*Screaming in Unison*
The first sign that something was wrong in the town of Fetlock Fields that evening was the smoke. It wafted into the air in great plumes, visible from the other side of the hills. When she first noticed the smoke, Sangria was smack dab in the middle of tending to her vineyard, which was about an hour's trot from the town itself. The soil was richer, less drained of the vital nutrients that gave her trademark white grapes the best flavor. But now, dread filling the pit of her stomach, Sangria wished she'd settled for a closer hillside on which to farm. Because her husband and sons were so far away. All she could do was hope they were okay as she broke into a run, beelining home.
Then came the faint echoes of screaming, and the much louder sound of bestial roaring. Her eyes widening with fear, Sangria pushed herself even harder, galloping as quickly as she possibly could. But it wasn't fast enough.
When she finally reached Fetlock Fields, it was unrecognizable. Every last building in the small settlement was ablaze or pulverized, in some cases both. The smell of something faintly repugnant filtered through the char of the burning wood into her muzzle. And a huge silhouette, scaled and serpentine, retreated into the sky overhead. Sangria felt as if her heart had crusted over with ice.
"Hello!?" she frantically inquired. "Is anypony okay!?"
But there was no movement in sight, only the occasional line of blood, sprayed out onto the dirt. Sangria's legs carried her deeper into the remains of the town, to the one place that mattered. However, the house she lived in with her family was the same as all the others, smashed to pieces. Heedless of her own exhaustion, Sangria dug through the wreckage, throwing rubble to the winds as she pleaded to any deity listening, please oh please let her family be alright.
She found nothing at all. Not even corpses. Sangria burst into tears, wailing in utmost sorrow. Her husband, her sons, her friends. The place she had lived her entire life, everypony she had ever known, friends and loved ones, gone. Snuffed out in one terrible instant to sate the hunger of a rogue dragon. As Sangria sobbed, shaking with grief, she knew in her soul that there was nothing left for her in the world anymore. No reason to live.
Finding her kitchen knife in the wreckage of her home, Sangria sat. Taking the blade in both hooves, she angled the point towards her chest and shut her eyes tightly. She would be with her family again very soon.
Sangria inhaled deeply and plunged the knife into her chest. Pain, intense pain, bloomed, and she screamed. And screamed. And... screamed. It felt like it had been at least a few minutes since she stabbed herself, but she wasn't dead yet. Sangria blinked her eyes open, her pained screaming replaced by utter confusion.
There was the knife, buried hilt-deep in her flesh. But there was no blood. Stupefied, Sangria pulled it back out, and there was no wound to speak of, the pain vanishing, as if it had never happened. Still determined to rejoin her beloved and her children, Sangria took the knife and slit her throat. Still, no blood. Then she tried running the blade through her left eye, right into her brain. Aside from the excruciating pain, though, the only thing that resulted in was her eye tearing up again.
Sangria got to her knees, waving her arms to the heavens as she roared in frustration. "Why can't I die!?"
Ripcord trotted along the bustling streets of Manehattan with a contented smile on her face. Say what you will about Manehattanites, but many ponies in the city weren't perpetually annoyed, and she was one of them. A mare in her prime, with a plum colored coat and a pink mane in a common, curled style, the only thing about her which stood out even a little was her habit of wearing pants. Ripcord fit into the tapestry of the city effortlessly, blending into the scenery. Which was a good thing, considering her main hobby: murder. Usually via evisceration or disembowelment, once she'd caved in her victim's throats to stifle their screams. And she'd gotten away with every last kill.
If one of her victims ever somehow escaped, carrying with them knowledge of her appearance, Ripcord would have to flee the city, hide someplace out of the way until the search blew over. But that would never happen, she was simply too good at what she did. It was her special talent, after all. Being unassuming, that is, not committing murder. She just really, really liked the smell of blood, the texture of viscera, and the flavor of bone marrow. You could make some of the tastiest soup stocks with pony legs.
Aaand now she was hungry as well as bloodthirsty. But that was okay; she had a date lined up! She was heading over to the stallion's place now, in fact. A cute, chubby colt, he'd invited her over, presumably to take things to the next level after a nice homemade dinner. Little did he know that Ripcord would be eating him in the way he probably wasn't expecting.
Ripcord approached his front door with fresh excitement, and she allowed him to usher her inside. The evening went swimmingly, at least at first. They had tea, snuggled for a bit on the couch, the whole romantic nine yards. But then Ripcord just couldn't hold herself back any longer, and she dropped the act, slamming her hoof into her latest prey's head as hard as she could. The juicy stallion, a being a Pegasus (incoming fried wings, bonus!), was no match for her earth pony strength, and he barely had time to widen his eyes in shock before he was out cold, crumpling to the floor.
Chuckling to herself before licking her lips, Ripcord pulled out her favorite rusty cleaver, ready to butcher this poor sap alive. "If it's any consolation, you'll last me a while. Bye bye!"
Bringing down her cleaver, she opened a wide gash in the pony's stomach, red gushing forth. Or, at least, that was what typically happened when Ripcord did that. Instead, his belly just sort of... bent under her weapon. When she pulled her hoof back, his body sprung back into shape as if nothing had happened.
Ripcord blinked once, then again. That was new. Must've been some sort of protective enchantment. So, she stripped him down, discarding his collared shirt, his necklace, anything that could potentially be shielding him. Then, she tried again, which produced the same result. Her next though was that it could be her cleaver, so she swapped it out for her iron mallet and tried again. Still, no sanguine dice.
Slowly, Ripcord's muzzle contorted into a visage of peak rage. She slammed her hammer into his chest over and over, wishing for a crunchy pulp. But instead, he just briefly flattened into a equine-shaped pancake before popping into three dimensions again, every time.
Ripcord fell to her knees, waving her arms to the heavens as she roared in frustration. "Why won't you die!?"
The narrow, country road, little more than a line of dirt trampled through a prairie by countless hoofsteps, went largely unused most of the time. As far as routes out of the city went, this one was the least traveled, which was exactly why a peeved Ripcord had chosen it. In fact, during her abrupt egress, she hadn’t seen a single other soul.
At least, not until an aquamarine mare slowly plodded towards her from the other direction. Her eyes were sunken, devoid of hope, and her head hung low. Still, Ripcord’s sense of direction was terrible, and this was an opportunity to confirm she was still pointed in the right direction, despite the risk.
“Excuse me,” Ripcord began, “is this the way to Fetlock Fields?”
Ripcord’s voice jolted the mare out of her stupor, and she stopped, looking at Ripcord as if seeing a ghost. “Oh.” Then, she hung her head again. “It was.”
Now it was Ripcord’s turn to be confused. “’Was’, not ‘is’?”
She nodded numbly. “It’s gone. Destroyed.”
Ripcord’s frown came back with a vengeance. That was simply fantastic. Now she’d have to backtrack or risk getting lost for real. Groaning, Ripcord spun around. But before she could leave, the other mare raised a hoof to stop her.
“Wait,” she pleaded. “I have a huge favor to ask, miss…”
“Ripcord. And you are?”
“Sangria. Listen, I know this is going to sound crazy, but… I want you to kill me.”
Ripcord stared back. She was worried she was going to have to murder this mare to shut her up, but if she'd heard correctly... “I’m sorry, did you just say you wanted me to murder you?”
“Yes,” Sangria confirmed, her face painted with an equal mix of resolve and despair.
This was too good to be true for Ripcord. “Uh, why do you ask?”
Sangria sighed. “I tried to do it myself, but for some reason my knife… didn’t work.”
Ripcord’s jaw dropped. “Wait, so it wasn’t just me?”
“What do you mean?” Sangria asked.
“Horsefeathers,” Ripcord cursed. She shouldn’t have said that. Oh, screw it, too late now. “I tried killing my boyfriend yesterday so I could cannibalize him, but nothing I did permanently wounded him.”
Now it was Sangria’s turn to be dumbstruck, she stepped back, gears turning behind her eyes. “So… you’re a homicidal lunatic?”
“I prefer the term ‘maniac’, as I’m not much of a Nightmare Moon fan, but yes. I've decapitated, dismembered, and devoured so many ponies that I've lost count. Someday, I hope to try griffons, zebras, and buffalo too.” Ripcord realized it actually felt really nice to finally open up to somepony about her interests.
Sangria blinked at her. “Oh. Well, that’s perfect, then, as I have nothing left to live for, and you’re an expert.” Then, she paused, a bit of amusement cutting through her malaise. "Since I'm asking, I think it's technically assisted suicide, not murder, by the way. Still, you'll help me, right?"
"Sure," Ripcord confirmed. Then, her ears drooped. "But, I'm afraid it might not work. What if our experiences weren't just one-off flukes? What if it's not just you, and that one colt whose name I already forget?" Here, Ripcord shuddered. "What if nopony can die anymore? I'd be miserable!"
"Well, I'd be glad," Sangria replied. "There's been enough death down the road to last the whole generation. Also, I'm not going to let you check that hypothesis by attacking another innocent pony," she said with a scowl.
Ripcord tried her best pout, perfected during her foalhood, but Sangria wouldn't budge. Darn motherhood practiced resistance. Defeated, Ripcord rolled her eyes and grumbled. "Ugh, fine. I won't try and kill anypony besides you anymore, alright? I'll go steady, with you as my one and only victim from now on."
"Good." Sangria grinned almost imperceptibly. "Now then, let's go get you a nice, heavy crowbar."
After that, when the procured blunt object failed to yield results beyond more comedic pancaking, Sangria and Ripcord began living together as roommates in the outskirts of Fillydelphia to facilitate further attempts. They tested various conventional and unconventional ways of inflicting irreversible bodily harm upon Sangria, as conducted by Ripcord. Both mares got part-time jobs to pay for their rent, as well as the various sharp implements and heavy equipment they needed to reach their goals. But the first few lethal methodologies Ripcord tried were all relatively simple.
Ripcord stared down at Sangria, who was splayed out belly-up on the floor. "I'm gonna choke you now, okay?"
"Go for it," Sangria said. "No need to be shy, I'm not gonna get off on it or anything."
With that, Ripcord shrugged and slammed both her forehooves against Sangria's neck. Sangria didn't struggle much as her face slowly grew bluer due to suffocation. Once she stopped flailing and her eyes had been replaced with little X's, Ripcord backed off, admiring her work, smiling as she retreated to the kitchenette.
However, just when she'd finished picking out which wine she was going to pair with her filly filet, Ripcord heard a sharp gasp, and her face fell when Sangria sat back up, totally fine. When their eyes met, both mares sighed in annoyance.
And so it went. Ripcord would whip up increasingly elaborate means of execution, many of which she'd only dreamed about trying previously. She'd hurled Sangria into an incinerator, who wailed as she was subjected to horrible burns, only for the mare to walk out and peel off a layer of melted fur and charred skin, totally fine underneath. Ripcord bisected her lengthwise with a chainsaw, only for the two halves of Sangria to zip back together like magnets before she could even take a taste. She locked Sangria in their closet without food or water for a week, and Sangria wound up barely emaciated, let alone deceased.
Then she tried feeding Sangria ten times the lethal dose of an incurable poison along with her recovery pile of sandwiches. (The more meat on her, the better for when the reaper finally showed up.) She got better after a few days of violent seizures and some bed rest. A substantially large high explosive alchemical bomb off the black market obliterated a huge chunk of wilderness and sent Sangria sailing hundreds of feet away, but that was all.
At this point, the patience of the two earth ponies was wearing quite thin. Sangria dove face-first into a wood chipper, only for the chunks that came out the other end to stick together like bubblegum and gradually reform into their starting shape. She reported a headache and dizziness as well as the usual searing agony, but was otherwise no worse for wear. Ripcord, out of desperation, even tried to give her a heart attack by exposing her to a horde of baby bunnies. She complained to the pet shop afterwards about false advertising. They were not, in fact, 'so cute that you'll die'.
In the aftermath of an ill-fated attempt to get Sangria electrocuted in the local weather factory, Ripcord slammed her head against their coffee table. "This sucks. I go through the motions and nothing happens! It's like whipping up the batter for the most delicious cake in the world, but then having no oven to bake it in!"
Sangria snorted. "You're telling me. All this suffering, and the sweet release of death constantly eludes me." Her eyes begun to water as her thoughts once more turned to her deceased family.
Seeing this, Ripcord stood back up, resolved. She placed a hoof on Sangria's shoulder. "Don't worry, Sangria. I'll see you reduced to a cold, unfeeling husk if it's the last thing I do."
This was it: Ripcord's final attempt to slay Sangria for good. If this didn't stick, she'd have to face facts and accept that her days as a self-defined rampant psychopath were over. She surveyed her preparations to make sure everything was in place. They were in an abandoned warehouse. In the center of the room, suspended above a giant, black cauldron, filled with boiling acid, was Sangria. Above Sangria, in turn, was a giant bucket of white powder, resting on the scaffolding.
Ripcord had long ago stopped bothering to ask if Sangria was ready, and saluted the bound mare, who shut her eyes after steeling herself. In a single stroke, Ripcord cut the rope. Sangria plunged into the vat, howling in extreme distress as her flesh melted from her bones, leaving only a skeleton, which then, too, dissolved.
"Now for the finishing touch," Ripcord said to herself, climbing up to the bucket and upturning it into the cauldron. The potently basic reagent reacted with the acid, neutralizing it into a billowing cloud of harmless gas, which rapidly dispersed. When she peered into the vat, it was totally empty. After looking this way and that for Sangria and finding nothing, Ripcord sighed in satisfaction. "There, that has to have worked."
That night, Ripcord had the apartment to herself for the first time. It felt strangely lonely without Sangria, but it was far too late to save their friendship, if that had even been what they were. Besides, good friends helped eachother, and Sangria had been craving death from the day Ripcord had met her. After fretting under the covers, wondering what came next, she eventually fell asleep.
When Ripcord woke up the next morning, Sangria was standing at the foot of her bed, totally motionless and supremely disappointed.
"Oh, come on!" Ripcord exclaimed, flying upright and bursting into tears. "That was my ace in the hole! I'm totally out of ideas! Now what do we do?"
Sangria walked over and draped a hoof over her withers consolingly as Ripcord vented her delayed rage. Sangria understood; she'd really expected that last one to work. The past few months had been enough time for her grief to reduce from an all-consuming void in her breast to a dull ache, but it still stung, and she still wanting it all to stop. Plus, life still had its fair share of curveballs to throw at them in the meantime, like the announcement of the new princess, and that parasprite infestation which literally ate into their savings.
Once Ripcord had calmed down, Sangria hesitantly spoke. "Hey, Ripcord?"
"Y-Yeah?"
"I was thinking," Sangria began, melancholy, "that just because there's nothing left here doesn't mean we're out of options. It would be poetic if I bit the dust in the same manner as my family: as the meal of a dragon."
Ripcord met her eyes after wiping away the last of her tears. "Huh. It's worth a shot, at least."
"I'm not sure where we'd find a dragon, though."
"The Everfree Forest?" Ripcord suggested. "That place has every unholy monstrosity a pony could ever ask for, supposedly."
Sangria processed this, quickly finding the notion sound. "I'll go as soon as I can, then. Wanna come with?"
"And see you get ripped to shreds? Wouldn't miss it for the world."
The trip to the fabled woods of chaos was surprisingly uneventful for Sangria. At least, until she and Ripcord arrived at the cozy town on its edge: Ponyville. Initially, the residents were the typical level of amicable, waving hello and smiling their way as they made their way down the street. Then a bright pink mare careened into their path out of nowhere, causing Sangria to flinch backwards in surprise.
"Hi, new ponies! I'm Pinkie—"
"Get back, mugger!" Ripcord urged, brandishing her mallet. "I know how to use this!"
"Woah, woah, I'm sorry," the mare said, falling to her haunches as she made a placating motion with her hooves. "You must be from the big city. Where are my manners?" She cleared her throat. "Let's try that again. I'm Pinkie Pie, and welcome to Ponyville!"
"Hello, Ms. Pie," Sangria said, her wits returning to her. "I'm Sangria."
At that, Pinkie gigglesnorted. "Ms. Pie was my grandmother! Call me Pinkie. So, who's your friend, Sangria? And what brings you here?"
Ripcord sheathed her mallet, smiled her most disarming smile, and pointed to herself. "Ripcord. We're on our way to check out the forest for some... sightseeing."
Pinkie nodded rapidly. "Yeah, Whitetail Woods is pretty scenic this time of year. Or— hol'upaminute. You said forest." She gasped dramatically, looking them over with a suddenly critical, narrowed stare. "One of you two wouldn't happen to be that pony with a death wish my Pinkie Sense told me about, would you?"
Sangria burst into a cold sweat. What in Tartarus? "Uh... maybe?"
"Don't do it!" Pinkie suddenly exclaimed, prostrating herself at Sangria's hooves. "You have so much to live for! Like cupcakes, and balloons, and chocolate!"
Sangria was at a complete loss, and she turned to Ripcord for aid. "She really doesn't," Ripcord explained. "Poor mare's special somepony and kids were massacred by a dragon, along with her whole hometown. We've tried everything to put her out of her misery, but nothing's stuck. Knives, bombs, nothing worked. It's like she's immortal."
Hearing this, Pinkie's demeanor shifted completely again. She stood, looking pleasantly surprised. "Really!? That must mean you two know! I thought I was the only one!"
Sangria and Ripcord shared a look before the former asked Pinkie "Know what?"
"That Equestria is currently under the purview of the corporate overlords at Hasbro, duh! What else would I be talking about?"
"How is having a brother related to ponies suddenly being unkillable?" Ripcord asked, brow furrowed.
"Oooh, I get it," Pinkie said. "You girls can only see the effect, not the cause. Still, that's more than everypony else in Equestria! Allow me to explain."
Sangria watched with baited breath as Pinkie pointed up and to her left at something Sangria couldn't see. "Now, you'll have to trust me on this, but there's a little white box up there with the letters 'TV-Y' written in it that pops up a couple times on the weekend. Basically, what that means is that we're all part of broadcast show for alien foals, and they aren't allowed to be exposed to intense violence or death. Once the first season started up a little while ago, the world stopped allowing ponies to die by installing cartoon logic, and put a filter in everypony's heads to prevent them from noticing."
Sangria's jaw dropped. That was why she couldn't commit suicide?
Next to her, Ripcord squinted, looking at Pinkie as if she was the crazy one. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard, and that includes everything to come out of the Manehattan mayor's mouth. Trying to shield kids from the concept of death entirely cannot be healthy for their development. Heck, my parents introduced me to the concept thoroughly before I could even walk."
Well, that explained some things, Sangria thought. Still, she had a point. Sangria turned to Pinkie. "Nopony can die? Without exception?"
Pinkie shrugged. "I guess they might make an exception for super-duper evil villains, but I'm not sure; haven't seen it happen yet."
Ripcord looked at herself, then at Sangria, then back at herself and facehooved. "Great. The wrong mare has immunity."
"I could do something really evil," Sangria posed. "Like, stealing candy from babies."
Ripcord shook her head. "That's more petty villainy. You could try molesting the babies instead, that'd almost certainly work."
Pinkie's eyes widened. "You can't do that! Don't make me call the guard on you!"
"Don't worry, Pinkie; I would never do something so heinous," Sangria said, shooting Ripcord an icy glare for a second. Still, that begged the question: what would she do with this information? Sangria begun to pace, mulling it over for a minute before turning back to Pinkie. "Say, Pinkie?"
"Yeah?"
"How long is this 'Equestria Show' supposed to last?" Sangria asked.
Pinkie's eyes widened in understanding. "Oh, I getcha! You're just gonna wait! That's waaay less nasty than your buddy's idea. But yeah, the current estimate is three broadcast seasons, however long that is in our world, but it could get extended if critical reception is good. And by critical reception, I mean toy sales."
Sangria sighed in relief. That didn't sound too bad. How popular could a children's show about ponies get, anyway? Alien foals probably preferred, like, science-fiction dramas.
Ripcord, meanwhile, groused. "Waiting is so boring, though. And if I don't practice, my skills might end up as rusty as my cleaver! Then what'll I do for fun?"
"I'm sure you can come up with something to do besides adding to your eventual criminal record, Ripcord," Sangria said. "Pinkie seems like a jolly gal, why not ask her?"
Hearing this, Pinkie began bouncing in place, complete with springy noises. "I am indeed known for that, yes," Pinkie confirmed.
"Pass," Ripcord deadpanned.
Sangria frowned. Okay, she was being a grump, but that was fine. Sangria wondered what else might Ripcord like to pass the time. She'd done so much for her already, fielding an idea was the least she could do, and Sangria knew Ripcord fairly well at this point. Hmm...
Suddenly, Sangria clapped her hooves. "I know! How about we go explore the world?"
Ripcord's ears perked up, which Sangria took as an invitation to continue. "We are in a unique position, knowing mortality doesn't apply to us. There would be no real risk! You could climb Mt. Everhoof, cross the Celestial Sea, chart unknown territory. The sky's the limit! And I'd go too; bring back plenty of stories to tell my foals in Elysium."
"That sounds amazing!" Pinkie exclaimed. "I'd totally come with, but I'm one of the main characters, so I can't. Plus, I couldn't convince my friends either, 'cause of the filter."
Ripcord scratched her chin as she mulled it over. "Well, being an O&O-esque wandering murder hobo doesn't hold the same appeal without the murder, but I admit, that does sound interesting. And anything beats working retail."
Sangria smirked. "Is that a yes?"
Ripcord tilted her head from side to side. "Let me maim you occasionally to wean myself off the habit, and you have a deal, sister."
After rolling her eyes and snorting in amusement, Sangria leaned over to nuzzle Ripcord. "Aww. I knew you cared deep down, sister."
Blushing and grumbling, Ripcord pushed Sangria away. "I guess..."
Pinkie giggled at the sight. "Looks like I have a private going-away party to plan!"
As Celestia raised the sun the following morning, Sangria and Ripcord sallied forth, putting the trappings of equine civilization behind them in favor of the fresh sights and sounds of the wilderness. Together, with little more than the clothes on their backs, they scoured the globe, partaking of the land when they could. They met with llamas in the high mountains, lost tribes in ancient jungles, and beings once dismissed as myth. Scalding calderas, deserts of towering crystal, icy plains floating upon the sea at world's end, the two mares braved them all, surpassing death numerous times, and emerged stronger and more connected for the experience. Years went by.
Eventually, the road they walked, as if by fate, led Sangria and Ripcord back to where they began: Ponyville. The town had changed as much as they did, and it now sported a giant, purple castle as well as a scenic boarding school. But they weren't staying for either of those attractions.
"Well, this is it, Ripcord," Sangria said, looking into the slowly twisting mass of thorny vines and volatile trees that the Everfree had become since she saw it last, a lifetime ago. "The last bastion of unconquered land in the center of ponydom. You ready for this?"
Ripcord smirked. "You know it."
"Are you mares crazy!?" suddenly interjected a third, deep voice.
Bells jingled as its source approached them: a tall, grey unicorn in a cape, with an exasperated expression on his face. Though, the bags under his eyes lessened the effect somewhat.
The two wanderers turned to face the stallion, and Ripcord's brow rose. "What's a Star Swirl wannabe doing out here? Nightmare Night isn't for another four months."
"No clue," Sangria replied.
He reached them with an indignant huff, blocking their path. "That's because I am Star Swirl," he explained. To punctuate this statement, he casually blasted a looming shrub into splinters. "And there's no way I'm letting you mares go into the Everfree when it's in this state. Those six stupid kids didn't listen to me, and they've probably been reduced to fertilizer already. Until the forces of harmony reassert themselves, those who enter this forest are surely doomed."
Sangria and Ripcord shared a look. They certainly hadn't heard dire warnings like this before. Not from a celebrity once presumed long dead, but still.
"With all due respect, Mr. The Bearded, I think we'll be alright," Sangria said.
"Seriously. Unless you've also been to the Yawning Void of No Return and came back unscathed, too, you have no right to stop us," decreed Ripcord.
Sangria grinned at the memory. "It actually wasn't that bad in there. Those writhing abominations that defied comprehension were surprisingly amicable once we got acquainted a bit. Tl'ogtharjj even knit me a sweater from his own excretions."
Star Swirl's anger sputtered out, instantly replaced by baffled awe. He blinked once, twice. Opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, closed his mouth, and wordlessly stepped aside so they could pass.
Ripcord patted his hat. "Thank you."
Once they were deep enough in the forest to be out of earshot, they burst into a fit of mutual giggling. "Stars, the look on his face!" Ripcord exclaimed.
"Never gets old," Sangria agreed.
All smiles, the two of them silently made their way deep into the heart of the Everfree, ignoring the very (t)horny vines which accosted them at every turn. Neither mare was in the mood. However, what did pique Sangria's interest was the faint sound of voices echoing up from a large canyon. Ripcord wanted to investigate the fabled Castle of the Two Sisters, but Sangria managed to convince her to check out the mysterious occupants of the canyon first.
What they found was a motley assortment of youths from various races all working on their own projects in and around a wide-mouthed cave. Seeing no reason not to approach, Sangria and Ripcord found themselves totally ignored by most of them, too absorbed in their respective tasks. Save the blue griffon, who hawked at them eagerly, touting an amazing exhibition of history and relics related to the Tree of Harmony.
Sangria could honestly say that she had never beheld a museum inside a cave in the middle of a hostile landscape before. Wordlessly, she looked to Ripcord for confirmation. Seeing her bemused curiosity was returned, they trotted over to where the griffon was advertising, deciding to humor him.
He proved entertaining, if not truly informative. At least initially. Then he tried to stop them from leaving once the two of them were beginning to grow bored of his material, only for the desperate boy to break out claw puppets. This, however, only synched it, Sangria and Ripcord simultaneously cringing. The cold, uncaring viciousness of nature was one thing, but tryhards? No thank you. They booked it out of there like their lives were on the line. Which weren't, obviously, but their sanity was.
Months later, the two explorers were scaling the savagely steep Peaks of Peril, in hopes of paying a visit to the elusive and occasionally incendiary Kirin, when the topic of their idle conversation turned inwards. As Ripcord crested the latest wall, helping to haul Sangria up after, her face grew pensive. "Hey, Ria?"
"Yes, Rip?"
Ripcord trotted forwards, as if fighting her reluctance to speak up by leaving the idea behind. But Sangria kept pace, walking by her side, and Ripcord pulled her eyes away from the ground, meeting Sangria's. "So, when this is all over, when the show finally ends and ponies are mortal again... what are you going to do? Still planning on offing yourself?"
Well, that was a definitely a heavy question, Sangria noted. If she'd been asked that a few years back, she probably would have said the same thing as when she and Ripcord had first left Equestria: that this was all to pass the time until she could reunite with her family. But now, after everything they'd been through? Her old life in Fetlock Fields was but a series of memories. Some solemn, most jovial. And Sangria had made many new memories since, all of them with Ripcord by her side. They were practically inseparable. Which led to her answer.
"No," Sangria said, firmly. "I miss everypony I lost. But not so terribly that I can't go on, not anymore. What we have can't last forever, but I can't just abandon you after all we've been through, Ripcord."
Ripcord tensed, her gait shifting. "You really mean that?"
"I do," Sangria confirmed, shooting her best reassuring grin. "We can settle down somewhere. I might plant some new grapevines, use my talent again. And after all this time, I think my family can be kept waiting a little longer."
As Ripcord's eyes started to mist over, Sangria playfully pulled the rug out from under her. "Besides, somepony has to make sure you don't relapse back into a flesh-eating madmare."
Ripcord elbowed her in the side, cheeks puffed out in indignation. She managed to hold that grimace for about five seconds before she was reflecting Sangria's coy smirk. "You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that, Ria. I was worried that—"
She was cut off by the sudden lack of rock underhoof. Having not been watching where they were going, both mares tripped and fell off a cliff, plummeting through the air. Simultaneous yelps of surprise leapt from their throats as the valley below rushed to meet them. However, neither Sangria or Ripcord was afraid in that moment. When they landed, though, that was a different story.
Bones snapped and popped, blood pouring from huge lacerations. Energy and sensation sapping from their bodies, Sangria and Ripcord had just enough time to form the same, singular thought before their lives faded away: "Oh, crap."
~ That's all Folks! ~
