witch’'s hat down on her head in a desperate attempt to block out memories best left unremembered. She shuddered and muttered quietly to herself about Equine anatomy.
“Oh, frightfully sorry, Miss Shy. I must learn to keep my mouth shut. I just wish my mother kept hers open—”
“Jeeves, don't you have other duties to attend to?” questioned Rarity.
“No. The cooks are cooking, the migrant workers I'm keeping chained up in the back are working, the skeletons’s skeleton-ing... everything seems to be in place. Except for the band. Hang on, I’ll go and get them.”
Before anypony could tell Jeeves what they wanted to order, he ran off to someplace behind a velvet curtain and didn't come back for a whole three seconds. “While I’m fetching the band, feel free to look at the menu. ”
“Well, we were gonna—”
Dash was swiftly interrupted by a cloud of dust kicked up be Jeeves as he wove through the maze of empty, circular tables and again disappeared behind the velvet curtain. Twilight took a purely scientific interest in the exotic meats section of the menu while Pinkie voraciously ate a vase of petunias – vase included – all the while lamenting how hungry she was. The menu contained such cheery and filly-friendly delicacies such as ‘Brain of Decapitated Philosopher with Notebook’, ‘Heart of Hopeless Romantic’, ‘Noose Mousse’, ‘The Dark Ritual’, and the chef's special sauce.
“Rarity, did you bring us to a cannibal cafe?” questioned Dash.
“Maybe inadvertently, but I had no idea it would be like this.”
“I feel like we should leave.”
“We can’t.”
“Why not?”
“See that small Neighponese stallion playing the mandolin on the other side of the street?”
“I don’t have X-ray vision, ya know.”
“He’s wearing the Ponce’s signature cuff-links on his jacket.”
“He could be an escaped migrant worker.”
“With a mandolin?”
“Some ponies are musically minded.”
“He’s a murderer.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because we passed a sign earlier that said so.”
“How come I didn’t see it?”
“You were punch-drunk an hour ago.”
“And I’m still drunk now!”
“Good evening, madams,” said Jeeves. “Are you all ready to order?”
The ponies put down their menus and turned to Jeeves. “For the betterment of science,” said Twilight, ”I will have the Philosopher's Brain with Notebook.”
“Excellent choice! Miss Pinkie, what would you like?”
“I’ll have the lot!” she yelled enthusiastically.
Jeeves paused and stared at Pinkie for the shortest of moments. “OK. Would you like that with any sort of drink?”
“Soda.”
“Just soda?”
“All of it.”
“Alright then. What about you, Miss Jack?”
“Salad,” she said dismally.
“Would you like that with a side of anything?”
“Nope. I just want a salad.”
“What about—”
The other ponies all said “Salad” in chorus before hoofing Jeeves their menus. Jeeves widened his eyes and hummed thoughtfully. “I'll have to get the migrant workers to work extra hard for this. The wait might be a bit long, so for now, just enjoy the band. And one more thing, I only recruited these damnable wretches because I was muscled into it by the Administration.”
Jeeves scampered off to the kitchen just as the velvet curtains started to open. Five ponies stood on stage, an accordionist, a bassist, a pianist, a drummer and a vocalist. The pianist trod over to a microphone placed in the centre of the stage and spoke with a cool, breathy voice. “Hello and welcome to a pretty pointless show my band and I thought of back when we were ignorant young fillies with half-decent lives. ‘Life’, what's the point of that word anyway? What meaning is there in life but to reproduce and die? Nothing we ever do will matter, so we try to forget that by living out our lives in ignorance of what's really goin’ on, man.”
“Nihilist,” said the vocalist, “you’re doing that thing where you monologue again. Doesn't it seem pointless to complain about everything and not, you know, act to improve you circumstances?”
“Everything is pointless to me, Rationalist. Nothing in this world matters beyond the realisation of our own superfluousness and fragility.”
“I agree with Nihilist,” said the accordionist timidly.
“Quiet, Conformist. You never say anything useful,” said Nihilist.
The Rationalist pointed and scoffed at Nihilist. “That was unnecessary, you know. Not rational at all.”
“Yeah!” chimed the bassist. “Neither are the filthy Yakistani slant-eyes!”
“Racist, that was both unnecessary and incorrect.”
“Shut up, ya fuckin’ Kraut!”
“I'm only half Germane.”
“That's even worse! You're a blight upon the race!”
“Which race?”
“My race!”
“And you don't find it odd that your race is the only one worth existing?”
“Why would I? Y’know what we need to do to survive? We need to shoot them damn Krauts in their schleckenburgers! We need to stab the damn Zebricans in the wumblejumbles! We need to round up all those dirty ni—”
“Sorry to interrupt,” said Twilight, “but please tell me this is just an act.”
“Where ya from, Missy?” said the bassist.
“Does it matter?” Nihilist added.
“Hell yeah, it does!”
“Is this an act or not?!” Twilight yelled.
“No. This was not meant to happen,” said the vocalist. “I just think Racist might be a bit upset by all the migrant workers backstage. He doesn't like... Oh, how do I put it? Moonspeak.”
The ponies all glared at the band with a mix of strangely derived entertainment and utter contempt. The band degenerated into a squabbling mob of racist slurs and pseudo-philosophical debate while Jeeves trod towards the stage at a leisurely pace and reprimanded them for their behaviour. The bassist initially put up a fight on the pretence that Jeeves’ mother was a Yak, but Jeeves laid down the science and swiftly dealt with that problem.
“Are you gonna play now?” said Jeeves.
“Aw, yeah. Sure. Fine,” said the bassist.
“And no more derogatory remarks about other races, you hear me?”
“Yeah, fuckin’ sure... Communist fuck...”
“Good. Now go and play.”
The bassist strutted up to his position and took hold of his bass guitar. The rest of the band members fell into position and waited for the time where they would play. The drummer started with a beat and the bassist hauled an electric guitar from within his base guitar and started strumming. The vocalist started to sing.
Dun, dun, dun, dun, dun, dun, dun, dun dun.
When I wake from my slumber due to the sound of someone knocking on my door,
Well I know I’m gonna be, I'm gonna be the pony who wakes from his slumber next to you,
When I leave my abode due to the absurd tax rates,
Well I know I'm gonna be, I’m gonna be the pony who's described as your acquaintance in close proximity to you,
When I become inebriated from the over-consumption of alcohol,
Well I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the pony who becomes inebriated next to you,
If I find myself vomiting from the previously mentioned over-consumption of alcohol
Well I know I’m gonna be, I'm gonna be the pony who finds himself vomiting next to you,
But I would trek five hundred kilometres and I would trek five hundred additional kilometres,
Just to be the pony who treks five hundred kilometres just so I may topple at your door,
“Any idea what this ‘kilometre’ stuff is, Twilight?” Dash whispered.
“Not a clue.”
“Do you think they all had difficult relationships with their dads too?”
“I wish I knew.”
The vocalist tossed the microphone to the bassist.
When I’m workin’ at a firm and am being repressed by a filthy Yak,
Well I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man who's being repressed for some load of Yakyakistani cack,
And when the money I steal comes in for the work I’ll do,
I'll keep every single penny from the Jews,
When I come home from Aunt Jemima's (Aunt Jimima’s),
Well I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the pony who brings along a snipa’,
But I would slay five hundred Yaks and then I’d slay five hundred more,
Just to be the pony who slays five hundred Yaks to fall down at your door,
“They're not very good at this, are they, Applejack?” spoke Fluttershy.
“At least this one rhymes,” said Dash.
“He's disgusting, though,” pitched Rarity.
“He insulted my Aunt Jimima!” Applejack yelled. “I'm not OK with this!”
The pianist took up the microphone.
When I’m lonely,
Well I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the pony who's lonely because of the pointlessness of life,
And when I'm dreamin’,
Well I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the pony who dreams of the day it all ends,
When I go out (When I go out)
Well I know I’m gonna be, I'm gonna be the pony who goes out to end it all,
And when I come home (When I come home),
Well I know I'm gonna be, I’m gonna be the pony who’s ended it all,
I'm gonna be the pony who ends it all... alone,
But I would build five hundred bombs and I would build five hundred more,
Just to be the pony who built one thousand bombs to start the fires of war,
An awful guitar solo rang out across the room and concluded the song. The Elements gazed in stupefied awe at their performance and ruminated on applauding but found about five-hundred good reasons not to.
“Why didn’t the drummer sing?” asked Fluttershy.
“The drummer,” spoke the Rationalist, “is the only normal one among us. We call him the ‘Mostly Ordinary Drummer Who Occasionally Speaks Seven Different Languages’. We thought it was quite relevant, you know?”
“K̵͉ͪ̀͠ŗ̦̮͙̺͉̳̓ͩ͘͡i̶̧̙̺̦̻̲͍̠͓ͧ̃ͥe͇͖̻͕̪͚̥̺ͭͥͤ͜͡g͈͖͎͓̮̋͌͢͟͡ ̰̲͙̙̲̗̤̞ͨ̉͒̾͑k̨̛̭̯̻̍̉̄̊̃̊͂̚͜r͛̉̋҉̰̤̖̲̲a͗ͪͭ͗̃̆͢͏̹͓͟k̂ͥͤ͝͏̯̪͉k̤͔̰̦̼ͫ̿͢͢ͅ ̷̸̧̞͗͑a̔̇͟͏̷̣̭̬̬͎̲͇̹͇p͖̜̒̏ͭ͒̾̆́̚a͖̱̺͖͋̃z͇̙̥͂̅͞u̵̫̭̜ͤ͛͊͗̈̆̆͞g̸̛̯̗̹͙̠̲ͯͭ̔̇ͨ̚u̲̠͓͖̫̔ͤ̒͋̑ͧ ̧̞͍̩̹̞̼̖͑ͩ͞g͕̲͐̇͐͟͝r̶̰̰̅́̄̏̚͞ͅo̴ͩ͒̎̃͒̌ͣ͜͏̪̭̗̭̣͔g̘̫͕͔̜̲̃ͨͬͬ̕͝h̶̄͌̿̐ͣ̾͌ͮ͟ͅa̶̱̬ͪn̷̯̜̼̱͖̲ͯ̔ģ̩̟̞̥ͯ̽ͨ ̻̦̼̰̩͍͐́͌̇̂͜ĥ̸͕͉̣͍̒ͥ͌j͈͈̫̥̘̹̫̞̋̎̽ͪͦa̵̸͖͙͌̂̽ͯ̋͞l̡̛̲̳͇͈̗̬̞͎̐̿̂̽̓̓̚!̹ͬ́ͪ̄̅͡” said the drummer.
“Some of them are completely incomprehensible to mere mortals such as we, but they're still a bunch of fun to mess around with.”
Fluttershy, unsatisfied with her answer but unwilling to take the conversation any further, sighed and said their performance was grand before she moved to eat a bowl of petunias. Pinkie grabbed her by the foreleg and looked her in the eye before eerily whispering “My petunias,”. Fluttershy quickly reseated herself.
*
“Xiao Chau, are you done yet? It's been an hour since you started!” said Jeeves as he harried the cook.
Xiao glanced at Jeeves from his position atop a step ladder. “All of the food for Miss Pie has been prepared,” he said as he rummaged through the kitchen cupboards. “But everyone else’s food will take fifteen minutes or so. And could you stop calling me Xiao Chau? My name is Gilded Garnish.”
“Sorry, Xiao... I mean, Garnish... But our guests are becoming irritable. They didn't like the band and we’re running out of petunias.”
“What about vases, doesn't she eat them too?”
“Well, yes, but we’re running out of the fine china vases and soon we’ll have to resort to using the crystal ones.”
“Crystal vases?”
“Yes. Don't you have them where you come from?”
“By Celestia, please stop,” he said before he jumped to the floor.
“Terribly sorry. I was just curious.”
“Yeah, well, curiosity killed the cat.”
“Aren't they good luck where you come from?”
“This is why the food takes so fucking long!”
*
Pinkie Pie held a spoon between her hooves and marvelled at her reflection. The longer she gazed at this distorted and warped version of herself, the funnier it became. Twilight and Fluttershy talked about how awful the band was, and Rainbow Dash and Rarity tried to coax Applejack from her incandescent rage into a more tranquil state of mind.
“The first two were pretty bad, but the third one really spoke to me. Except for that bit about bombs and explosions, I didn’t like that at all,” said Fluttershy.
Twilight raised an eyebrow and fiddled with a Rubiks's Cube all the while. “But you did like that bit about the pointlessness of life, didn't you?”
“Oh, no, the lyrics were... depressing. But his voice was amazing. What was your favourite part, Twilight?”
Twilight solved her Rubik's cube and placed it on the floor. She spoke drearily. “The part where it ended.”
The words “Dinner is served!” rang out across the room as Jeeves wheeled a silver cart to the Elements' table. He gave Twilight the Philosopher's Brain, Dash, Rarity, Fluttershy and Applejack the salad and informed Pinkie that her food had to be brought it on a wheelbarrow so it would take a bit of time before they could fine one big enough.
“So I’m just supposed to sit here and watch everypony eat?!” Pinkie cried.
“That is the general gist of things, yes,” Jeeves replied.
Pinkie sighed and slammed her head into the table with an unnatural disregard for the safety of her brain and promptly repeated herself until Jeeves placed a cushion in front of her. “Is this supposed to be funny?” she said.
“No, it’s to stop us from getting a lawsuit.”
“Good to know that you care about your customers.”
“Personally, I don't. It’s the Administration who’s pulling the strings here.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
“Well, you aren’t very good at conveying it, are you?”
Pinkie sighed again and placed her head on the cushion. “How long until my food gets here?”
“How long does it take you to find a wheelbarrow the size of a dinner table? Because the answer to your question is the answer to that.”
“Can I at least get an ETA?”
“Five minutes or so.”
Pinkie removed herself from the cushion and gazed a sceptical gaze. “It only takes you five minutes to find a wheelbarrow big enough for everything on your menu?”
“We cater to the aristocracy, what do you expect?”
Five minutes and several trips to the microwave later, Gilded Garnish sauntered into the room towing a humongous wheelbarrow that was indeed the size of a dinner table. He hauled the food over to the Elements’ table – after multiple falls – and briskly set Pinkie’s food down in front of her. Pinkie’s face lit up with a mixture of pure, unadulterated happiness and disconcerting catharsis with a little bit of predatory instinct there as well.
“Well, everypony,” spoke Twilight as she raised her glass, “for the betterment of science, but also to celebrate Nightmare Night, of course, we're going to eat this delicious meal with gratefulness and love in our hearts!”
“You’d resort to cannibalism in the name of science?” said Rarity.
“It’s not cannibalism! It says on the menu that, while some things are made of meat, none of it is actually from any Equine, Dragon, flying insectoid, Griffin, monster, Yak, alligator or sea creature.”
“But aren’t those all of the races capable of higher thought? How can something like a pig be a philosopher?”
“Well, they left one out...”
“Sorry, what?”
“It’s not cannibalism! For science!” Twilight yelled as she devoured the Philosopher’s Brain.
The Elements – save Pinkie, for she was consuming food at break-neck speeds – decided it would be best if they’d simply eat their salads and talk about their day. So they did that. And many laughs were had. Twilight, though, finished her Philosopher's Brain and started to raise existential questions about the nature of reality and Ponykind’s place within it all.
“If a tree falls down in a forest, and nopony is there to hear it, does it still make a sound?” she said.
“Objectively speaking, yes,” replied Applejack.
“If we run out of time, where does it go?”
“Ah dunno. The Time Graveyard?”
“What is love?”
“A series of chemical reactions caused by the brain. You’ve told me that a billion times now and Ah’m never gonna get that outta my skull?”
“What is the meaning of life?”
“Does it really matter?”
“If the question does not matter, than neither does the answer.”
Applejack sighed and finished the remnants of her salad. “Rarity, it’s your turn to argue with Twilight.”
Rarity groaned and held her head between her hooves. “I don’t wanna! She’s probably going to ask me about the meaning of beauty or something. I don't know what beauty means! Well, I do, but not in a philosophical sense!”
Jeeves strutted out of the kitchen and over to the Elements’ table. He passed a small tray with a thin piece of paper on it to Rarity and presented her with six bat-shaped sweets. Rarity took a single glance at the bill and turned a whiter shade of white than she already was. The contained the sum total price of eighty-six separate dishes, each one of them labelled with the phrase ‘INCLUDING SALES TAX’. Rarity sank into her chair and groaned with exasperation. Jeeves, on the other hand, told Garnish to prepare his favourite pastries for the now-inevitable rolling in money he would do. “Miss Rarity, with all due respect, you must have plenty of money on your person.”
“Jeeves,” said Rarity, “you’ve been a friend of the family for decades and, not to withhold you of your salary, but could you please lower these numbers. I simply cannot afford it.”
“Sorry, Miss Rarity, no can do. A father’s got to provide for his kids, you know.”
“Since when have you been a father?”
“Since twelve minutes ago.”
“What?”
“We’ve all made bad decisions... But, yes, you will need to pay.”
The Elements heard the doors creak and the elderly Neighponese pony trod into the Ponce with his mandolin in hand. His long, grey trench coat gently brushed the floor and swept up tiny trails of dust and grime behind him and gave him an air of other-worldliness. He sat down in the centre of the room and placed his mandolin next to him before he took a swig from a bottle of what some ponies not from Equestria would call ‘alcohol’. Jeeves trotted over to him with a cautious look on his face. “Good day, sir,” said Jeeves, “table for one, I presume?”
The pony took another swig of his ‘alcohol’ before he responded. His voice was nasally. “You assume I did not come with any friends. You consider the wants and needs of your guests poorly, old stallion.”
“Oh, you’re some sort of radical Neighsian mafia member aren’t you? Well, you can’t take the migrant workers, they’re too valuable to simply be let free!”
“Actually, I just wanted to collect the money you owe me.”
“I thought your boss wanted me to pay next week.”
“Then you must’ve misheard what he said.”
Jeeves narrowed his eyes in scepticism. “My good sir, do you happen to know what my wife yelled the first time we had intercourse?”
“I can’t really say yes to that without sounding creepy... So, no.”
“Get the hell out!”
Jeeves grabbed a used knife from Pinkie's smorgasbord and pressed it against the Neighponese pony’s neck. He yelped and dropped his flask with a sudden, knee-jerk reaction unbecoming of an Equine with a job such as his. The ponies stared in awe at the scene which unfurled as they watched. Except for Pinkie, who had passed out on the floor a few minutes ago.
“This really doesn’t seem necessary Mr.... What’s your name again?”
“Jeeves.”
“Troubled childhood?”
“Yup.”
Jeeves ran the knife across the pony's throat and blood and viscera sprayed the walls. The taxpony toppled to the floor silently. Rarity fainted, Applejack screamed, Dash also screamed, Twilight questioned the intrinsic value of Equine life relative to the universe at large, Fluttershy gathered the now-traumatised spiders in her hair and Pinkie promptly woke up and realised what was happening. She screamed.
Jeeves shushed them and told them to hide underneath their table. Twilight questioned why they had to do so but got dragged to the floor through the combined efforts of Applejack and Pinkie.
“I’m going to need you to all stay underneath that table for five minutes. I have some unsavoury characters to wait upon tonight.”
Jeeves disappeared behind the kitchen doors before reappearing with a shotgun and his terrified head chef. Jeeves flipped over a table, made it into a makeshift barrier and set himself and Garnish up behind it. They waited.
Five hours later, a group of suited, unsavoury-looking ponies trod into the Ponce, guns in hoof. They stopped in the centre of the room and examined the corpse of the taxpony with horror unbecoming of ponies of their occupation. One with a tattoo identifying himself as ‘Bureau’ spoke with a cool, mellow voice. “What the hell is this?” he said.
“That is exactly what will happen to you lot if you don't evacuate this premises within the next thirty seconds!” Jeeves yelled.
“If you’re going to make an example of somepony, why use the taxman?”
“What do you mean? He’s your tax collector isn't he?”
“Our boss would never use such tame methods to collect the money he is owed. It’s unbecoming of him.”
“So, what you’re saying is; he's not your debt collector?”
“By the Celestia I don't believe in, no!”
“Then why was he acting like a mafia debt collector?!”
“He was just an ordinary taxpony, y’know? He was probably trying to instil fear in ponies to make his job a bit more fun. Everyone already hates the taxpony anyway.”
Silence quickly fell across the room. “By Celestia, I’m going to go to jail again.”
“What?”
“You’ll never catch me alive!”
Jeeves laid down a harrying barrage of shotgun fire before he leaped from a window and into a back alley. He yelled and screamed how he would never go back in the Gulag in his life unless it was to pick up his dropped handkerchief and ran away faster than Dash could ever hope to go.
“So,” said Bureau, “what do we do now, boys?”
“I’m up for a good old-fashioned bounty hunt,” said a burly mafia pony with aviators.
“How about we just get a cup of coffee?”
“That’s good too.”
Garnish peeked over the edge of his table-cade and gathered enough courage to speak his words. “If, uh... If you guys wanna have some coffee, I make a pretty good latte...” he said, shaking with anxiety.
The mob ponies huddled together for a moment before accepting Garnish's offer. “Yeah, sure,” said Bureau. Garnish led the way to the kitchen as he and the mob ponies discussed what they'd do with the migrant workers.
The Elements, as soon as the mob ponies were out of sight and the migrant ponies rescued, cantered out of the Ponce with a unique feeling in their hearts. It was similar to the feeling you receive when you’re forced to wait an hour before you're given your food, but was also similar to the feeling you get when you visit a distant relative and they feed you their awful take on beautiful Neighponese cuisine. The Elements left the Ponce with three feelings in tow. One: having six hundred cans of soda in a single evening will later earn you nothing but stomach aches and severe indigestion (among other things). Two: the intrinsic value of a pony’s life can be measured in so many different ways that the question itself quickly becomes redundant due to the sheer amount of factors that cannot be accounted for. Three: Rarity has absolutely no taste in the culinary arts whatsoever. The night, however, ended not with moans and complaints but with with a single yell of triumph and elation on Applejack's part.
“Ah told ya it’d suck!”
Author's Note
I did not create the cover art, I wish I was that talented. Credit for the art goes to The-Wizard-of-Art.
This story is not meant to be a masterpiece – I wrote this in eight hours and edited it in one. This is my first piece of fanfic, and I merely wish to test the waters. Critical feedback is warmly welcomed.
I did not come up with the character “Racist Bassist” (as much as I wish I had!). Credit for that goes to the Game Grumps.
