Ponies draw circles. They ask a lot of questions. I can’t write haikus.
“So, how do you like it?” Kettle Corn asked, showing the canvas to Skeedaddle. He looked at it and shrugged.
“Well, it’s a… nice circle?” He smiled sheepishly, looking around Kettle Corn’s room, adorned with pictures, drawings, paintings, and photos of circles. There was even a stone circle in the middle of the room, standing on a postument with an inscription saying “I don’t trust this one – T. L.” that was there for some long-forgotten reason.
“Thanks!” Kettle Corn exclaimed, hanging the canvas on the one of the few blank spots on the wall. Skeedaddle looked at it; then his gaze shifted to all the previous pictures and he felt his mind was wandering in circles.
“Umm… May I ask you a question?” Skeedaddle turned to Kettle Corn.
“Of course,” Kettle Corn replied, grabbing a crayon.
“How did you start to like circles so much?” Skeedaddle asked. “I mean, it’s not weird or creepy, but I’d like to know that.”
Kettle Corn smiled. “Oh, it’s simple. At first everything was circular, and then it turned out that one can make a pony out of circles and that’s how Equestria came to be. And since circle has no end, it turned out that there were endless possibilities for ponies. So, a pony who loved circles would sooner or later appear. And that’s how I was born! And I like circles.”
Skeedaddle raised his eyebrows and nodded slowly. “I don’t quite follow. That’s some circular reasoning that escapes me and so it all goes pear-shaped and that’s not exactly tubular.” He shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong, I prefer things fair and square.”
Kettle Corn raised her eyebrows and looked at the picture of a circle on the wall. “I can make it rounder.”
“It’s round enough,” Skeedaddle said. “But now I wonder… How come all of them are unfinished?”
Kettle Corn’s pupils narrowed. Skeedaddle backpedalled, realising suddenly that they were also round. All those circles were making his head spin.
“Unfinished?” Kettle Corn asked. “What do you mean?”
Skeedaddle pointed at the nearest picture. “Like, you always leave a gap here.”
“Umm…” Kettle Corn blushed. “Well, I don’t really want to talk about that…”
“Why?” Skeedaddle asked.
Kettle Corn pierced him with her gaze. “Do you really want to know?”
“Is it something strange?”
Kettle Corn sighed. “You have no idea…”
“That’s why I’d like to know.”
“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea,” Kettle Corn said. “He may get really angry.”
Skeedaddle furrowed his eyebrows. He really liked Kettle Corn, but she could be really weird at times. “Who’s he? And what does he have to do with circles?”
“It’s a long story.” Kettle Corn shrugged, grabbing a piece of paper and sketching another circle.
“Now we’re going around in circles,” Skeedaddle said. “Don’t circle the wagons and don’t try to square the circles, okay?”
“It’s not square in any way.” Kettle Corn looked at the circle she was drawing. “That’s the thing. All my circles are perfect. Like, they’re the roundest circles in Equestria.”
Skeedaddle scratched his mane. “No way. Now you’re just boasting.”
“I’m afraid I’m not. And when you complete a perfect circle…” She grabbed the paintbrush and finished the circle. “This happens,” she said, spitting the brush out.
“What?” Skeedaddle looked around, finding nothing suspicious in sight.
Suddenly, something exploded in the middle of the room, filling it with black smoke and the smell of sulfur. Sparks burned holes in some of the pictures covering the walls. Skeedaddle hid behind the couch, pulling Kettle Corn with him.
“Who dared to summon Lightbringer, the Keeper of Tartarus!?” A terrible roar tore the air, causing Skeedaddle to tremble. Slowly, he leaned from behind a couch to see what was going on.
A large, red pony stood in the middle of the room. He had two horns on his head, like minotaurs or centaurs, and a long tail. His cutie mark, as far as Skeedaddle could see, were three sixes. He levitated a pitchfork and pointed it at the couch. To Skeedaddle’s surprise, he realised that the red pony was balancing a teacup on his hoof.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Satan,” Kettle Corn said, emerging from behind the couch. “I didn’t want to summon you, but he didn’t believe me.”
“I was just having tea with Tirek,” Satan replied, his voice a guttural growl. “Sure, he’s locked in our most secure cell, but he’s the only one of Tartarus dwellers I can talk to about Octavia Melody’s new composition.”
“Err…” Skeedaddle’s jaw dropped. “You have music in Tartarus?”
“Of course we do!” Satan roared. “I’m a stallion of wealth and taste, after all! Not many of us down here. Everyone seems to be only interested in paperwork these days.” He rolled his eyes. “Just to admit one pony to hell, you have to fill seven different forms, each of them in four copies, for the Statistics department, Equine Resources, pony’s personal file, and archives.”
“Sounds like hell,” Skeedaddle muttered.
“It is hell, you know.” Satan sighed. It sounded like a distant sound of an incoming thunderstorm. The walls of Kettle Corn’s room trembled. “And you’re going there for summoning me in vain.”
“This must happen a lot,” Skeedaddle looked at the pictures on the wall; some of them got torn or burned; many of them were hanging askew. “If you’re summoned anytime somepony draws a circle…”
“Not just any circle, young one,” Satan replied. “I can only be summoned by drawing the most perfect circle.”
“See?” Kettle Corn turned to Skeedaddle. “And you didn’t believe me!”
“And before you ask, young one, compasses don’t count,” Satan said. “If you try to use a compass to summon me, you’ll meet me only after you go to hell for cheating.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Skeedaddle said quickly.
“But why would we even summon you?” Kettle Corn asked. “And I know that ‘because I can’ is not a good reason.”
Satan nodded slowly. “Nor is showing off to your friend. And young one, you have no idea about the reasons ponies tried to summon me throughout centuries…”
Kettle Corn’s eyes widened. “Did they try to take over the world?”
Satan sighed again. “Actually no. Most of the reasons were rather silly.” He rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t believe how many ponies learned to draw a perfect circle just because their roommate ate all the imported oats.”
“Well, that’s some way to start a descent into madness,” Skeedaddle said. Kettle Corn gave him a surprised look, but he ignored her. “On a side note, you can learn to draw a perfect circle?”
“You can, but as I said, my schedule is rather tight.” Satan shrugged and pointed at Kettle Corn. “Besides, she’s a natural. You’d better stick to her, because if you make her angry while I’m busy, I may order one of my subordinates to come here at her call. And they’re not as nice.”
“Why?” Skeedaddle asked.
“Because evil is not to be tampered with.” Satan gave a snort. “And some of those guys like to show off. Pieces of your skull would be found in–” He thought for a moment. “In the nearest town that is far enough for it to sound impressive.”
“That’s a bit complicated…” Kettle Corn muttered.
“As Satan, I must be deceitful,” Satan replied. “Although I’m also honest, so read the fine print before making a deal with me. If you want gain without pain–”
Kettle Corn nodded. “Guess that’d be a hell to pay…”
Satan frowned, sending a wave of sparks around. “The lowest pits of Tartarus are for the people who make bad puns!” he roared.
“Okay, but why are you telling us this?” Skeedaddle asked, ignoring the smell of brimstone suddenly filling the room. “Shouldn’t you tempt us to do evil things, like, dunno, stealing apples from Applejack, putting books on Twilight’s shelves in the wrong order, or playing doctor with Rumble, or–”
“That’s because I don’t want to deal with you two for eternity in Tartarus!” Satan exclaimed. “I want to let you be good so the other guy has to answer your questions!”
“Oh, so there’s someone else?” Kettle Corn asked. “That’s interesting. How is–”
Satan groaned, letting black smoke out of his nostrils. “No more questions! If you really need to bother another supernatural entity with your inane questions, you just have to draw a perfect triangle! Or a square! Anything but a circle!”
“Sure, I get it,” Skeedaddle muttered. “So, if you just told us which shape summons whom–”
“No!” Satan took a few deep breaths before continuing in a bit calmer tone. “I’ll let you figure that out yourselves. Besides, I just remembered that I have one more thing to do here today, so if you excuse me…” Suddenly, he disappeared in a wave of fire, leaving a scorch mark on the floor.
“What a peculiar guy,” Skeedaddle muttered. “Is he always so peeved?”
“Usually,” Kettle Corn replied. “I keep telling him that Ms. Cheerilee said it’s not good for the heart, but he said he had no heart.”
“Quite possible.” Skeedaddle shrugged. “Do you think he was telling the truth with those squares?”
Kettle Corn grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil. “Let’s see… I’ll try a triangle.” She started drawing. “Hmm… It’s a circle again.”
Skeedaddle levitated another pencil and began scribbling on a piece of paper before tilting his head to look at the drawing. “I did a really nice hexagon. But I don’t think it summons anything.”
I THINK IT DOES, said the large pony skeleton sitting next to Skeedaddle and looking at the drawings hanging from the walls. THOSE ARE REALLY NICE CIRCLES, BY THE WAY.
Skeedaddle shrugged, spinning a pencil in his magic. “Hmm, what if I try a square?”
Lyra Heartstrings was sitting on the couch, reading a newspaper, when she heard a loud bang in front of her. A gust of hot wind, smelling of brimstone, ruffled her mane. She frowned and looked at the intruder through a hole that had just been burned in the pages of her newspaper.
“I AM COMPLETE!!!” Satan roared, engulfing himself in flames and leaving burn marks on the carpet. He then smiled at Lyra, showing all of his teeth.
“This again?” Lyra put the newspaper down, staring at Satan with the most unamused expression that ever was. She sighed and shook her head, grabbing her lyre. “Bonnie! Could you come here for a minute?”
