Apple Bloom, Scootaloo, and Sweetie Belle open the door to the kitchen at Sweet Apple Acres, their eyes downcast.
“Well what do we do now?” Scootaloo asks, climbing into a chair, and facing her friends.
“We could go look for cutie mark problems,” Sweetie Belle says halfheartedly.
“We do that every day,” Apple Bloom interjects. “This was supposed to be our day off, our story day.”
“Yeah,” the other two say in unison.
“Zecora just had to pick today to meet with the Yak ambassador at Twilight’s,” Sweetie Belle says, taking a seat herself.
Applejack opens the door and walks in.
“Whoo-wee it’s hot out there today, I need a cider like a pig needs mud.” She looks at the trio. “What are ya’ll doin back so soon? I thought today was the day you three hang out with Zecora?”
“It is!” Apple Bloom exclaims. “Or it was supposed to be. But she had to go meet some stupid Yak ambassador about getting a shipment of some rare northern roots or some such.”
“Yeah,” Scootaloo agrees. “And we were all set to spend our day off with a new story. Now I don’t want to do anything.” She says dejectedly.
Applejack ponders for a moment. Well, if it’s a story ya’ll want, I know plenty.”
“Um, no offense sis, but we weren’t exactly looking forward to a farm story.”
“Yeah. We were hoping for something with action!” Scootaloo says.
“Or maybe a mystery,” Sweetie Belle adds.
“Or somethin spooky.” Apple Bloom says.
Applejack smiles.
“Heck, I know a story that has all three. And it’s a true story ta boot. Apple Bloom, did you know that our family has a real genuine superhero in it?”
“What!” All three exclaim.
“Is that the truth?” Apple Bloom asks skeptically.
“Uh, ‘Element of Honesty’ here.” Applejack says tapping her chest with her hoof. “So, ya’ll wanna hear about him?”
“Yes!” Scootaloo says.
“Definitely!” Sweetie Belle agrees.
“Well, sure,” Apple Bloom says crawling into a chair. I mean as long as it isn’t about farming.”
Applejack pours herself another cider and begins her tale.
“He was the son of a poor Maressouri apple farmer." {Apple Bloom groans and puts her head in her hooves}.
Young Spruce Mane was only a colt when he was forced to watch as his parents were slain on their way home from the picture show, during a cow tipping prank gone horribly wrong...
Voice one: Heh, this’ll be great!
Voice Two: Hey uh, I think I hear somebody.
Voice Three: O’ course ya did, he done said ‘this’ll be great’ just now, ya dumbass!”
Cow: Will you guys just get this over with? I’ve got grass in three of my four stomaches to digest, I ain’t got all night!”
The cow was tipped. Unfortunately for all involved, it was on the edge of a hill at the time. A hill the Mane family were walking along at the bottom of.
“Mooooo-ve it!” Yelled the cow falling uncontrollably.
“Uh dear, is that thar a cow hurtlin down at us?”
“Yup, it sure is! Now thar’s somethin you don’t see every d-”
{Splat}
“Ma?… Pa?” Spruce asks wide eyed, looking at a mass of hooves sticking out from beneath a Guernsey.
“I’m alright, I’m okay,” says the cow. “These two ponies broke my fall and… ewww!”
“Nawwwwww!” Spruce wailed into the night sky.
Vowing revenge upon those responsible, Spruce sat in his father’s barn wracking his redneck brain for a way to strike back at ‘those what dun dun him wrong’, when suddenly the still night air was pierced by a shrieking cry, and young Spruce has freed himself of the need to make the long walk to the outhouse, as the feeble light of his lamp is overshadowed by a huge pair of wings....
Suddenly neurons begin to fire in unused portions of young Spruce’s hick brain.
“Thet’s it! He cries, “Redneck’s is a fearful and craven bunch... And none too bright neither. I shall become a ‘Symbol O’ Terror’ to the varmits that prey on the good folks of Briar Creek Maressouri. But I needs a name ta go by when I’m out night owlin’, fightin crime an such... Wait a sec... That’s it!”
And so began the career of Night Owl, Maressouri’s first superhero.
Young Spruce spent the next several months training his young strong farmers body with all the fighting styles that Tuesday night’s Kung Fu Theater had to offer. He trained his detectin abilities as well, by trying to deduce what them smells were that were comin out from under his bed. And he spent weeks turning his pa’s old harvesting cart into ‘The Owl MoBeel’ a feathered fightin engine of mass destruction.
Due to his limited financial status, Night Owl was the only superhero who used purely organic weaponry. For example his bird-o-rangs were actual owls… they didn’t come back when you threw them, but you dang sure didn’t want to get one in the face or crotch.
And when Spruce’s young cousin Squeaky walked into the open barn and saw what he was up to, Spruce recruited him to the cause as ‘Muskrat... That colt yonder’ (due to his habit of wandering off).
Finally, after months of training, Spruce was ready to seek revenge. Him and Squeaky went into town to see his friend the right honorable Sheriff Slim Hoardin. They drew more than a few stares due to the fact that the only thing they had to go to town in was the Owl-Mobeel, but Spruce had been trainin him and Squeaky in the ancient Shou-lin Art of being ‘In-con-spikus’, so he was confident that no one would notice who he was...
The meeting with the Sheriff went well, after passin over a bottle of his ma’s ‘medicinal’ tonic, the sheriff agreed to signal Spruce’s night time acquaintance when he got word of who done done in his folks. Since the sheriffs method of finding the culprits consisted of asking everyone in town one at a time “did you do it”, and since he started his investigating the day that Spruce’s parents died, he told him that he should have an answer by sundown, due to the fact that they was only three people left to in-terror-gate.
“Hot dang!” said Spruce, ”I just done come in, and will already have the varmits names by dark! I bet them city cops ain’t near so fast. You just signal my close personal friend Night Owl when you get them names, and you won’t even have ta chase them boys down.”
“Sounds good to me” said the sheriff, “after I takes some of your ma’s ‘medicine’ I ain’t no good ta do no dectetorin no way.”
Later that night, in front of ‘The Owl’s Nest’, (Night Owls driftwood tree house), Night Owl and Muskrat are patiently gluing feathers back onto the Owl-Mobeel, when suddenly the sky lights up in fiery red and orange.
“That must be the sheriff with the owl signal,” says Spruce.
“How can you tell,” says Squeaky.
“On account of the way them folks keep yellin “HEY NIGHT OWL! OVER HERE QUICK!” and “SHERIFF YOU DUMBASS, PUT THAT DANG FIRE OUT! YOU’RE BURNING DOWN THE WHOLE ROOF!”
“Dang” says Squeaky, “that’s mighty fine detectorin Night Owl”
After a brief meeting with the sheriff, Night Owl proceeded to make his way to the house of his next door neighbor Archie Enemy, and his two brothers Goon and Flunky.
“The sheriff is a mighty fine po-lease man, I done never woulda thought my very own cow tippin neighbor was the one what done done it. But when the sheriff done ask ‘em ‘Did you do it’, Archie and his brothers knew they wus no way out. The sheriff, knowin that he couldn’t whup all three o’ them, cleverly told ‘em that if they’d go back home and drink up all the booze they had in thar house, that he’d give them a pardon for whut they done in the morning.”
“Dang Night Owl, they oughta be fallin down drunk by now.”
“That there’s the plan Muskrat, I don’t think this here will take too long...”
And Night Owl was right... It didn’t.
Ya’see, Archie and his brothers had done already drunk up all the booze in their house the night before, and being drug into town hungover to be questioned by the sheriff had put them all in a fighting mood, so when Night Owl busted through the only window in the house that hadn’t been busted out, and started whooping and holloring and shouting Hai-yaa! And raining feather’s down on their ma’s handmade rug, Archie wasted no time in showing him the floor.... A lot of it... Face first...
Eventually Night Owl came to.
“Dang Night Owl, they done beat you like they was your ma!”
“Where’d they go Muskrat?”
“They’s outside rippin the feather’s off o’ your cart, says they don’t want to steal no chicken cart. I tole them that it’s an Owl-Mobeel, that its writ right thar on the side, but they says that none of them can read…”
“Never mind Muskrat, just get me my flask of ma’s ‘medicine’ out of my ‘Futility Belt’. It’s over on the table where they left it after they done whupped me with it. Then after a few shots... I mean doses, you can help me home... I’m thinking about goin back ta apple farming for awhile.”
Muskrat hoofs him over his flask, and against the colt’s better judgment Night Owl takes down a long pull... But then suddenly, the stupidly high alcohol content of that prosen brew begins to interact with Spruce’s redneck DNA. His face reddens, his muscles tense, and he lets out for the first time his soon to be famous battle cry...
“WHOO-WHOOOOO-WEEEE!!!”
And with that he leaps to his hooves.
“I has been reborn! I has the strength of ten, cause my heart is pure! Let’s hang a beatin on ‘em!!!”
“You gots the strength of 280 proof Night Owl. Maybe you oughta sit down for a spell”
But it was too late, Muskrat was talking to a slow falling pile of feathers, for Spruce had done cleared the yard, an with a mighty leap he commenced to bravely attack them from behind. The sight of a wild eyed earth pony covered in feathers, backlit by the moon froze all three of them in there tracks, givin Night Owl all the time he needed to conduct a crude form of gene splicin involving all three brothers and whatever wasn’t nailed down in the area around them.
The resulting mess was not expected to recover... Which didn’t stop it from winning the blue ribbon at the state fair in the ‘It’s gotta be art, cause that just don’t make no sense otherwise’, category.
“Night Owl? Hey, Night Owl! You can stop kickin ‘em in the giblets now, they ain’t movin any more. Um, has your eye always been that twitchy?”
“Huh, whut?” Night Owl replied, coming back to himself, and surveying the damage. “Dang ma,” he mutters to himself, “just what the heck is in that stuff?”
“What did you say Night Owl?”
“Nuthin Muskrat. It don’t matter none no way, cause we done did it. My folks is avenged!”
And so, after that night, life settled down to a routine for Spruce and young Squeaky. By day a humble apple farmer, by night a super hero, (and part time fire fighter, when the sheriff got carried away with the Owl signal).
Applejack looks down at her sister and her friends.
“Now who wants ta hear about the time that Night Owl faced off against the Mad Pharmacist and his genetically modified heifer, ‘Apocalypse Cow’?”
Uhh, maybe some other time,” says Scootaloo, “I think it’s time for me to be heading home.”
“I’ll come with you!” Sweetie Belle says quickly, “To, um, keep you company on the walk home.”
The two quickly say their goodbyes and practically gallop up the road.
“Whut?” Applejack ask in puzzlement. “Was it something I said?”
“Sis,” Applebloom says as she closes the door, “Let’s just leave the storytelling to Zecora from now on.”
Author's Note
Just a bit of silliness to keep my hand in. I've had the unponified version of that story on the shelf for awhile, and decided to dust it off.
I do have two actual Zecora stories I have been working on for a bit, after all, a lot can happen on the way to Twilight's from the Everfree.
