Chapters The Second Story: "The Singular Constant"
The second story, imagined and conceived exactly twenty minutes after submissions to Thirty Minute Pony Stories Prompt #42 had already ended…
“The Singular Constant”
Twilight yawned as she turned up the stairwell.
To her utter surprise her soft sound was met by a flurry of motion, one that seemed to indicate that Spike had leapt from the window and into his bed in one swift movement.
“Spike,” she asked with more than a little surprise, “are you still awake? Your bedtime was two hours ago…”
Spike looked up at her from beneath his blanket. His two eyes shone through the night even as he wrapped it closer to himself.
“Twi,” he spoke into the night, “you’re home? I… I didn’t see you come in. I mean, hear you. I didn’t hear you come in…”
Twilight looked towards the window. There the last few wafts of smoke hung over a candle, illuminated by the moonlight.
He had stayed up waiting for her to come home again. He had sat in the window waiting, watching for her to come home.
She wished he wouldn’t.
Twilight approached him. As her eyes adjusted to the moonlight she ignited her magic and wafted the bed sheet over him, letting it settle with an audible “poof”.
“I wish you wouldn’t sit up waiting for me, Spike,” she said gently, touching her face to his before resting upon the quilted coverlet of her own bed.
There was a moment of silence, and then the embarrassed voice of her little whelp called out to her from the basket.
“You… know? You know that I sit up waiting? How… how did you know?”
“You’re always so tired and hard to wake on the mornings after the nights I come home late,” she said, resting her head at the foot of her bed, letting her words drift on the night air that came in through the window. “I wish you wouldn’t…”
“Oh, I…” he began, Twilight watching his outline shift uncomfortably in the moonlight, the slight reflection glinting across his scales.
“It’s just, just that I get worried about you, Twi,” he said, his little voice quiet in the darkness, “I love you, you know, and I get all these ideas in my head… odd ones about stuff, when you’re not here. I mean, we go through some odd stuff, don’t we?”
“Heh, yes,” she answered. Twilight let her mind wander. She let it take her on a journey through any possible number of scenarios that could be bothering him.
“You’re my number one assistant, Spike,” she answered, “and I don’t want you to worry about me. I’m just running late most nights… I don’t need much adventure after dark.”
“I-I know,” he continued with a stutter, “It’s… it’s just that I do worry. I get all sorts of crazy ideas about what could be happening.”
“Spike, no matter what happens, I’ll be okay. I’m touched that you stay up, but there’s no need,” she said, painting emotion into her voice even as her head sat drowsily across her quilt. “I’m very happy that you love me enough to sit up and wait, but I care about you and…”
A pregnant silence sat in the air. At once Twilight released what it was… it was the way she had answered an earlier statement of his. She’d forgotten something, and now his doubt sat in the still summer air that settled around the room.
Now those thoughts were racing through his head, and there was no answer. She felt herself beginning to share them, realize that in that moment she had set him up, and for both of them there were more questions than answers.
“Twi,” said the occupant of the basket, his voice fighting to become more than a whisper, “I know you care about me, but, well…”
Twilight lifted her head from the foot of the bed, and she let the pondering depart from her as the conversation reached its natural conclusion.
“… but do you love me, Twi?”
Twilight and Spike had been introduced to Fluttershy’s lover only briefly.
They picked the strawberries and placed them in the wicker baskets, the wide bands of which stretched and heaved and groaned to contain the fruit. The soundtrack to the afternoon was now being provided by a chorus that arose from the old shed nearby, the one to which the jubilant pegasus and her paramour had unashamedly retired.
Both of the remaining pickers blushed as they worked the long rows, courteously carrying on their conversation in feigned ignorance of the activities that loudly arose from the shed as Celestia’s sun cast itself across the slick surfaces of the berries.
“I don’t really think that it has anything to do with government policies and the larger social commentary though,” said Spike, wiping the back of his arm across his sweating brow, lifting the straw hat as he did. “Do you, Twilight?”
Twilight blushed and recovered as Fluttershy’s voice met them, the distant tones drifting on a breeze of ecstatic whimpers.
“I can’t really say,” Twilight added, dropping her basket of berries and placing her hooves over Spike’s ears while the sounds arising from the shed became that much more lurid. “I haven’t been studying the tide charts, and it is only June, after all.”
Morning in the library came earlier and earlier, and as the Summer Sun Celebration drew nearer Twilight descended into her usual bouts of combined pride and desperation.
She ran up and down the library, checking every inch of it from the bare dirt floor of the basement to the wide sweep of branches overhead. Not only was Princess Celestia, her beloved tutor, sovereign, and friend once more coming to Ponyville but she would also be passing the weekend here, in the library!
Twilight watched as Spike re-shelved the books once more, wiping the dust from each tome as he did so with the dust cloth. As she looked on he went to place a book upon a high shelf, dragging the ladder across the way to where the slot for the book stood open.
Twilight turned to inspect the alignment of her statue, but immediately she heard Spike call out. “Whoa!” he cried, the ladder creaking in tune with his alarm, “Whut… whoa!”
At once she turned, spun, her magic leaping out before her… catching the dragon whelp before he could hit the solid and unyielding floor of the library.
She sat him before her, and as she looked upon him her look was at once chiding and responsible and at the same time concerned and motherly. “The em dash,” she began, looking down over him, placing her hoof upon his shoulder, “often demarcates a break of thought or some similar interpolation stronger than the interpolation demarcated by parenthesis. In what situations should we forgo the em dash, though?”
“Oh, bloody Hell!” called out the great, vast tree into which the library was built, “Not this rubbish again!”
With that there was an immense, vast moaning sound. At once the tree slowly lifted around them, the very heartwood rising around Twilight and Spike as their few small possessions and all manner of books tumbled to the floor.
The tree raised itself, turned, and looked back to the pair that stood there aghast. “Sod it! Bloody wankers!” it spoke, giving Twilight and Spike a rather rude gesture, “Piss off! I’m goin’ round to the pub…”
With that the grumbling tree traipsed through the center of Ponyville until it finally disappeared over the horizon.
Twilight and Spike stood there amid the ruins of their home, surrounded by the few items that had fallen to the ground.
“I’m aware of most of the conventional writing practices and stuff,” Spike finally said, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing, “but I can’t really bring myself to accept the moral implications, I guess.”
The colts and fillies rose to their rear legs as the announcer called out, “And now, here’s Twilight Sparkle!”
As Twilight trotted out into center of the circular stage the colts and fillies erupted into new rounds of applause and wild cheers!
Spike, bestrewn as he was in his clown costume and an irritated grimace, beeped his bicycle horn.
The colts and fillies laughed as Twilight danced her odd little dance and the cameras panned in closer.
“The prince should nonetheless make himself feared in such a mode that if he does not acquire love, he escapes hatred, because being feared and not being hated can go together very well!” sang Twilight as her dance ended and her theme music came to an end.
With that the fillies and colts in the bleachers pounded their hooves, great wide smiles across their faces.
“Bwwhhaaaaaat,” went Spike’s bicycle horn, the dragon whelp appearing less than enthused.
“But above all, he must abstain from the property of others, because men forget the death of a father more quickly than the loss of a patrimony!” continued Twilight, lifting her hooves high.
From the audience a new round of applause erupted, soon followed by sweet peels of childish laughter. As the audience began applauding she spun back to them with a great vast smile.
“I dunno,” Spike said with a grumble, as he hiked up his clown suit, “Don’t ya’ think there’s some credence to the idea of it as satire, especially considering how hard it is to find a parking space?”
The audience laughed as Twilight sprayed him with a seltzer bottle.
“Bwwhhaaaat,” went the bicycle horn once more.
Twilight watched as the animus of her persona walked down the length of the room, the vision flickering only briefly when her concentration wavered. “I don’t believe that there will be a sequel,” she spoke as she watched her own hooves fall across the white tiles. Her animus stared back at her, at once questioning her with a glance and moving towards the control booth.
As the resolution of the image crackled and sputtered with each step she grimaced, waiting for the monitors to impart their findings. “I can’t see how there will be, not with how domestic sales went, after all. Do you think they’ll make another one?”
With that the animus faded and was replaced with another image, one that bound across the room, searching for something, called for something with wordless lips. Twilight quickly recognized it as her anima, the feminine part of her digital counterpart.
It was seeking the child with desperate, longing eyes.
Twilight kept her eyes upon it even as she was lifting the headset to her mouth. As the animus searched Twilight began to speak. Spike though had already seen it, and at once he began the cascade of data.
“I know ya’ say that a lot,” Spike replied, watching as the vectors imparted the severity of his own upwelling across the broader scope of the digital landscape, “but I don’t really remember ya’ ever even saying it.”
“Flee! Flee ponies!” called Rover, his voice carrying loudly through his bullhorn. As the diamond dog did so the rowboat bobbled beneath him, disturbing the surface of the pond. “All is known! All is discovered!”
Twilight sipped at her cranberry juice once more. As she leaned forward the heavy cast-iron chair easily took her weight, and she placed her mark upon the board.
Spike stopped blowing bubbles into his milkshake long enough to watch her make her little circle upon the tic-tac-toe board.
The shade of the willow tree protected them as they sat upon the chairs, and the white lacquer that covered them and the table upon which the game sat shimmered in the few stray shafts of light that interrupted their interlude.
“Ruination! Devastation!” called the diamond dog once again, trying his best to call out through the bullhorn and paddle the rowboat at the same time. His awkward attempt was hampered as the oar caught on a raft of lily pads. “The end of most social functions! Yes, the unmaking of the fabric of culture, that is apparent daily!”
Spike carefully set aside his milkshake and pondered the tic-tac-toe board. He looked up to Twilight to find her smiling down over him. He returned her smile, and as his cheerful expression sat around him he contemplated the board once more.
Carefully, the dragon whelp leaned forward and made his own mark upon the board. The chalk made a perfect “X”, and with that he returned it to the little crystal dish.
“Taboos and personal mores!” called the diamond dog again, fighting to free the oar. As he did it jerked loose from the lily pads, sending him tumbling to the far side of the rowboat. “A series of loosely defined codes of ethics!”
The ice in Twilight’s glass chimed out as she placed it upon the table once more. Levitating the chalk to herself she hummed happily as she cast a long glance over the game board. With that she went to make her mark.
As she did she noticed something about the game as it was progressing.
Spike smiled at her, he too making an observation.
“Twilight,” he asked, “are you letting me win?”
Twilight laughed a small laugh.
“I was about to ask you the same thing, Spike!”
Together they giggled at their mutual observation as the rowboat sprang a leak. Together they waved to Rover as he saluted and his craft slid slowly beneath the surface of the pond.
The rail gun fired once more, the heavy, dull thump of the battery meeting their ears only briefly as the charge rocketed out of the artificial atmosphere of the dreadnought’s gun deck.
Twilight put her eye to the enhanced telescope once more, watching as the charge flew across the starscape before impacting upon the hull of the distant V’ghot battle cruiser, mostly likely the Raging Insanity , the Headhunter , or the Petunia if the reports were correct.
“Hey Twilight,” asked Spike as a few gunboats strafed the side of the ship, causing sparks to flicker along the ventral core and two crewmen to go screaming along the companionway as melting metals charred their flesh, “what’s a libido?”
“A village in New Hampshire,” she answered, watching as purple flames began to erupt from the distant V’ghot battle cruiser.
“Oh,” he replied as the burning wreckage of a star fighter crashed through the distant bulkhead, “that makes sense, I guess, but what’s a New Hampshire?”
As the gun deck began to decompress Twilight quietly placed the emergency breathing apparatus around her own head and then his, as dictated in the handy panels nearby. As the automated fire suppression systems kicked in she made sure the hood sat upon her assistant properly.
“It is a theoretical construct based on works done by previous authors,” she told him as the flames began to die down, their intercoms crackling in their ears.
The stalwart crew of the rail gun nearest them went through their practiced drill once more, and soon the charge flew away again, this time without the dull thump, and impacted upon the hull of the distant V’ghot ship.
As the battle cruiser began to disintegrate she held him close.
“… but do you love me, Twi?”
Twilight lifted her head from the foot of the bed, and she let the pondering depart from her as the conversation reached its natural conclusion.
She looked down at him. There she saw his eyes reaching for her across the short distance between her bed and his basket.
“I-I mean, I know that you care about me, and you take good care of me… mostly, but… I’ve told you that I love you before, and all you’ve ever said is, well… you’ve never said you love me, is all,” he spoke, a slight stutter evident in his voice. “Well, at least not… not since we came to Ponyville.”
As he continued to voice his concerns she saw his claws gripping at his blanket unevenly, saw him slowly lifting the blanket until it came undone from its edges.
Twilight rolled out of her bed. She ran her hoof across her face to clear the strands of her mane, and with that she walked to his basket.
She stood over him, looked down into his green eyes, studying the whelp.
“It’s okay, if you don’t,” he said, the tremble still evident, “I-I know you didn’t ask for me, that I was assigned to you… and if you don’t, I’ll-I’ll take the caring as enough. But, Twi, if you do I’d really like to know, because, well because you’re the most important thing in my life… you’re really important to me, Twi, and…”
With that she touched her face to his, beginning at the cheek. Slowly and with certain motions Twilight drew her face along Spike’s until his surprise left him. As it did he answered her nuzzle, the two running their faces across the other as the clock ticked slowly and the moon shone upon them.
She waited as they sat there; waited forehead-to-forehead as sounds of the summer came drifting through the open window.
“Of course I love you, Spike,” she answered. “Of course I do… I-I don’t tell the ponies, well… creatures, in my life that nearly enough. All of them, not just you, and I know I can be pretty thoughtless at times… but that, that’s just me.”
With that she levitated the blanket again, and wafting it through the air she laid it back across him until it settled gently. As she tucked him back in his arms went around her neck, and as he released her from his embrace he looked up to her.
Her smile was enough.
“I want you to remember that, okay?” she said, looking back down over him. “No matter how weird things get, or how bizarre our lives become, or what challenges we face… and no matter how many times I forget to say it when the time would be right… I love you, Spike. That’s the singular constant thing you should always remember, okay?”
With that she pressed her lips to his forehead, letting them sit there just long enough to wash away his doubts.
“Of course I love you,” she said.
His smile was enough.
Outside the fireflies flickered through the leaves of their tree, and the beautiful sky wheeled through the Equestrian night.
End.
The Fourth Story: "Apples to Apples"
The fourth story, as inspired by a compliment once paid to me by Kits , one of the premier authors of the fandom…
“Apples to Apples”
Well howdy!
This here is yer old friend Applejack, here today to meet on up with ya’ and provide some of mah insight into apples, apple farming, and the use of apples round about the kitchen, farm, and homestead and such like that there!
Now, I don’t want tah’ alarm anypony, but there seems to be a misconception going around that any apple is just as good as another for any old task. Someponies seem to think that ya’ can mix and match any variety o’ the fruit and expect the same results.
Hogwash! Utter hogwash, and that by golly is Celestia’s truth!
Ya’ just can’t go around being all scatter-shot about it! Nope! Ya’ got to compare yer apples to… well, yer other apples, and then you’ll know which one is best fer what ya’ want to go and use ‘em fer!
Now, I’m gonna tell ya’ ‘bout some of my favorites, and what they are best for, and you pay right good attention, ya’ hear?
Now, let’s start off with a good old down home favorite. This here is a Braeburn apple, and it’s nice and sweet and tangy. It’s got a nice little smell to it and it’s plenty juicy, I can tell ya’ that fer truth!
It’s best tah use it for snackin’ and cookin’…
… like, like when the whole Apple clan would get together, all of ‘em from the farthest reaches of Equestria. We’d all get hugs and kisses from mah grandpappy and mah aunts and uncles. The cider would flow for days and there’d be picnic tables as far as mah filly eyes could see, spread out across Sweet Apple Acres.
We, all the foals that is, would play down in the creek. Big Mac, our cousin Braeburn whose mark this here apple matches, an mahself. Back then, in the days when we were just foals who didn’t have so many cares.
We would sneak up into the corncrib and watch the stars come out, back before we all grew up and got all responsible and the like…
… back before our troubles.
Oh, ummm, yessir, movin’ right along then.
Now, what I have fer ya’ next is an apple that will always find a good place at yer table!
This here is an Empire apple, and ya’ can tell it apart from other apples by the bit o’ green mixed in with the red. It’s a strong apple that can deal with a lot o’ abuse.
The Empire is a good ole blend of sweet and tart, but it is just as crisp as ya’ please.
It does more than it’s fair share… bein’ good at eatin’ right off the tree, bein’ baked, made into sauce, pies, and it keeps well when ya’ freeze it.
Yup, the Empire does a lot more than you’d think… maybe even more than it should…
… kinda like mah’ brother Big Macintosh. Heh, it better fits him than the apple he’s named after, now that I think on it a touch.
It’s a good apple for yer’ brother to share with you as he finds ya’ sittin’ and cryin’ in a haystack, the sweat running off of him, seeing as he spent an hour looking for ya’. It’s a good apple for him to cut into slices and give ya’ one by one as he promises that everything will be okay, that he’ll be sure to do whatever he can to help Granny Smith… that’s he’ll look out for ya’ and your baby sister too…
It’s a good apple to put into yer’ brother’s saddlebag as he leaves to join his artillery battery. It’s a good apple for him to eat on as he awaits the call to the limbers.
It’s a good apple to bring him in the hospital.
It’s a good apple to give him as you sit him down and tell him that he’s doin’ to much around the farm, that he needs to take it easy or his wound will open up again. It’s a good apple to keep between the two of ya’ as yer voices start to rise…
It’s a good apple for yer’ brother to share with you as he finds ya’ sittin’ and cryin’ in a haystack, the sweat running off of him, seeing as he spent an hour looking for ya’. It’s a good apple for him to cut into slices and share with ya’ as you remind each other that yer family… that you’ll get through this together…
It’s a good apple to bring down to the fencepost in a big old basket when ya’ see him chattin’ with a local mare, tah offer to her with a big smile… an apple to let him know that you think he needs a mare, that he doesn’t need to sacrifice everything for yer’ farm, that you want him tah’ be happy.
That’s your path, ain’t it? That is what you’ve deci…
I’m sorry, went off there a touch. Sorry ‘bout that.
Where were we?
Oh, yeah… the wonderful world o’ apples and their different uses!
Our next apple here is called the Cortland! And it’s quite a special apple, if you’ll take mah word for it, as I hope ya’ do.
The Cortland don’t brown too easy, and when push comes down tah shove it’ll show ya’ that there’s some tart hidden in there as well as the sweet.
It comes around in the early fall, and it last all through spring if ya’ store ‘em good an proper.
Heh, now I’m thinkin’ on mah family again. How do you suppose it is that Granny Smith got her mark as one of those apples when the would Cortland fit her that much better?
Yessir, the Cortland… it’s a good apple. It’s a good apple that takes a lot of abuse and don’t brown to easy. It’s an apple that you can give your Granny when she becomes the one ya’ come home to after school, as she becomes the one who looks after the lot of ya’.
It’s an apple that keeps for a great long while… keeps like Granny Smith keeps all of the old ways, knows the old secrets passed down to her from the generations o’ earth ponies before. It’s a good apple to wait on when the Zap apples come into season and mah Granny begins to call on her magic to make the fruit give up their secrets once more.
It’s a good apple to slice up for her, serve her as her bones ache and she needs to sit in the chair. It’s a good apple to juice too, one that ya’ can serve to her in a nice tall glass full of ice as she naps in the sun.
It’s a good apple, the Cortland… a good way to show yer old Granny that ya’ love her. You know she should be in Foalida with all her friends, yet she stays here because she loves ya’ right back and doesn’t want you to work so hard, that she wants her granddaughter to stop bein’ so responsible and just be hap…
There I go, goin’ off again… powerful sorry about that, mah apologies. Gimmee just a moment tah round-up mah thoughts.
Let’s take a lookee at another fine apple, friend. Whatcha say to that, partner?
Here’s the Gala apple! This one here is a good apple for foals to snack upon. Ya’ see, it’s got a nice little flavor to it, and its skin is nice and thin so it won’t be too hard to bite through! It’s a nice little bit of an apple, not too big, so it’s easy for fillies to place in their hooves.
It’s a good apple to drop in her saddlebag… mah sister, Applebloom’s, that is, as she jumps out the door in the mornin’, ready to head off down the path to the red school house over the hill. It’s a good apple to feel rolling around in there as she gives us each a hug and a squeeze and we watch her head on off down the road.
It’s a good apple to put among all of their supplies as she and her friends head off on another adventure tah find their marks. It’s a good apple to have nice cold cups of juice made out of. That way, when they come back to their clubhouse with their faces hanging low and covered with all sorts of dust and bother, they have something to look forward to.
It’s a good apple to cover with melted sugar or caramel. It’s a good apple fer sittin’ on the porch and sharin’ with her on a late summer night, just before she’s ready for school to start again. It’s a good apple to get sticky with as we talk about girl stuff and the hot air hangs ‘round the porch and we talk about our day down at the fairgrounds.
It’s a good apple… a good apple to have sit in her tummy as I help her wash the stickiness out of her coat and get her all washed up for bed nice an’ proper. It’s a good apple to give her sweet dreams as I tuck her in at night.
It’s a good apple, just like mah little sister… just like mah perfect little sister I’m tryin’ so hard to be good to, be both a sister and a mothe…
We… we ain’t gonna get too far through this list if I keep stoppin’, now are we? Heh, I-I do apologize. I’m powerful sorry about that.
Our, next apple is the... oh, Celestia.
Our-our next apple is the, mah word, the Honeycrisp.
The Honeycrisp is a new apple, one that just sort showed up recently, and doesn’t get seen nearly enough… at least in mah opinion.
It’s a powerful… juicy, juicy apple that seems… seems to have hit the spot each time ya’ taste it. It’s a good apple, one that does all sorts of things without much complaint… not that apples can complain, of course. It’s… it’s kinda like a friend of Big Macintosh’s, one from his old artillery battery that came around to visit…
… if you’ll let me stretch upon a metaphor.
He comes by and gets to helpin’, stays a good long while and lends a hoof around the farm while Big Mac heals up proper.
The apple… it’s a good compliment to most salads and eatin’ right away. It’s a handsome thing too… like a friend who takes on the work of a hired hoof without a word of complaint, one with a light colored mane and a rugged stance that gives way tah somethin’ more, one that says he’d be just as happy clearing a field as readin’ up on philosophy or some such.
One with eyes that are soft and who always meet mine with a smile and a warm greeting.
Ones that I have to turn away from with a blush… the apple that is. No, hold on there… that didn’t make a lick of sense. Let-let me… oh my…
Any-anywho, this here Honeycrisp apple, it’s a right good apple, one for which I have a soft spot.
It’s a good apple, one that’s fit for celebratin’ a good friend when his other responsibilities makes him take leave of the farm, for when Big Macintosh is all healed up and his old army buddy is soon to hit the road once more.
It’s a good apple to serve sliced with caramel, one fit for dunkin’ and the like, and I arrange it as such upon the platter… hopin’ that somehow he’ll see it and know I did that little extra bit, just to show him how grateful I am.
It’s a good rugged apple, one that can handle a jog through the rain. It doesn’t bruise easy as I pelt through the rainstorm that some dummy field hoof (named Caramel!) forgot to check the weather schedule for!
It’s a good apple to have with me as ‘ah arrive in the barn just to find that the guest of honor and I are the only ones to have found a hidin’ spot there.
It’s a good little apple, one that makes the conversation go easy there in the barn, an apple whose slices we take turns dunking in the caramel and eating as the other speaks.
It’s a good apple to have in my mouth as he catches mah eyes again, his same warm smile meeting me, as he makes me blush again like I’m some schoolyard filly…
No stallion ever looks at me that way, not enough to make me blush.
As the rain drives against the roof of the barn, the patter of the drops making their nice slow rhythm, our conversation goes a touch sideways. As I reach down out of turn to dunk my slice of Honeycrisp into the caramel he’s already there, dunking his. As I rear up in surprise my slice falls from my lips, leaving his slice dangling between us as he meets me once more with those eyes.
It’s a good apple, the Honeycrisp, a right good apple… one to ponder as he motions to me with small movements, his smile behind the slice certain and generous.
It’s a good apple, one that is good to lean into and take small bites from as he holds it there for me, being as strong as he’d been since he first arrived here at the farm, being as tender as he’d been all along…
It’s a good apple, one I take the bites of until there’s none left… until I give up on mah feelings and lean in for the touch of his lips.
No stallion had ever… ever made me want to kiss him before…
As the rain kept coming down I followed his lips, let him lead me to the great stack of hay that sat loose, let him lay me there with him, let him grasp my hoof in his.
As the sound of the rain drives against the roof o’ the barn he holds my hoof. He lies there besides me and tells me that he sees it all. He sees how much I love mah family, how much I struggle for them, that he’s never seen such a strong mare…
No stallion had ever called me strong before… no, no stallion ever…
He lifts the hat from my head, arranges it nearby nice and proper, and draws his free hoof through my mane, across my cheeks.
As he tells me how wonderful I am… how mah friends rely on me, how he sees how I’m trying so hard. He tells me that he’s been in awe of me since the second he turned onto our road and Big Macintosh pointed me out to him.
No stallion had ever told me I’m wonderful before, ya’ see.
I unwrap mah forelegs, let his free hoof explore mah chest, mah barrel, the spaces hidden in the hollow of my neck. All the while he stares down into me, blinking his eyes… eyes that match mine when I’m being as honest as I can be…
He puts his hat under mah head, letting it get all crumpled so that the straw won’t tickle mah ears. As he does he says that he wishes he had the guts to tell me sooner, that he apologizes for all the times I’d caught him looking at me.
But I don’t remember that, I just remember his smile, I say. That makes him happy, and we chuckle for the first time since laying ourselves in the hay.
With that he tells me I’m beautiful.
He tells me I’m beautiful, and then he kisses me again. I can hardly breathe as he says it once more.
No stallion has ever told me I’m beautiful. As I search his eyes I see that he means it, that he sees… that he thinks I’m beautiful.
I let his free hoof go up and down the stifle and gaskin of my rear legs. I let him… no, dammit, need him… to make the tiny circles across my coat, to feel his touch race through me…
Mah head settles back onto his hat, my eyes close and my lips hang open. With that he kisses me once more, and then begins his long song of how he hopes all of my dreams come true, how sorry he is to be leaving, how sad he is that he won’t be the stallion to give them to me. Each word makes mah heart pound, each word… makes his touch feel that much more real.
He goes on… goes on about how he hopes, prays, that all the good things I’ve earned come mah way, tells me that I deserve tah be happy…
He tells me how wonderful he thinks I am.
He tells me how strong he feels I am.
How tells me, again, how beautiful he knows I am.
Ah lean mah head back farther as the gentle sound of the rain fills mah ears and the sweet smell of the straw fills mah nose, and with that I part mah knees.
I feel him grasp my hoof harder, askin’ for the permission that I grant him with a single nod. His other hoof moves slowly, and after a few long, gentle, teasing motions he finds…
Oh gracious! Oh Celestia! Oh Luna!
Now, wow… wow, you’ll need to forgive a cowfilly, I-I don’t know why I let that come out… I, oh gracious, didn’t mean to be so…
Oh, Celestia…
I-I reckon that we’ve talked enough about apples today. I hope… I hope that this here has been informative for ya’, and that we’ll see ya’ round to Sweet Apple Acres before too long, and that you’ll employ yer’ new skills at selectin’ some o’ our fruit. We could really use the business, as I’m sure ya’ know.
I hope I haven’t taken up too much of yer time, friend, and…
…and, and I thank ya’ kindly for lettin’ me chew yer ear as I compare apples to Apples, as it were.
Much obliged.
End.
View Online
The Fifth Story: "If You Give a Changeling a Cupcake"
"If You Give a Changeling a Cupcake"
If you discover a changeling in your bakery as you open up for the day, you’re probably going to scream like a filly and chase it with a golf club.
If you scream like a filly and chase it with a golf club, you’ll probably wake Cup Cake.
If you wake Cup Cake, she’ll wonder what in the Well is going on.
She’ll probably come down the stairs to discover you standing on the counter with sweat pouring down your face as the changeling stares back at you with puppy-dog eyes. She’ll tell you to offer it a cupcake.
If you give a changeling a cupcake, it will devour it quickly in a very familiar way and begin smiling a broad, familiar smile.
If it devours the cupcake quickly and begins smiling a very broad, familiar smile it will begin bouncing around the room happily in a very, very, familiar fashion.
If the changeling begins bouncing around the room in a very, very familiar fashion, it will probably try to begin singing (or, as close as it can in its grainy voice) in a very, very, very familiar style as well.
You’ll probably lift your voice and call for Pinkie Pie.
As she wishes you, Cup Cake, Pumpkin Cake, and Pound Cake a good morning she’ll wish the changeling a good morning too, and it will recognize her and begin bouncing around with her happily.
If the changeling recognizes Pinkie and begins bouncing around with her happily you’ll definitely wonder what in the moonlit Well is going on!
If you wonder what in the moonlit Well is going on Pinkie will explain that she thinks that this is the same changeling from the wedding, the one that turned into her.
If Pinkie thinks that this is the same changeling that turned into her, then it seems that she “rubbed off on him”.
If she “rubbed off on him”, that means that there are now two Pinkie Pies in your bakery.
If there are (essentially) two Pinkie Pies in your bakery, you’ll have the sudden urge to spend time with your children and put your affairs in order before the inevitable explosions and fires.
If you want to spend time with your children, you’ll eventually have to change their diapers.
The changeling will want to be just as helpful as Pinkie, so he’ll want to learn how to change diapers too.
If he wants to learn how to change diapers, he’ll have to watch you do it.
If he watches you do it, he’ll get really grossed out by the way you use your mouth to put the dirty ones in the bin.
If he gets really grossed out by the way you use your mouth to put the dirty ones in the bin, Pinkie will take him into your bathroom to use your mouthwash.
If he uses your mouthwash, he’ll use all your mouthwash.
If he uses all of your mouthwash, he’ll feel really bad about it just like Pinkie would.
So, she’ll take him out into Ponyville to go shopping.
If Pinkie takes the changeling out into Ponyville, it won’t be long before ponies are screaming and running around in circles and flailing about hysterically.
If ponies are screaming and running around in circles and flailing about hysterically, Pinkie will begin to sing a song about how we shouldn’t judge others by their appearance or for being part of a specie that feeds on emotions and almost succeeded in entombing all of them in hideous life-sucking cocoons forever and stuff like that…
If Pinkie is singing a song (no matter the context), then others will join in too.
If everyone is singing and dancing, they’re gonna get tired and hungry.
If they get tired and hungry, they’re going to come to your bakery.
If they all come to your bakery, you’re gonna sell out!
If you sell out, then there’s nothing to be done but put the kids down for a nap and cuddle up with your wife Cup Cake.
If you cuddle up with your wife Cup Cake, the changeling will sense the love between you two.
He’ll probably appear at random, just like Pinkie can.
If he appears just like Pinkie can, it will be in your room where all the love is coming from.
He appears where all the love is coming from, it will kinda break the moment, huh?
If he breaks the moment, you’re probably gonna chase him around the bakery with a golf club.
If you chase him around the bakery with a golf club, he’ll eventually give you puppy-dog eyes and you’ll feel sorry.
To make it up to him, you’ll make him a cupcake.
If you give a changeling a cupcake…
End.
The Sixth Story: "First Day on the Job"
The sixth story, written as a submission for Mt Little Pony Stories prompt number 67...
“First Day on the Job”
The Nameless Unspeakable Ancient Evil raged, fumed, hissed and poured forth its venom in a frothing torrent of black will and malicious intent.
Spike simply picked up the bell jar in which they had trapped it and gave it a good firm shake.
“Jerk,” he said as he placed the bell jar under his arm, carefully avoiding all of the tubing with which they had surreptitiously both enticed and entrapped the demonic being.
Spike arched his back, the strain of carrying all of the rubber hoses still falling through him. Even as he did so he was surprised to feel a set of hooves rest gently upon him.
Setting down the Nameless Unspeakable Ancient Evil once again he looked over his shoulder to find Fluttershy already providing him an impromptu back-rub. She smiled down over him as her careful touch drove the strains and pains of the day from him.
As her animal companions gathered nearer Fluttershy thanked him profusely.
“Oh, yes, thank you so much for noticing the change in the animals,” she said, looking down at him happily, “if it weren’t for you who knows what that… thing…”
“Oh, it was nothing,” he said, hiding the few bite marks that demonically possessed rabbits and squirrels had left upon his tough scales, “glad to help out.”
With that the Nameless Unspeakable Ancient Evil wrapped around itself inside the bell jar, painting a horrific vision of blood, gore, and death upon itself that sent the animals scurrying in panic and Fluttershy herself the ground in fear.
“Jerk,” said Spike, giving the jar another firm shake, and then another for good measure.
Fluttershy, perhaps uncharacteristically, pretended not to notice and then went of to re-assure her animal charges.
Spike walked a short distance to where Applejack and Pinkie Pie sat cleaning up the remains of several dozen cakes that had taken on the forms of the bearers of the Elements of Harmony.
Spike gulped as he stepped gingerly through the remains of the cakes…
… knowing full well that this is what would have happened to the animals, and his dear friends, if he’d not been so vigilant.
Inside the bell jar the Nameless Unspeakable Ancient Evil seemed to be laughing, sensing the thoughts of the whelp.
“Jerk,” said Spike, giving the bell jar a resolute shake. As a wobbling, bruised, dizzy, and battered Nameless Unspeakable Ancient Evil stumbled around the interior of the jar Spike heard the earth ponies calling to him.
“Well now, here’s the hero o’ the hour! Well done, Partner!” said Applejack, giving him a firm slap on the back that made him lose his breath and juggle the bell jar. “Whoa! Excuse mah’ enthusiasm, but ya’ pulled out a close one there…
“You sure did!” called Pinkie Pie, “I don’t think I’ve ever baked cakes shaped like my friends faster! Or ever! But with your help we sure did!”
Spike looked down, still saw some of the flour sticking to him. He felt the melted butter still sitting among his frills.
“Aw, it was…”
The Nameless Unspeakable Ancient Evil mouthed Pinkie’s and Applejack’s worst fears, the terrors somehow communicating to them even through the vacuum of the jar. Their faces went white as the horrors flew at them.
“Jerk,” said Spike, giving the bell jar another good solid round of shakes, ones that lasted perhaps a touch longer than necessary and which a slowly recovering Pinkie Pie and Applejack did surprisingly little to end.
As the earth ponies turned back to their work Spike felt the rush of wind behind him, and he turned to find Dash standing next to him. “Twilight was right Spike!” she said, giving him a few good-natured shots to the ribs. “Your mirror trick did work! I still don’t think that Ugly in there has figured out what happened to him!”
“Yeah,” he said, focusing on the sting that went through the charred edges of his frills, his own natural tolerance for heat having been tested to it’s limit.
“You did real good, Spike!”
Spike had been about to tell her that it was nothing, that he was simply glad to have shared in one of their adventures, when a soft feeling went across his cheek.
“Oh! My Spikey-Wikey showed that insufferable… thing… a trick or two, didn’t he?” Rarity cooed, touching her face to his once more. If he had been glad he’d come along before this cemented it.
Spike inflated himself despite the chuckles of Dash, and spinning to his ladylove he called upon his best heroic voice.
He opened his mouth just to find the Nameless Unspeakable Ancient Evil slandering the unicorn and the pegasus, somehow managing to question the state of their maidenhood and their preferences in company in turn and without the benefit of being heard.
Spike looked upon it with disgust. To him it seemed that the demon was somehow becoming lesser, losing its power, and was now just down to basic insults.
Didn’t keep him from giving the bell jar another firm round of shakes, though.
As he bid adieu to Dash and his ladylove he stuck the jar back under his arm and walked the short distance away to where the familiar glow of Twilight’s magic hovered over a freshly dug pit beneath a massive, ancient oak.
“Hey Twi,” he said, rubbing his eyes.
“Heh,” replied Twilight, “you look beat, Spike! I can see why, what with all you did today.”
“Yeah,” he said drowsily, setting the bell jar upon the mound of fresh dirt, “about that… I-I think that it might be best if I only do this adventure stuff with you guys like, I dunno, once a week, maybe? At least until I’m a little bit older? It’s… tough…”
Twilight gave a small laugh and looked upon the bitten, dirty, and partially burnt whelp before her. She leaned down to tell him how proud she was, how glad he’d been there when the occupant of the bell jar suddenly caught her eye.
With that it placed it’s misshapen arms behind it’s head and began to thrust it’s boney hips at her. All that remained in the demon was the ability to perform this tawdry and lurid display of disrespect, an insinuation of what it would do to her if…
As Twilight rolled her eyes and turned away the flash of green wrath that exploded from Spike’s eyes cascaded off the surface of the bell jar. She listened to him shaking the jar as she slowly and methodically opened three caskets; one of wood, one of lead, and one of gold.
She listened as he shook it over and over and over, forcefully, and for a good long while.
She waited for Spike to finish shaking the jar, and soon after they began wrapping it in black velvet cloth, tying it tight with a silvery thread. As though realizing what was about to happen the demon shot Spike a look of fear.
“Jerk,” Spike replied, and with that they entombed it within each of the caskets in turn, locking each tight with keys of wood, lead, and gold.
Later, after they had planted the caskets among the roots of the sacred oak, they walked to the bridge nearby, and there she withdrew from her saddlebag a dagger made of a white metal that Spike could not name.
As they stabbed each of the keys in turn they erupted into ash, coal dust, and golden powder. With that they tossed the remains into the stream to be washed away.
“Good first day on the job, rookie,” Twilight whispered as Spike leaned against her, “Don’t try to show us up too often, though.”
After a few minutes she felt him begin to droop. With a giggle she lifted the drowsy form of her little dragon whelp upon her back, and set off towards their home in the library beyond.
End.
The Seventh Story: "Hello"
The seventh story, written as an entry to Thirty Minute Pony Stories prompt #132, and one that occupies the oldest and most distant time in my personal fanon...
“Hello”
The three draconiqui made their way down the hillside, their long sinuous bodies flowing freely amid the trees and rocks. At intervals they stopped and listened before moving forward once again. Music caught in their ears, and as the two larger ones looked to one another with arched eyebrows the smaller panned his head back and forth between them.
Flitting across the countryside they found the source of the music. Hiding high in a rocky crag the powerful incarnations looked more liked confused kittens than ancient and powerful forces of creation.
“Oh, wooonderful,” said the less proper looking one. He rolled his eyes and settled down behind a rock, summoning a beach chair with his magic as he did. “It’s these yahoos.”
“It is the earth mothers, Hydia and her daughters,” said the largest of the three. “Undoubtedly they answer the same heed that we do. We best stay here.”
The smallest one then cast his glance out across the distant road and upon the assemblage that traversed it. As the music lifted from the band he risked a few words.
“Are… are they dangerous?”
“No, Chance, dear boy,” chuckled the largest, “The earth mothers are just, well… talkative, perhaps, and well…”
“Boring,” answered the improper one. “Awfully, wholly, tediously boring.”
With that he looked at the distant road and its procession. Staring over the top of a pair of sunglasses he had produced the draconiquis clicked his fingers.
Down upon the road a musician suddenly tripped over a box of hamdingers that most certainly hadn’t been there a moment before. As the creature fell it grabbed for anything that could steady it… even the very skirts of his mistress.
As Reeka’s undergarments came into view the entire assemblage dissolved into chaos, much to the great pleasure of the draconiquis who had set off the chain of events.
“Discord!” hissed the largest of the three.
“Oh, come now, Law, it was only a bit of fun,” spoke the incarnation of anarchy as he studied the talons of his arm with an apathetic look across his features.
“Uncle,” spoke Chance as he watched the procession attempting to gather itself up, “was that truly necessary?”
The youngest draconiquis turned to face his supposed uncle. “No,” replied Discord with a harsh glare, one that faded into a smirk, “but it was as funny as spit, though…”
Both felt the deep rumble of Law’s judgment, and both turned to look to him. He had been about to say something, but at once his head shifted to the distance places beyond the hill.
“There are others making their way to the sacred mountain of the alicorns,” said Law, sniffing at the air. “Ones I should go meet.”
Once Law had departed Discord settled back deeper into his chair… namely by summoning a beach, a palm tree, and a coconut cup complete with straw and tiny umbrella. He watched with an irritated scowl as Chance gathered up some leaves in a swirl of magic. Employing the variables that gave him his name Chance flung the leaves out before him. As Discord watched his supposed nephew began to settle into the comfortable looking futon that they had made up as they fell.
With a snap of his fingers, Discord made sure that all that met his nephew’s posterior was a large vat of chocolate pudding.
“Damn you!” cried the youth as he stood. “You’re in a rare mood, Uncle. Not one for travel?”
Discord sighed and snapped his fingers once again. Chance found himself cleared of the pudding. Checking to make sure that his resting spot was entirely real he sat upon the ground and looked up to the dispassionate face of the other draconiquis.
“Oh,” answered Discord, “I actually enjoy going to far off places, meeting exciting new creatures, and causing the very fabric of their reality fall apart around them. It’s all very exciting, you know. The purpose of this trip, however, is just so tedious…”
“I would think that you would be happy for the alicorns,” said Chance, flipping a coin again and again, “since you helped build this land for them.”
At once Chance found his coin turned into a rotten tomato, one that splattered across him as he caught it between his paws. He began to sneer at his uncle once more, but instead blanched and looked away as he saw the snarl that developed across the face of the older draconiquis.
“Yes,” he answered after taking a long sip from his coconut and making a passing squirrel grow many times its natural size, “I helped make this land… but they made it boring.”
At was at Canterlot, the home of the alicorns, where the mare lay next to the crib. It was at Canterlot, that fabled house, where her husband had kissed her gently and then gone off to entertain their guests. His wife lay in the warm light, lying close to the object of the festivities of the day.
It was at Canterlot where one could see a steamboat chuffing up the waterfall, puff up the long stone channel to the dais, and then drop its anchor across the table where the cake stood with a resounding crash.
Discord, resplendent in his captain’s uniform, then turned the steamboat into a flock of penguins that flew away while singing dirty limericks. With that he crossed over to the dais itself as bubbles drifted from his pipe.
He found himself slightly amused that the mare had not awoken, and looking into the distance he saw no motion coming from where the celebrants still congratulated the stallion on the growth of his family.
Discord looked down into the crib.
“Hello,” he said to the tiny occupant, running the back of his paw across its forehead, just beneath the tiny nub of a horn.
“Hellllooo,” he repeated as it came awake, as it began to gurgle and coo. “You probably didn’t catch my name. It was, after all, so formal and stuffy and dreary in that receiving line…”
Discord turned himself into a pink fog, one that surrounded the crib and lifted the infant into the air. As he drifted in the afternoon light he reformed himself so that she lay in his arms.
“I am Discord, and I hate your Daddy,” he whispered, rocking her gently.
“I hate your Mommy too,” he said with a wide smile, giving the infant the smallest of tickles. As the alicorn gurgled and smiled back up at him he rocked her back and forth…
… and walked slowly towards the black waters of the channel.
“Oh,” he said as he stuck his tongue out at her and made funny faces, waited for her to begin cooing before reeling his tongue back in like a window shade, “I hate you too.”
With that he stepped into the deep, fast, current of the channel.
“Peekaboo! Peekaboo!” he said, covering his eyes. “Where’s Uncle Discord? Where’s Uncle Discord?”
The effect was only more pronounced when his head disappeared. As this only seemed to bring more cooing and gurgling from the infant he re-inflated his head at though it were a balloon and smiled down at her.
With that he scooped up some of the rushing waters and dribbled them across her forehead.
The infant tossed a bit as he ran his finger across her brow, wiping the wet across her. To his surprise her little hooves wrapped around his paw, pulled it closer so that she could suckle upon one of the fingers.
“It’s not a real hate. Not a personal one, that is,” he said, sitting on the wall of the channel. “It’s more a deep seated loathing of you and all that your kind stand for.”
“At first I was happy when your parents arrived here,” he said with a sigh, “it really shook things up… made all of us wonder what was going on. When this land appeared, when they called on all of us to help secure it to the world with that… thing…”
Discord gestured over his shoulder to the very heart of the mountain beyond.
“… it was utter chaos. Beautiful, lovely chaos.”
His happy expression fell away, and he stared back down at the tiny alicorn in his arms.
“But then I realized that your parents had plans. Ideas, practices… rules,” he growled. “I hate rules, order…”
The draconiquis looked over his shoulder towards the party beyond.
“… law.”
Discord curled his face in a huff. He looked down to see the tiny alicorn still suckling merrily on his finger.
“Do stop me if I’m going too fast for you.”
The infant gurgled.
With that he turned himself into a stroller. He continued his rather one-sided diatribe as he wobbled back towards the crib and sleeping mare on unsteady wheels.
A small sound arose from the infant, and with a chuckle he applied his own meaning.
“No, dear,” he said, “I’m not a fan in the least.”
He turned himself back into his chaotic, incarnate form, the infant in his arms. To his own surprise Discord realized that he was staring down across the still-sleeping form of the mare, the magnificent female alicorn.
“Perhaps I’m being unfair,” he said to the little creature, the one that reached up for his beard as he spoke close to her ear. As she gave it a small tug he laughed a small, rumbling laugh.
“Well, aren’t you just a little terror?” he said as he tickled her hoof, freeing his beard from her grasp.
“I suppose it’s only fair that I let them try it, see what they are up to,” he said, laying her back in the crib before finishing with a flourish, “it’s only reasonable. And what am I, if not a creature of logic and reason?”
Overhead the clouds turned into watermelons.
He lowered his head back into the crib.
“And, if I don’t like it, I shall simply have some fun with it later on.”
The infant gurgled and cooed at him once more.
“Unreasonable? I should think not!” he laughed. “Aren’t you the contradictory one? I see that you shall be but a thorn in my side! Have at you!”
With that he gave her one last little tickle. Nearby the mare shifted, and he stood upright in pointless embarrassment. He returned his attention to the infant, but to his surprise her smile faded and drowsiness crept over the eyes of the little alicorn.
“Hmmm, well, not much for sport, are we Celestia?”
With that he watched her fall asleep. Discord pondered the newborn for a few moments, watched her breath small breaths as thoughts deep and secret flit around in his ancient mind.
“Perhaps I am being too harsh on them,” he said as he backed quietly away, his paw and talon behind his back. “After all, to hate one so darling as you, one would simply have to be made out of stone.”
End.
The Eight Story: "By Shades"
“By Shades” Written by The Descendant Based on a concept advanced by Duplex Fields
Problem: Alicorns are either a.) Immortal, b.) Long-lived, c.) Or seemingly immortal.
Problem: Cadance is first seen as a young mare, and is growing through the series.
Problem: She is “The Crystal Princess” (whatever that means), and is known to ponies that have been sealed away beyond thought for millennia.
Problem: She’s married to an entirely mortal unicorn. Meaning she'll possibly outlive him by centuries.
Possible Answer: As follows…
“You were born a child of light’s wonderful secret - you return to the beauty you have always been.”Visions of a Skylark Dressed in Black
The room smelt of slow death, of lingering sickness. It smelt of tuberculosis, pneumonia, or any of the myriad illnesses that take their victims in small, unforgiving increments.
They all smelled the same, and she hated them each. She hated losing her like this. Hated it. Hated it.
Celestia dwelt on the smell as she peeked around the curtain, watching as the daughter leaned forward. As she watched the daughter wiped a washcloth across an unseen head that lay hidden deep in the pillows. A small sigh left her as a dearly familiar foreleg came up, wiping back and forth across the daughter until settling against the cheek of the loved one.
“Mother?” the daughter spoke, the voice wafting quietly around the room, settling among the medicines, blankets, and single bobbing lantern. “Mother? Auntie has come… your auntie is here, will you see her?”
Celestia felt her guards move behind her, making room, and soon there was the gentle feel of a foal beneath her legs.
She looked down and found that the filly’s eyes were set on the bed as well. Even as Celestia relished the nearness of the child she still had to blink twice. She had to remind herself that this little one touching to her for comfort was the great-granddaughter, and not the granddaughter, of the dear form upon the bed.
Celestia lifted her head. As she did the mare who had been running the washcloth bowed before her.
“No, dear, no,” Celestia said, raising the daughter’s head with her own muzzle. “Never… never to your great auntie like that…”
The princess held her as close as she could, reaching down far so that the mare could lay her head to her neck and give a few sniffles. Soon they parted, and as Celestia entered the room she heard the little filly that had stood beneath her ask, “Grandma, is Ga-ga okay? Is she gonna get better soon?”
No one there before the door had the heart to answer her, to let her know the truth.
She approached the bed, sitting herself beside it. As she did Celestia looked down into a dearly familiar set of eyes…
… eyes surrounded by a face and body that were only slightly less familiar by shades.
“You’re leaving me again. To where are you going, my lovely niece?” Celestia said softly as she laid her head upon the bed, pressing against to the hoof that lay there. “Did I grant you leave?”
The old, grey mare upon the bed wheezed a small laugh. Even the sickness and age could not hide the beauty that still lingered in the frame.
“Forgive me, Auntie, but even you can not keep me from this appointment,” the mare said as she laughed weakly, her wings fluttering in tune with her breath. As Celestia stroked her foreleg the mare’s horn came alight, and her breath raced as she attempted to gather something from across the darkened room in the dim currents of her failing magic.
“Let me, dear,” Celestia said as she walked the short distance.
Nearby she found a small painting of the husband, the stallion who had already found his way to the Well of Souls.
She stared down into the familiar eyes, eyes she had seen a hundred times before…
…and upon the body only less familiar by shades.
She brought the memento back over to the bed. There the two sat, not talking, Celestia simply watching her niece look deep into the eyes of the stallion in the picture.
“He was handsome,” the mare said after a time, laying the picture to her chest as the wheezing grew worse. “He’s always so handsome… so loving. I miss him so. I-I miss him so.”
Celestia stood, still stroking the foreleg of the mare even as she looked over the fading form of the lesser alicorn beneath her. She looked deep into her eyes, memorizing them once again for what felt like the hundredth time.
“Yes,” she answered, lifting her head as a few tears began running down her face. “You are always so beautiful, too. You’ll be with him again, and someday you will be re-united with your ponies, and your empire will be yours again. Soon… soon, you will explore the magic of love in all of its meanings once more.”
Celestia had thought the words would bring comfort, but all that the aged, sickly mare upon the bed could do was stare at the painting and fight for breath.
“Your auntie loves you,” the undying alicorn said as she leaned down and kissed her niece goodbye. “Until then… rest until then…”
Years, decades, centuries… they washed by her and around her as they always had. As Celestia walked down the great wide beach that was her life the waves lapped at her hoofprints, the generations washing over them as they always had.
She made her long journey her ears were up, always listening to the sound the foam made as it washed around her hooves. She studied each wave, always searching for the glance of those eyes once again.
The news had come to her long before she arrived at the fine house.
Court mages had long known it was soon to happen, and scribes had long made their calculations.
But, this time, it surprised her.
This time there was no long journey to the far corners of Equestria. This time there was no long trek to a humble house or ramshackle fishing village on the distant coasts. This time there was no arrival at some hidden, humble farm deep in the interior.
This time she’d barely left the palace before balloons and a great banner announced what the family within was celebrating.
The mare was one of her own courtiers, and the stallion was an ambassador. They were wealthy, powerful… and now they were humbled by what lay in the crib in their living room.
“La mia principessa, my princess,” said the stallion, his eyes wide in wonder. The alicorn waited patiently as he steadied his wife, the mare only having come home from the hospital an hour or so before. Celestia smiled over them, noting how the language of the land in which he had served as a diplomat still clung to him.
“The mage. He said that, that il nostro piccolo, our little one might be… C-Could we be so blessed?” he asked as he gathered his wife to himself. The princess waited as the mare made slow progress across the room. The princess smiled down over them happily as they settled near the crib, staring awestruck over at the fruit of their implore to the deep magic and their love for one another.
He leaned forward, kissed his wife, and then brought Celestia to where their joy lay wrapped in a bundle.
She approached the bassinet, sitting beside it. She took a small breath, and as she did the smells of hospitals, new blankets, and newborn foal filled her perceptions.
She stared down into the familiar eyes, eyes she had seen a hundred times before…
…and upon the body only less familiar by shades.
She reached down into the crib with her magic, and gathered the infant to herself.
As the newborn settled into her forelegs Celestia felt the babe lifting a tiny hoof. As it played with her hair Celestia could only keep looking down into the eyes.
“Hello,” she whispered, gathering the child closer to herself. “Welcome back, my beautiful niece. Auntie has missed you so much. Auntie loves you so much.”
As she sat she lifted her head to the parents even as the infant still drew its hoof through her mane.
“I am quite sorry,” Celestia said. “You spoke the name, but it was so unique that it did not settle into my mind all at once. Would you tell it to me once again?”
“Mi Amore Cadenza, Highness,” the stallion said, his chest inflating as he spoke the exotic words. “Is it not just so bellissimo? They have such a way with words, in the land where I served you, Majesty, and I could find none more beautiful…”
The Daybringer smiled to them. The parents were always so proud.
“She came to you to explore familial love, and you are blessed. Love her for who she is, and in time she will become all that your hearts hope for her,” Celestia said, watching them beam over their child.
With that she leaned her head forward, gently kissing the tiny alicorn in the space beneath the small nub of a horn. As she did the petite wings came open for the first time, and the parents cooed in delight…
… just like all of their predecessors had.
Celestia looked the birth announcement over as she and her guards made their way back to the palace. She was glad to see that they had chosen to let her have a more typical Equestrian given name, one to wear everyday.
She ran her eyes over it again and gave a small chuckle.
They had misspelled “cadence”.
Celestia passed the note to one of the guards, and he folded it into the saddlebag. Soon it would join a half-dozen others just like it in a silver box in her study… and nearly as many mourning cards. The cycle had begun again.
As the alicorn and her two strong guards passed out of the home they stood for an instant at the doorway, greeting her little ponies as they bowed to her, as they presented her with flowers, or simply looked upon her.
Her thoughts though were still on the child they had just left.
Why here, my niece? she thought to herself, Such grandeur, power, and decadence does not suite you. What lesson are you trying to learn here, in my capital? Why were you resurrected in the seat of power this time instead of among more humb…
There was the scream of a mare, and the same voice immediately lifted in a plea for help that filled the street.
To their consternation, the guards could only follow their princess as she ran towards the apparent danger, and instead of away from it.
A unicorn mare darted up and down a cobblestone side street. Her blue eyes panned the wide branches of an ancient oak overhead.
“Child,” the princess asked, looking across the mane and tail that flew around in a flurry of lavender and white as the mare searched the high branches, “whatever is the matter?”
“My son went up the tree!” the mare replied, in a high tone, her eyes fixed on the uppermost limbs. “He’s not even out of diapers yet and he went all the way up the tree!”
A shrill sound of worry went through the unicorn, and with that she turned to look upon the stranger who had joined her.
“Please!” the mare called as worry only grew in her voice. “Please, please! My magic can’t go…”
As the unicorn spun to look at her, Celestia saw her realize whom she’d been addressing.
“Majesty!” the unicorn called, leaping forward, the guards startling. “Majesty, please! My baby boy is up there, somewhere, please, I can’t see him!”
The maternal fear dropped out of her, and the visions of sunlit days drifted across her.
“Calm, calm, my child,” Celestia said, lifting her head from that of the worried mother, “of course I will help you. Now, let us see what we can see.”
Celestia lifted her head to the tree, but it was not her vision that she called upon.
Her deep magic lifted around the tree, and at once the sacred oak responded to the one that filled its leaves with sunlight. There, in the topmost branches, something moved.
Her mind focused on it through the magic, and a baffling image sat in her eyes. A colt hovered over a bird, and was gripping it. Was… was he torturing it?!
No… no, his hooves moved gently, seeming to be unwrapping the creature from something. It was a jackdaw, a curious bird, and one that had gotten itself into trouble. Even as she watched a discarded brass ring fell from the bird, and now the inquisitive creature had been freed from its folly and was free to fly once more.
He had saved it. A tiny colt, still in diapers… had climbed the tree to save the bird.
Aren’t you the brave one, she thought as her magic lifted into the limbs.
“Aren’t we a gentlecolt? Why, going all the way up there to save a little birdy!” she laughed, lowering the foal into his mother’s outstretched forelegs. The mother moved closer, her tearful eyes looking up into her sovereign’s benign presence.
“Majesty, thank you so much. Thank you so very much,” she said, nuzzling her child. “Please, do meet my boy, and bless him if you would, Majesty.”
Celestia looked down at the little white foal, his mane a tangle of all sorts of blues. A great glow of understanding came alive in the Daybringer, and in an instant she knew who he was.
She stared down into the familiar eyes, eyes she had seen a hundred times before…
…and upon the body only less familiar by shades.
He is right next door! You clever, wonderful girl! He is right next door!
“And who are we?” the alicorn asked, gathering the large, healthy colt into her forelegs.
“My little Shining Armor, Majesty,” concluded the unicorn, finally remembering to bow before her sovereign.
With that the Firstborn Alicorn blessed him, kissing him in the space beneath his horn. As she lowered him back to his mother she felt the deep magic fall around the two houses, and the cycle that draped itself around the two continued onward towards whatever fates awaited them once again.
End.
Introduction & Author's Note
When I was allowed to see my little brother again and the Scarlet Fever had left him he told me of his vivid dreams.
He told me of houses alive with Christmas lights shining into the snowy night and carols lifting from them
He spoke of great white towers sparkling in the sun like we had seen across the ocean
He whispered as he lay upon the crisp white bed sheets of beautiful streams flowing into lakes uncounted
I, with the jealousy of a child wanted such dreams of my own and thought it unfair that he alone should keep their memory
Decades later As I grew into this man Whose dreams already begin to fade I startled myself
I scared myself With the realization that I had been left out My parents had hidden the truth
The only reason my baby brother Had seen such wonders Experienced such visions Felt such beauty
Was because he had been close to Death Close to never being able to share them Or anything at all With me again
A Compendium of Works
Dear Loyal Watcher, Interested Visitor, and Confused Passerby,
You are owed an explanation, I'm afraid.
What you see here before you is not one long narrative like you are accustomed to having your T.D. deliver unto you for your bemusement, edification, and mortification.
No, what we have here, my friends, is a collection of my small stories, arranged here so that you can find them (or ignore them) of your own free will.
Many of these stories are to be found in other places. Many, if not most, can be found at Thirty Minute Pony Stories , as I've developed an affinity for that blog, namely because it distracts me from writing epics.
Others can be found at Equestria Forums where they began as simply ideas that exploded into something much larger.
A year and a half after discovering the show my mind is still "full of pony", and I begin to worry about that. Honestly. What you see here are attempts by myself to exercise the smallest of the literary ideas that have gnawed at me, the littlest of my adorable pony demons, as it were...
Others though are images, ideas, scenes, and manic episodes that existed solely as flashes of inspiration/ insanity in my head and had to exercise through the fine art of slaving over a hot word processor before I risked having to dig them out of my conscious mind with an ice pick.
I chose the first option, herein you will find the results.
The truth is, I don't know anything about these stories. These are ephemeral things... tiny ideas that jumped at your Descy and which he chose not to chase away. I can not tell you anything about the stories because I know nothing of them myself...
... I simply ask that you approach them cautiously, as some may bite (in all possible meanings of the term).
If you, by any chance, should find yourself interested in expanding on any of the concepts here presented, feel free to do so, you have my blessings.
Be quick about it though, for these are all my little fever dreams...
... and when they fade, who can say to where they go?
Stay Awesome, And with Love,
The Descendant "T.D."
