Chapters More Than Thirty Minute Ponies
“I can't believe it.”
Rarity paced across her inspiration room, gracefully stepping around the chaotic mess of cloth and tools on the floor.
“Not one order.”
The unicorn's mane was frazzled, her eyes darting from place to place, desperately trying to find something, anything she had missed. Forgotten.
“How is it that, I, the most acclaimed and successful seamstress in Ponyville, have not a single order? I simply can not believe it.”
Rarity halted, her haunches falling straight to the ground. A cerulean glow surrounded a nearby pair of scissors, and they hovered in front of her face.
“Was it something I made? That last gown for Fleur de Lis? I knew I shouldn't have added that last row of amethysts, they would never have matched her mane.”
The scissors snapped shut, reflecting the distraught sapphire eyes back into themselves.
“No, Rarity! You must not doubt your sense of design like that. Surely it was none of your work, they were all flawless.”
The scissors were tossed onto a stack of cloth, tearing through the valuable silk. Rarity leaped back to her hooves, forcefully trotting to the vanity placed against the wall. She lifted her forelegs, slamming them onto the desk, and glared at the mare in the mirror.
“Then it must be your fault,” she spat into the reflection. “Who did you offend at that last ball? Was it that offer to re-fit Fat Cat's suit?”
Things stood like that for a while: unicorn staring into unicorn, each dissecting the other, trying to find some imagined fault to explain the horrific predicament they were trapped in.
Until a knock came at the door.
Rarity’s concentration shattered, her gaze finally broke from herself. Her head fell into her hooves underneath, and she began to sob.
“Leave me alone! You don’t deserve to be in the presence of such a failure, who can’t even keep her own business, her own passion afloat!”
Another knock came to the door, followed by a loud, squeaky voice.
“Siiiis! You can’t stay in there forever! You don’t always have to be busy. I’m sure you’ll get a customer tomorrow.”
“Sweetie Belle, you don’t understand!” Rarity threw up a forehoof and called out the the ceiling, despite her sister being behind a door. “A mare like me is nothing without her work!”
“Well, what about your friends?”
One of Rarity’s eyes opened, and every muscle in her body tightened in a moment of hesitation. “Neigh, I say! Without my talents and success, I would simply be a burden upon them!”
The little voice cried back, “Then what about me, Rarity?”
The unicorn lifted herself off the table, turning to face the door, but then held herself back.
The voice continued. “I don’t care about any of your fame or money! I just want my big sister, who plays with me, and helps me look for my cutie mark, and makes beautiful dresses, and is always the kindest and most helpful pony I know! And if any of those frissy fancy ponies can’t appreciate that, then who needs them!”
Rarity could not still herself any longer. With a fierce bound, further disrupting the already disastrous mess, she opened the door and and leapt onto her sister, wrapping her in a tight embrace.
“Oh, Sweetie Belle, you are absolutely right! I have been such a fool! There is more to life than just my work, and it doesn’t matter why I’ve been ignored! I shall just press on, despite all of it!”
Just then, the two hugging sisters were interrupted by a knock at the front door.
“Excuse me,” a deep, masculine voice said, “I really need a tuxedo for tomorrow, and I was hoping you might be able to help, even though the sign says you’re closed.”
Rarity’s eye twitched.
Author's Notes: In my neverending quest to twist the spirit of things, the prompt – “Rarity Has a Day Off” – immediately made me wonder what things would be like if it weren't intentional. The image of Rarity pacing, wondering why she has nothing to do sprung to mind, and I wrote that. Half an hour later, I had about two hundred words, ten wasted minutes trying to find something else to name a fancy food pony because Foie gras is made of meat (and then I cut it, anyway!), and a brief idea of Sweetie Belle trying to talk some sense in her sister. I gave up for thirty minutes, and then decided to come back and finish it over the course of the next hour.
I think is ending is terrible, but then again I thought the same about Hypothetical's and people seemed to love that. It seemed boring to stop off before it, and I couldn't help but torture Rarity with the most mundane explanation for her problems.
More Than Thirty Minute Ponies
#382 - In Which Colours Clash
Some ponies said I was a fool, when I abandoned my studies at Princess Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns in order to pursue my passions as an artist.
Getting home from a long day at work counting more bits than I'd earn in a lifetime at the bank on 23nd street; and looking at my filthy, run-down Manehatten apartment, I was reminded that some ponies were right.
As I sighed and closed the door to my hovel, getting ready for another night of wallowing in self pity and, I don't know, eating too many hay fries, probably; I noticed a blinding burst of light come from my kitchen. Well, ‘room with a fridge in it’. Close enough.
“Hello? Is anypony around?” a deep and resounding voice called out.
Great. Someone was in my house. Getting robbed was exactly what I needed in my life.
Wait, wait; if they were trying to burgle the place, why would they even announce their presence? Something was up. I guess I had nothing to lose by playing along. "Yeah, sure. Come out here. Who are you?"
“Aha!” my houseguest shouted. A few seconds later, a bearded green stallion passed through the doorway, wearing, of all things, a wide brimmed wizard's hat. “Greetings, denizen of the present! As you may have guessed, I– Hold on, where am I?” His eyes seemed to go wide as he saw the state of my living room, darting from unfinished canvas of messy paint, to tattered couch, to discarded snack packages dotting the floor.
Not the first time someone's had that reaction.
With a sweep of the hoof, I explained. “Welcome to the humble abode of Primary Colours! Enjoy your stay.”
Then I remembered who I was speaking to.
“Actually, no. Get the hell out my house.”
“But this isn't right at all! I was supposed to...” The strange unicorn closed his eyes and started muttering to himself at this point. I took the opportunity to study him, and try and remember if I'd done something to catch the attention of the local nutty mage's guild or whatever. A earthen green coat, somewhat muscled, probably in his fifties. A cornflower blue beard, linked to his short-cropped mane; covered by that ridiculous hat. I couldn't see his cutie mark, it was covered by the obligatory matching robe. But when he opened his eyes, I noted the piercing red color of them.
Oh Celestia no.
Before I could recover from my discovery enough to verbalize it, he switched back to making announcements.
“Very well then! I will simply have to make due. As you may have gathered, I am you, Primary Colours, from the future. I have come back in time to prevent a grievous wrong committed by myself. Yourself. Whichever!”
“If it was dropping out of magic school, you missed by about five years.” Judging by him, I’m significantly less sure that was even the wrong option.
He sputtered. “You– You did what!? No, I was going to warn you not to throw out that deck of Official Prince Blueblood playing cards. There was a fire, and now a full set goes for like, four million bits.” I could see his eyes glaze over as he thought about the money.
I didn’t quite share the sentiment. “That’s it? You traveled through time to earn quick buck? ...and that was the best plan you could think of? Why didn’t you just bring some lottery numbers, then I could have the money now.”
He chortled at that. It was the only way it could be described. “Everypony knows the lotteries have careful scrutiny for chronological tampering. They have entire agencies dedicated to it!
“But no! There’s a far more serious issue ahoof! I was counting on you having a magical research laboratory that I could use to establish my route back home.” He looked around my apartment to ascertain there definitely wasn’t one. Pointing to the only closed door, he asked, “Maybe in there?”
“That’s the bathroom.” I paced about, mulling his words over. “So. You’re saying you’re stuck here.”
He frowned, intensely, and somehow pridefully. “That I am. I simply do not understand how this happened. Could my travels through time have truly changed the past so much?”
“You didn’t end up in the past, you dumb shit.”
Well, that was a new voice. Turning to the window, we saw a scrawny green colt climbing through the window off the fire escape.
“Oh, fantastic,” I replied. “What, are you me from the past, now?”
The kid just broke into the most haughty, condescending cackle at that point, only interrupted when he fell through the rest of the window and slammed into the floor. Served him right.
“Hah! No, what are you, some kind of an idiot? How would that make any sense?’ Puffing up and closing his eyes, he introduced himself. “I’m your clone.”
It took all of my effort to prevent my head from forcefully impacting with the nearest solid object. “What.”
The alleged future-me, on the other hand, looked impressed. “Wondrous! Tell me, miracle child, what did you mean by saying I was not in the past?”
The colt rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue. “Well, besides the obvious point that you’re in the present, it’s pretty fucking simple that you’re actually in an alternate dimension. I mean, did you remember yourself popping up out of nowhere to give grim prophecies when you were his age? What the shit did you think was going to happen?”
“I see. A valid interpretation. You are wise beyond your years, youn–”
“Shut up.” I turned to the kid. “Where did you come from? Why are you here?”
He seemed content just soaking in the atmosphere of my living room. “Nice place you’ve got here. Me? I’m just a kid, running away from home, looking for his long lost dad.” He looked up at me, giving the most insincere puppy dog eyes I’d ever seen.
“I’m not your dad! Why am I your dad?!”
“Well, obviously neither of my moms is my dad, so it has to be you.”
My elder self harumphed at this. “Two mares? Why, in my day–”
“You’re from the future – this is your day!” I took a deep breath. “Nevermind. There’s more important issues here. You know that’s not what I meant. Why did somepony make a clone of me?”
“Oh. I guess mom kind of had a crush on you for a bit back in school? But then she made me, and I’m more like a son than anything so that would be really fucking creepy, especially since I’m still only like ten years old. But it turns out she’s a lesbian anyway so it all worked out!” He grinned.
My mouth just hung open. “So, what, are you also named after me? Because I don’t think this could get any worse.”
The kid’s face lit up and he started to giggle. “No, y’see. Mom’s a fucking super-genius, so of course she gave me the greatest name of all.” The look in his eyes said all that needed to be said about his level of sarcasm. I braced myself.
“You’re looking at the one and only Secondary Colours.”
...
The magus quietly walked over to him, and gently placed a hoof on his head. “You have my deepest sympathies, fair child.”
Author's Note
The prompt, of course, was "3 Primary Colours". It's not like there was another way to interpret that, right?is a more than 300 day gap there! Which has given me a bit of perspective. Seriously, what was up with all the self-depreciation I was doing back there? To the Dear, Late Applejack is really good. The only problem with my writing is that I never do it.
More Than Thirty Minute Ponies
#70 - To the Dear, Late Applejack
The party inside Sugar Cube Corner was in full swing, with banners and balloons everywhere the eye could see. Also a number of places they couldn’t. Ponies were spread across the hall, chatting and dancing and generally having a good time.
Nearby a punchbowl, Twilight Sparkle was trying to explain something to a slightly unnerved Rarity. “...And that's when I realized the cocoon was a metaphor for the shackles of our forced social relationships, and the lack of description is because we never truly look at the world around us!”
“Oh, uh, yes, dear. That all sounds very... enlighten—”
The unicorns were interrupted by the doors crashing open, a cloud of dust flowing between them. Inside stood the mud-coated, fatigued figure of Applejack, an expression of embarrassment across her face.
“Uh, howdy everypony. Ah’m real sorry for bein’ late, but there was a whole row a’ apple trees Ah had to give a good buckin’ to ‘fore Ah could come, and Ah lost track a’ the time.”
It was only a brief moment before the attention of the gathered ponies fell back from the newcomer, and things seemed to have settled to as they were.
Well, with one notable exception.
A streak of pink burst from under a pile of balloons, launching them across the room. It accelerated straight into the orange farmer, knocking her onto her side.
“AJ that’s no good! Do you know how many parties you’ve been late to in the past month?”
Applejack looked up into the interrogating azure eyes, hovering above her. “Aw, Pinkie, Ah know. Ah’ve jes’ been so busy with the harvest this season, and—”
“No I mean there’s been so many and I’ve completely lost count! Me, losing count of something to with parties! This is a real problem and we have to go fix it RIGHT NOW.”
The pink mare lifted her head back further than should be possible, and let out a bellow to the rest of the partygoers. “Sorry everypony but this is a huge emergency and I’m going to have to leave you here alone! NOPONY PANIC.”
Nopony did.
Pinkie Pie grasped her hooves underneath the mare beneath her, and fluidly rolled over. With a single motion, Applejack was on her back, and the two ponies were charging out the door. “Hold on tight, AJ, this is gonna be a crazy ride!”
Applejack begrudgingly tucked a foreleg under her vehicle’s barrel, the other reaching to hold down her stetson. “Consarn’ it, Pinkie. Where the hay are ya takin’ me?”
Pinkie raced through the park, knocking over several ponies in the process. She bounded from bench to fountain to tree, never stopping for a moment.
“To make sure this this will be never be a problem again!”
“Now what in the seven stables does that mean?”
Applejack soon had her answer, as the pair stopped in front of a towering, ornate building. Deep inside, a cacophony of deep sounds rang out, as if the very structure was a living being.
Pinkie unceremoniously dropped her passenger. She turned to face her with a maniacal grin on her face, and gestured backwards. As she gave a smooth chuckle, she said, “Well, what do you think it means, silly?”
Applejack gulped and nervously glanced around, trying to make some sense of the situation. “Uh, Pinkie, Ah’m not sure Ah’m entirely comfortab—”
Pinkie kicked open the door the the tower behind her, revealing its contents.
“We’re buying you a watch!”
Author’s Notes: The tentative title for this piece: "Clock Pun”. Once again I try to twist the meaning the prompt – “Pinkie Pie shows Applejack a good time.” – Once again I end with a terrible twist ending. I’m starting to think I’m not a very good writer.
Anyway, I actually planned this one out! There were a few hours of wondering what kind of time Pinkie could be showing off: a clock factory, the source of time in Equestria, a literal different time period. Eventually I settled on just a clock shop, with the impetus that AJ was starting to be chronically late.
The original outline called for much more of the fic to take place in the shop (that is, any at all), involving picking out a nice watch, and an argument between AJ’s desire to take things as they come and not rush them, and Pinkie’s need to do everything quickly because there's just so much to do! I couldn't actually think of a resolution to it, and hoped it'd come in writing, which I suppose it did, considering I ran out of time long before that.
The ending was quickly retooled to give create any kind of a climax, so enjoy another cliché bait and switch. Hopefully it worked at all, but I'm not very proud of it in any sense.
And of course, I’d be remiss if I didn't chastise you all for not being able understand Hypothetical as well as Twilight. I mean, really, I tried to make it pretty clear, but I guess I can't put faith in anyone anymore. (I’m kidding, I just tried to come up with something ridiculous to be said at the party, and quoth my notes " - self-indulgent meta humor, my favorite! - i hate myself")