Apparition Amphitheater Presents: Mr. Killjoy

The pre-Nightmare Night Nightmare Night Extraviganza was what one could possibly describe as a work of art. Utter poetry in motion. He had never really encountered a party quite like this. Over his career, he had been to many different celebrations, both grand and small, many of them with higher artistic merit and direction, and others were of higher energy. None of them, however, seemed to have the sense of balance and joy that a Pinkie party had. Everyone was happy, no matter what they were doing, whether it was eating, drinking, dancing, talking, playing games, betting on said games, acting a fool, showing off, or whatever they wanted to do to unwind. Under normal circumstances, as with most large get-togethers, it was inevitable that a couple of euphoric ponies with opposing personalities and thoughts, especially in such an open environment, would clash for one reason or another. Even in a normally harmonious land, dissent and conflict did crop up from time to time. But here, in this party, it seemed like even the most contrasting of personalities coexisted peacefully, intent on only having a good time in the purest sense.

“So, when did you get into Ponyville? I don’t think I’ve EVER seen you around here, and I know everyone in town and anyone that’s visited while I’m around. Not to mention all of the ponies I’ve met while traveling every once in a while. I won’t lie, that’s A LOT of names to keep track of, not to mention birthdays, but I have the PERFECT system to keep track of everything. By the way, when did you say your birthday was?”

“Oh,” he responded, “It’s tomorrow actually. I guess I’m a day early. Bad timing, heh.”

“Are you KIDDING?! This Is PERFECT TIMING! We can have a Birthday Party Nightmare Night celebration! Oh, oh oh, we can make it a Welcome to Ponyville Party on top of that. I’ll make the biggest, bestest cake you’ve ever seen!”

“You don’t need to go out of your way for me, really.”

“No no. No can do. It’s too late now. You’re getting that cake, and it’s going to be AWESOME!”

“If you insist, heh,” he said with a hollow chuckle. It was strange, honestly, seeing her up close. It was rumored that she could read emotions just as easily as she could read crowds, but the pony before him seemed so bubbly and oblivious. Behind his smile, he was already considering what he could do to snuff out her life. So many methods presented themselves all around the party. Wiring for the lights and speaker systems implied a possible method of electrocution. However, they seemed to have been reinforced to prevent tampering. He then considered the nearby above ground pool that was set up. However, it seemed that it was filled to capacity, and there’d be no way to get away with a public drowning. Sabotaging the stage equipment seemed viable, but the he realized that he attempted that last time and he doesn’t have the equipment to do it now. He looked about the surrounding area for any decorative statues that could be knocked off so that they land on their intended target, but it seemed the only statue was the ice statue set at the snack buffet, and it wasn’t nearly big enough to do any real damage. He then thought of poison, but he didn’t have anything that would be different enough to what he did last time. If he had time to prepare, he could concoct a slow poison and have her consume it, and watch as she died slowly over the course of the night, but alas, there was no feasible way to make the time.

“Whatchya thinkin’ about?” she asked with a chipper tune.

“Oh, sorry, just admiring your party. It’s so lively and... nice, really. Everyone is getting along so well.”

“Well, duh! It can’t be a Pinkie party if even ONE pony is in a sour mood. Yeah, sure, every party needs a pooper to bring the mood back down now and then, but I’ve been doing my best to cut out the middle ground and keep it just enjoyable enough to keep everyone in good spirits. No burn outs, no frustrations.” She said as she leaned against the table, slowly waving her hoof across her, motioning to the attendees. “It’s been a dream of mine to conduct a perfect party, but I’m noooot quite there yet. There’s always still something MISSING.”

“Oh?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Between you and me,” she whispered, “I got close to conducting the perfect party, once. It had the best cake I ever made. But a little accident sent it flying and splattering all over the ground. It was HORRIBLE!” She suddenly shouted, attracting attention briefly, before everyone returned to their own devices. “It’s alright, though. I’m so close to making that cake again, and I’ve gotten WAY better at hosting parties lately. Cheese Sandwich showed me a thing or two on the designing aspects.”

“You know Cheese Sandwich?”

“Yeah, and he’s a super duper awesomesauce party animal! I was a LEEEEETTLE jealous of him when I met him, but I got over it and he helped me rig the best birthday bash ever for the best birthday DASH!” She then laughed at her little, corny joke before continuing, “Anyway, yeah, he helped give me more of an artists eye for party planning. I’m not at his level yet, but I think I can keep at it!” she declared with the strongest fire in her eyes.

It was rather interesting watching the legend herself speak of Cheese so fondly with such adulation. Sure, he was the direct result of her actions, and they may share a common bond between artisans of their caliber, but he was bemused to know such feelings of admiration ran so deep.

“Oops,” she suddenly exclaimed, “we’re getting to the halfway mark of the bash. I gotta address the crowd and make my rounds. You enjoy yourself while I’m gone, eh?” Before he could reply, she zipped away from him and up the stage where the music was being controlled by the performing DJ. “Alright, how is everypony DOING?!” Holding the mic with her hoof, she directed it at the crowd, which gave an uproar that could shake the very soul of Canterlot’s mountain side. “GREAT! We’re at the halfway point of the party, so I thought we could kick things up a notch. DJ, BRING OUT THE GOOD STUFF!”

It was then the jocky behind the stand gave a silent salute, before spinning a record in his hooves and plugging it into the sound system. In honor of Nightmare Night coming up tomorrow, he plugged in the only viable party album for the occasion. “Dead Mare’s Party” by BOINGO. The jaunty, upbeat music started off with the offbeat feeling, keeping things cheerful, but now given a slight strange and unorthodox twist. Despite the odd change, the attitude of the party-goers never dipped. In fact, they seemed to elate as bodies were a little more earnest in swaying and bobbing to the music, especially those that weren’t doing so to the previous music selection. No matter what they were doing, whether it was eating, drinking, or even talking, everyone was now dancing just a little more, having a good time. It was such a simple thing to do, but it transformed the already great party into something more. This was no longer just a work of art. It was a masterpiece.

“Something so simple,” he uttered to himself, letting the music wash over him and cut his senses like a knife. The atmosphere seemed to have change with the new feeling and music, and he couldn’t help but feel inspired. How he would channel it, however, would be a totally different conundrum altogether. “I wonder if I can do the same?”

-o-v-o-v-o-v-o-v-o-

As the party went on, as track after track played out, and as the food finally began to diminish without replenishment, it was clear the festivities were beginning to die down. Despite the obvious winding down of party favors and entertainment, the spirits seemed to still be in high gear, as if fatigue wasn’t even a factor. Never the less, while waiting for things to edge closer to the finale, the self proclaimed Mr. Killjoy had a chance to explore the party as a whole, seeking out a prime opportunity. Regardless of his diligence, he was ashamed to admit he couldn’t find anything suitable for the occasion. Darts and tacks were either too small or well guarded if big enough, any hazards were idiot proofed, cleaning chemicals that could be used for impromptu poisons were missing in the extended area, and every single structure around the party was so sound it would take a strong swing of a sledgehammer to at least to do any real damage. Any flammables were kept away from the flames that still existed, and most flicks of fire were closed off. Most options of what to do were entirely closed off, especially the simple ones.

He slumped in the chair behind the buffet, reaching up to grab a slice of cake that had been left behind by a careless party goer. Fresh, moist, and delicious, just as an expert would make it. It gave him a small bolt of joy tasting such a perfectly sweet little thing. A simple little joy, but not the one he was wanting. He sighed, but before he could do anything further, a cotton candy pink ball of exuberance popped into his vision.

“You looked a little bummed out. You alright?” she asked.

Inwardly, he screamed that he had nothing to show for his efforts while her masterpiece of a party went on unhindered. Outwardly, he answered, “Just a little tired.”

“Oh, that’s no good. I hope you aren’t wanting to go home just yet. I’ve got an extra special announcement later, and you’re included in it!”

“I think-” he started, before a hoof was shoved in his mouth to keep him from talking any further.

“Oh, shush now. Tell ya what, how about I give you a grab bag as a “thanks for coming to the party” sort of thing.”

He thought for a moment, feeling the finale of the night approaching fast, the fruits of his labor withering away, and the energy of his previous triumph leaving him. Pinkamena Diane Pie, out of sheer preparedness solely for the festival, out of an oblivious but masterful conduct in planning what could possibly be described as the ultimate party, has eluded her role in his own wicked wishes. Perhaps he wasn’t ready to tackle such a legend yet, and would need to hone his craft upon other party ponies across the land before he returned. Perhaps he had spent his creative load on his last endeavor and jumped into this venture too quickly. So many more possibilities, and no real answers.

“I suppose I can accept that,” he said finally.

“GREAT!” She exclaimed, “Follow me. All of the grab bags are at Sugar Cube Corner. It’s so greedy greedy ponies don’t just take theirs and run. I mean, how unfun and boring would it be if they did something like that?”

“Very,” he responded simply, still a little disheartened.

At that response, Pinkie Pie leaded her impromptu guest away from the ongoing party and down the darkened streets of Ponyville, which stood eerily quiet. It was beyond midnight at the point, so it was understandable, but something did feel just a little bit off, even in this sleepy little town surrounding the still lively festival. Soon, the two came up to a building that looked akin to a gingerbread house, complete with frosting and candied decorations. Pinkie Pie stopped in front of the locked door, reached into her own mane, and pulled out a small key with a lollipop handle before she used it to unlock the door. With a turn of the handle and push of the door, she waltzed inside and turned on the lights before motioning for him to step in.

“It’s a good thing the Cakes are out of town for a few days with the foals, otherwise this would be a very awkward conversation, heh. The grab bags are in the cellar. Just hang tight while I go find the key. It always seems to go missing at the worst of times,” she pouted, as she disappeared from view. Her guest wandered a little, looking about the dining area for a moment before looking over the display cases. Fresh, delicious pastries and cakes of all kinds were displayed, and smelled as fresh as they looked. I wonder if she catered her own party, he thought somewhat amused. I wonder if all of these cakes are fresh. With that idea in his mind, he looked a little further beyond and noticed the kitchen where a small mess was left behind. Something shiny glinted in the moonlight, however, causing him to canter around the front and disappear into the kitchen. And there, embedded into the wooden countertop, was a beautiful, elegant, properly sharpened knife. Flaring his horn, his magic pulled the blade free from its resting spot and examined it closely. Strangely, it was a butcher’s knife, something he could immediately discern considering the embedded symbol that showed it came from the gryphon kingdoms. Now what would a knife like that be doing here, he pondered.

Regardless of the how or why to its presence, the answer to his long awaited question finally struck. It would be the perfect answer to her loud, exuberant life. A slow, simple push of the knife. And, if she were in too much pain for his tastes, he could always behead her to end her fright. Perfect.

“Pulled away from her brilliant party, and stabbed in her own home while the other party goers are none the wiser. It’s a shame it won’t be public, but knowing how loved you are, you’ll be found soon enough.” He mused while spinning the knife.

“I found the key!” she shouted as the sound of a wooden door clicked and creaked open, before hoofsteps loudly clambered down old, squeaky stairs. Mr. Killjoy turned to the noise, and noticed the door fully open, he wandered over and peeked his head around the opening, seeing that Pinkie was already at the bottom of the cellar, fumbling with something halfway in the dark.

“May I come down?” he asked, knife hovering behind him.

“Sure! Just watch your step, and mind the smell. I had an experiment accident a few years ago, and it hadn’t smelled the same since,” she warned.

He smiled a little, noticing that she hasn’t turned around yet, still fidgeting and fumbling as if she was having a bit of trouble. “Do you need any help,” he offered as he slowly crept down each step, each one squeaking in protest as if trying to warn the victim.

“No, I’ve got it. Oh hey! Mind if I tell you something I’ve noticed?”

“Sure,” he said as he made it halfway down the steps, creeping closer and closer, pulling the knife forward more, which seemed to ring lowly in the air.

“You seem rather preoccupied while you were at the party, and it made me feel you were more of a party pooper than I initially thought.”

“Is that right? I’m sorry if I gave that impression, Pinkie,” he apologized, getting closer, knife raising up. So close now. Savor it.

“But,” she started, “then I remembered a little song when I was younger. Do you want to hear it?”

“Sure,” he answered, stepping ever closer.

“Every party needs a pooper,”

Step

“That’s why they invited you,”

Step

“Party Poopeeeeeer,”

Step

“Party Poopeeeeeeeeer,”

Looming over her now, he raised his blade high into the air, ready to plunge it deep into her back. Suddenly she whirled around with a sledgehammer in her hooves and-

*WHACK*