Oops.

by Dave Bryant

Rating: everyone
Tags: Starlight Glimmer, Twilight Sparkle, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Spike, Comedy
Length: 1364

Twilight’s busy for the day. Spike offers to pack up and send off her letter through the portal. Mayhem ensues. • A Twin Canterlots story

A Twin Canterlots story—third in the Brass Ring series

Spike, number-one assistant, is happy to seal up and send off Twilight’s correspondence through the portal, where Sunset will take care of mailing it. He follows the instructions he’s given to the letter. Too bad he missed one critical point. . . .

Takes place about ten months after “Through the Mirror” and four months after “Rainbow Rocks”—late in season five.

Inspired by a comment from FanOfMostEverything on Amphorae—specifically, Twilight’s letter making up the chapter “Epistolary Interlude”.

Published 2017-01-05 07:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2017-01-05 07:00:01 UTC

You sent WHAT?

Inspired by a comment from FanOfMostEverything on Amphorae—specifically, Twilight’s letter making up the chapter “Epistolary Interlude”.

Princess Twilight Sparkle tapped on the doorjamb. “Spike?”

“Yeah?” The dragon looked up from one of his cherished comic books.

“Starlight and I will be going into town in a little while. Could you take care of a few things for me while I’m out?”

“Sure, Twilight! After all, I’m your number-one assistant, right?”

Twilight giggled. “Right. Anyway, I’ve made a list.” A sheet, not overly long for once, floated to him, surrounded with her characteristic magenta glow of levitation.

He reached up and pulled it out of the air, then put it down beside him without a glance. “I’ll take care of everything after I finish this issue of Power Ponies, I promise.”

“Okay. I’ll hold you to that!” Twilight made a mock-ferocious face, getting a laugh out of him. “See you later! I’ll bring back something from Sugar Cube Corner for you.” She turned and left, already muttering a recitation of errands under her breath.

Spike was as good as his word. Once he finished the comic and carefully put it away, he perused the list. Nothing on it looked very complicated, and most of it was familiar routine. He set to work, humming cheerfully. Truth to tell, he generally didn’t mind most of the tasks Twilight asked him to do; really, it was more her mood that made a difference. When she was calm and tranquil, unless he had to do something really big or obnoxious, it usually wasn’t a problem, and often she did her best to help. It was only when she started getting frazzled things started to slide downhill.

He let his mind wander back over some of her more memorable freak-outs and couldn’t help snickering. They might not have been very much fun at the time, but in retrospect he thought most of them were hilarious. She sure didn’t seem to think so, but then she could be pretty stiff about things like that, even stiffer than Rarity sometimes. He loved them both, but they could stand to loosen up a little. He sighed and shook his head as he swung his broom along one of the vast corridors.

The big, echoing, empty architectural monstrosity that loomed over Ponyville took a lot of cleaning, but at least the polished crystalline surfaces didn’t take much effort in themselves. A little sweeping or dusting, maybe a little buffing, and they were clean as a whistle. It was just the fact there were so many surfaces—not to mention the fact most of them were too high for him, or anypony else without wings, to reach easily. Even levitation had a hard time getting all the way up to the ceilings. Anyway, it was hard to see them clearly enough from floor level to clean them effectively. Maybe he should get a pair of binoculars or something.

At least he didn’t have to clean all of it at once. He and Twilight had explored it after the Tree of Harmony had dropped it on the town’s outskirts like something Winona left behind, and she’d divided it into sections on a map she made (of course). That way they could keep track of when different rooms and halls had been cleaned, so he wouldn’t clean the same ones twice and miss others. Still, though, he would swear it was bigger on the inside than it was on the outside.

And all of it looked like crystal. Once, when no one was looking, he’d tried to sample one of the rootlike extrusions wending along the edges of chambers and furnishings, but it turned out to be more like polished stone than gems, which was bland and unappetizing. Maybe it was for the best; he had a suspicion Twilight wouldn’t like literally being eaten out of house and home, and living inside a giant piece of candy would be way too tempting.

One chore after another got checked off, and finally Spike reached the last item. “Huh. ‘Put the letter on the right side of the table into the envelope addressed to “Captain Rose Brass” and seal it, then send it with the latest package of newspapers through the portal to Sunset,’” he read aloud and shrugged. “Okay.”

He set off for Twilight’s study, stopping along the way to make sure the packet for Sunset Shimmer was wrapped and ready to go. It was, so he continued on. Once at his destination, he looked into the room and sighed. She never let him touch this room, and as a result it looked like a tornado had swept through it. Piles of books and papers were everywhere.

The writing table sat more or less in the middle of the room. Sunlight spilled through the tall windows onto it and the floor; over the course of the day it moved like a sundial across the room. Twilight sometimes moved with it, especially on colder days. The tabletop looked as if the Windigoes had come to visit, there was so much paper on it. This could prove tougher than he expected.

He walked from the door to the table and looked down at it, then to his right. There, after a puzzled moment, he spotted a sheet full of Twilight’s distinctive writing, text arranged in the familiar blocks of a formal letter. Even for Twilight the stationery looked carelessly angled. He shrugged. For someone who could be so particular about things, she sure could be amazingly sloppy sometimes. With a ginger pat of the ink, he determined it was dry enough to fold.

The promised envelope lay just beyond the letter, and it too seemed dry to the touch. He placed the folded letter inside it and, with the ease of much practice, brushed glue from the bottle onto the flap and sealed it shut, pressing firmly to make sure it stuck. Since it was already addressed, and even had a strange-looking postage stamp on it—full color, so he knew it had to be from the other side of the portal—it was ready to go.

He grinned proudly as he scampered off with it. Why, he’d bet by the time Twilight got back, the letter would be well on its way to this Captain Rose Brass!

“Wow, Spike! You got it all done?” Twilight looked pleased and impressed.

“I sure did! I even sent that letter with the newspapers. It’s all taken care of.”

“Well, you sure do deserve this treat, then.” Twilight levitated a small cake from the shopping bag in which it had been ensconced, placing it beside him where he once more reclined, reading more comics. She nuzzled him before trotting out the door.

Several minutes later, though, her anguished voice echoed. “Spike! Spiiiike!”

He and Starlight Glimmer came running, sliding to a halt outside the study, in which Twilight, standing at the far side of the tabe, frenziedly levitated papers around her like a snowstorm. She was hyperventilating, which was always a bad sign. Spike swallowed and asked, “What’s wrong, Twilight?”

“The letter! You didn’t send it! It’s right here! What did you do?”

Spike said carefully, “I walked in, looked at the right side of the table, and found the letter for Captain Rose Brass, just like you described.” He pointed to his right at the spot where he’d found it.

Twilight groaned and fell back on her haunches, then face-planted on the table. After a moment she turned her head to look across the table at him and lifted a hoof to point to her right. “That letter, Spike. That was the letter. The one you sent must have been the draft I was copying from for the final version.”

Starlight was biting her lip, but whether to hold back concern or laughter was unclear. Spike scratched his head. “Uh . . . okay.”

“And it had embarrassing stuff in it I didn’t want to send!”

“Oh. Um, sorry?”

Author's Note

Old-fashioned fountain-pen (or quill) ink takes a while to dry enough to handle and fold without smearing. That’s why Twilight left the letter for Spike to deal with.