Custard Repeatedly Teleports into Starlight
Sweet are the Uses of Adversity
“Make it stop!” pleaded Starlight, her face screwed up in anguish. “Make it sto-o-op!” She was lying on her side on the cold, tiled floor of the castle’s great hall, one forehoof pressed against her belly and the other resting against her forehead.
“Well, I’m sorry,” said Twilight primly. “I did warn you what was likely to happen if you reversed the custard spell without taking proper precautions.” Her expression softened slightly. “There shouldn’t be more than a few hoursleft to—”
There was a rather squashy pop, followed by another groan from the mare on the floor.
“—go.” Twilight scuffed a hoof and grimaced. “And, well, to be honest I’m not actually sure I can stop the spellbefore we get to that point.”
Starlight removed her own hoof from her forehead and jabbed it unsteadily at Twilight, stuttering incoherently for a few seconds as she did so. At that point, another squashy pop reduced her to equally incoherent moaning once again.
Spike wandered in, whistling tunelessly through his teeth and twirling a mop between his claws. With the briefest of glances at the miserable unicorn writhing on the tiles, he began to sweep around her, whistling all the while.
“Spike!”
He blinked and looked up. “Hey, what is it, Twilight?”
“First of all, I need you to—no, first of all, can youplease stop that whistling?”
Spike’s shoulders sagged and the mop stood limp.
Twilight’s own shoulders sagged in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Spike. That wasn’t fair of me. I’m just a bit wound up right now, but that’s because of having to deal with all this.”
Spike looked at Starlight, then back at Twilight, then back at Starlight once more. Finally, he turned his gaze back to Twilight and this time he held it there, his head cocked to one side and his mouth a thin line. Twilight squirmed.
“Spike, I need you to go and find Trixie. She was here last time Starlight had some… custard issues, and she might have some idea what we can do about this. Or even whether we can do anything at all.” Another pop. “Because I sure don’t know.” Spike beetled away, and this time the groan was Twilight’s. “What am I going to dohere?”
In spite of her continuing agony, Starlight’s voice was harsh and throaty as shesnapped out a retort. “Maybe you could try doing something a little more useful than you’ve managed so far?” She paused for the next pop, closed her eyes and managed to continue. “What use is Trixie going to be, anyway? If you can’t help me with all your princessy alicornymagic, what’s she going to do?” Pop. “Boast a bit and then set off a few smoke bombs so I can’t see that my barrel is now roughly the size of the Hoofer Dam?”
Twilight chewed her lip and looked everywhere but at Starlight. “I don’t know! But something! Maybe you just need some company for a while. You know, with someone who actually likes listening to you moan all night!”
Starlight looked up sharply and coughed. This proved to be an exceptionally bad idea, as her cough coincided with a further pop and became a gargling, phlegmy splutter. Twilight jumped back in an instant, then threw up a compact shield to protect herself from the unicorn’s wildly thrashing limbs.
“Well, hi there!” said an unfamiliar soprano voice.
Through the fuzzy pink blur of her forcefield, Twilight could just make out the new pony. She had a brash demeanour, she was wearing a cloak—and she had a singular lack of any sort of horn. Or, indeed, of Trixie’s cutie mark. From what Twilight could see, her mark was more of a… blob. Her brain decided that this would be the ideal moment to nudge the word amorphous into her mind. Twilight tried nudging it out again, but her brain wasn’t having any of it and the word stuck there, glaring balefully at her.
“Well, hi there!” repeated the new mare, equally brightly but a tiny fraction louder. “You got a problem here?”
Twilight dropped the shield. “Who are you?” she barked, blinking in the glare of a stunning yellow coat. “I sent for Trixie!”
The newcomer shuffled her hooves. “The Great and Powerful Trixie had to fix the laundry, so she said I could come instead.”
“But you’re just—you’re an earth pony! How can you help Starlight?”
Starlight herself, after pausing for a pop or three, hauled herself up to regard the young pony. Then, most unexpectedly, she smiled broadly. What might have been a truly dazzling beam was slightly spoiled by a further coughing fit, but a smile it was nonetheless.
“I remember now!” she exclaimed. She looked directly at Twilight. “The wording is in the spell: ‘The one thing that can stop the custard must be yellow too (not mustard).’”
“What?” demanded Twilight. “That doesn’t even make any sense!”
Starlight rolled her eyes and turned back to the newcomer. “It’s you! Of course, it’s you! Come over here and rub your hoof along my belly, you wonderful, amazing, miracle-working and most of all, bright yellow mare!”
Twilight’s mouth opened and shut a few times, but no sound emerged. Her brain, feeling that it was about time for a new diversion, experimented with leaving it closed. At that moment, Spike returned, deep red in the face and huffing heavily.
“I’m sorry, Twilight, I looked all over town, but I couldn’t find Trixie anywhere and nopony could tell me where she’d gone, so I thought I’d go over to the—oh wow, Twi, that’s fantastic! How did you think of it?”
This time, Twilight did make a sound but didn’t open her mouth. Starlight’s giggle became yet another cough, but after a few seconds it found its way back to being a giggle and, this time, it remained so. After a long pause, during which Twilight gradually realised that there had been no more popping and no more custard, Starlight looked up at her companion and grinned.
“I think I’ll be seeing you again, Mango Mousse.”
