Author's Note

Alright, let's cut to the chase. Here's my character tag.

James III
(Mr. Original)

"My mustache doesn't have to be alive to be flawless."

Within the hollowed tree-library of Ponyville was the librarian herself, Twilight Sparkle; and her amazing assistant, Spike the Dragon. Twilight was practicing different types of spells, with Spike being her test subject for certain ones... which is f*cked up when you think about it.

Near the wall beside them was James, as well as his conscience, Conscience... heheh. James was playing some classical music on a piano he got from Blue Star (He shrunk it until he brought it there, before enlarging it. Luckily, Twilight had a little room to spare.). He did like other certain types of music, but ragtime was indisputably his number-one choice. Conscience stood next to the swivel stool he was sitting on while they discussed things.

Actually, to say that they were having a discussion would be doing it too much justice. Saying they were making small talk would also be overdoing it. Can't exactly say they were talking about nothing...

...F*ck it, they were just Talking.

"You can't be feeling it that much if you're being tried on," Conscience 'argued' as Twilight successfully cast another spell.

"Well, I wouldn't enjoy a damn thing if my partner f***ed something up. I'd hope-- no, demand-- that it wasn't serious," James 'countered.'

"The look on his face would be priceless, if something did happen."

"But it would be embarrassing, even for me. Eugh," James shuddered as Twilight did another spell.

"Well, caterpillars aren't fluffy. Despite what that mother f***er says," Conscience deadpanned. "They're fuzzy. And either way, who doesn't like caterpillars?"

"Um... a lot of people?"

"They shouldn't, though. Caterpillars are important," Conscience held up his index.

"And so is appearance. But I read too much for that opinion to mean anything," James shook his head.

"...This is why I don't like being asked fifty different questions."

"Does that include tests?"

"Yes, but it doesn't include surveys. Although there is only so many personal questions I'll answer."

"But can you handle the mentality?" James asked with sincere curiosity as he reached the crescendo of the piece he was playing. Another flash from Twilight.

"If that includes splitting a beautiful animal up the middle with a chainsaw... then yes. If they don't even try to resist, then hell yeah."

"You mean, like, a deer... or something?" James's eyebrow rose.

"No. I mean, like... a gazelle, or something." James could only nod in understanding (...and agreement) as Conscience continued. "Because when you think about it, they test the theory of rules we make on losing our appetites on purpose."

"But the formula for that has variables. Technically, we watched too many movies with them in there to not feel that way. But the truth is, they have 'em. So... we think about one, or the other... hopefully."

"But they...," Conscience tried to come up with something to say against that, but couldn't. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Are you sure you can't wait to eat that bagel that's in the kitchen?" James asked with a hint of concern, the song coming near the end.

"Of course, or else the baker will get me in trouble!" Conscience furrowed his eyebrows. "But frankly, I don't give a f***, gingerbread cookies are delicious."

"Don't be like that. That's the way the cookie crumbles. And I'm not talking about water, either."

"That's only if the cookie doesn't commit suicide first. And it wouldn't be with milk, either."

"I would cry myself to sleep at night if that did happen."

"No you wouldn't," Conscience deadpanned. "Besides, your insides would hurt."

"They're always hurting." James paused, but just as quickly resumed playing. "But okay, you're right, maybe I wouldn't. But that sh** is still depressing as f***."

"Well, tea bombs are in this season. We should get some for Arthur... and for us. Hopefully no stick men die in the process."

"They'll make you gray! Even your blood being coughed up would be gray!" Conscience exclaimed, but paused. "...I see what you did there."

"Who says editors and ragtime don't mix?" James asked in an accusing tone, as Twilight cast another spell.

"It sure isn't the executive producers of that cartoon... the one with the talking infants," Conscience raised an eyebrow.

"You're right... the critics have a madly respectable sense of nostalgia."

"Glad you remember that," James smirked as he finished playing. "So I won't have to."

"Fine, but the commercial specials are yours," Conscience gave a pointed look. "And I get to pick the genre!"

"Psh, deal. As if Einstein wasn't already helping Doc Brown too much," James said sarcastically with a roll of his eyes. "I guess it's a good thing time machines don't have to go so fast, it'd kill you anyway..."

Conscience blinked. "...What's that supposed to mean?"

"That's not what I mean," James deadpanned.

Conscience began to clap slowly. "...Heh, good one."

"That's not what I mean either," James furrowed his eyebrows slightly.

"Well, it's obvious that that grouchy squid isn't gonna get any dessert," Conscience deadpanned.

"Which is why television is a very chaotic device," James said in a lecturing voice as he put up his index. "It's your turn to play a song, by the way."

"B-But-But, Paul wasn't knocked over. Let alone Sparks," Conscience stammered, still holding on to the subject (if you could call it that) of their... Talk.

"What's that supposed to mean?" James squinted in confusion.

"It means, you don't, get the unicorn!" Conscience in a mock distraught tone.

"Ooooooooh!" James Facewipped.

As Conscience was sitting down to take James's place, his gaze fell on Spike's face, which was now sporting a black and rather sleek-looking mustache. "Dude! That is sick! Girls will be fawning all over you!" he complimented Cheerfully.

"Haha, ya did it!" Spike congratulated Twilight and turned to the checklist behind him, marking the last box at the bottom. "Growing magic, that's number twenty-five. Twenty-five different types of tricks and counting. And I think this is the best trick so far," he said as he looked into a mirror. "Hel-looo, Rarity. What's that? Aw, it's nothin', just my awesome mustache," he chuckled.

"You got it Spike, seize the day!" Conscience cheered. James, however, was red in the face as he buried his head in his hands while shaking his head.

Twilight rolled her eyes in amusement. "Sorry, Romeo. As attractive and enticing as you look, it's just for practice and it's gotta go," her horn flared.

"Wait!" Spike put his hands up frantically. But-- *poof* ...The mustache was gone already. "Aw, rats," he sagged.

"Aww," Conscience pouted in disappointment. Twilight giggled, while James let out a quiet sigh of relief.