Technically, not terribleby Admiral BiscuitChaptersChapter 2: Proper PrimChapter 3: VirtuosoChapter 5: Novelember 2Chapter 7: Peach WineChapter 8: The Worst Possible ThingChapter 1: CheerileeChapter 4: 5k napChapter 2: Proper PrimTechnically, not terrible Chapter 2: Proper Prim Proper Prim didn’t really need to check her notes; she knew the show inside and out. She lived it and breathed it and for the entire length of the run—from the first audition to the final curtain—it was her foal, and hers alone. Regardless of how many big-name ponies were up on the marquee or how many extras and stagehooves she had, she was the big swinging dick, and everypony knew it. She leaned down and whispered into her crystal mic. “Standby for lowering the swing.” In response, silence. Again. “Standby for lowering swing.” More silence. Nothing but a faint white noise in her earpiece. She looked towards the stage. Even if the crystal radio had broken, all the stagehooves knew their roles; they’d been drilled into them . . . but the swing stayed out of sight, still up in the catwalks. “Act two, set,” the radio whispered in her ear. “Light board, standing by.” “Sound board, standing by.” She couldn’t delay the act. Her focus narrowed; a set of stairs in the tech booth led to the catwalks. Proper Prim keyed her mic. “Act two, go.” “Lights, cue, complete.” “Sound complete.” As soon as the stage lights came up and there was noise below, she pushed the door open with her muzzle and set out on the catwalks. Somewhere out there, a pony was shirking her duty. [SOFT BREAK] For just a moment, a gentle smile played across her face. Despite the discomfort, despite the altitude, despite the noise of the play below, her stagehoof was sound asleep on the catwalk. She had her earpiece in, for all the good it had done. She’d made it as far as the swing before succumbing to slumber. One hoof rested lightly on the prop. A rare moment of maternal instinct flickered in Proper Prim. Her stagehooves worked so hard, and in many ways were the unsung heroes of the show. Then that thought was buried deep. She’d missed a cue, which was Not To Be Done. Proper Prim poked her stagehoof, and by the time the guilty party had snapped out of her slumber, Proper Prim had a stern frown etched across her face. “Swing, standby.” Giving the cue was rubbing salt in the wound, but she did anyway. Her stagehoof scrambled, looking at the stage below. “Swing, go.” It lowered over the edge, sliding into place, and the analytical part of Proper Prim’s mind knew full well that the audience had no idea the cue had been missed. She tapped the offending stagehoof on the forehead. “You can sleep later. Pay attention.” “Yes, ma’am,” was the meek reply. For a moment, her facade slipped. “At least it wasn’t a flat falling over,” Proper Prim decreed. “So it’s technically not terrible.” Chapter 3: VirtuosoTechnically, not terrible Chapter 3: Virtuoso Virtuoso’s ears pinned back at the discordinant shriek of the electric guitar. Ponies were generally at least somewhat musical in nature, although judging by the fur-standing notes of agony from the instrument, there were clear exceptions. He raced back to the metal section of his music store, before the orange pegasus could commit another crime against harmony. To his good fortune, she’d moved on to a quieter instrument: the drum set. One drumstick held in her mouth, she began headbanging. Her hoof drove the bass drum, and her head chose between the cymbals or snare seemingly at random. Despite the unskilled enthusiasm, he couldn’t help but tap his hoof. She was unskilled and using the drum set wrong, but she technically wasn’t terrible. Chapter 5: Novelember 2Technically, not terrible Chapter 5: Novelember II “So?” Applejack tried to hide her eager expression. “What do you think?” “Well.” Twilight set the manuscript down and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “You promised your next Novelember fic would have airplanes.” “And boy howdy, does it.” “Yes.” Twilight nodded. “It does.” “I see a bit of a frown.” “Well, it’s technically not terrible,” Twilight said. “It’s thematically connected to the first, with your same self-insert protagonist, but I’ll be completely honest, I liked the first one better. Your character was fresh and new, and the idea of a hostage situation during Hearth’s Warming inside a Neighponese office tower was creative. This feels like you’re reaching too hard.” “Well, maybe I did,” Applejack admitted. “I’ve got an idea for a third, though.” “Oh, yeah?” “I’ll be teaming up with a Zebra, and solving riddles to stop Flam’s brother as he tries to rob the Manehattan gold repository.” “Really.” “And it’s gonna involve trucks. And a train.” Twilight sighed. “Well, you’ve sold me.” Chapter 7: Peach WineTechnically, not terrible Chapter 7: Peach Wine “And what is this?” Peachy Keen swallowed a lump in her throat. “It’s peach wine, if it pleases you.” Big Mac frowned. “It’s technically not terrible.” He passed the glass to his sister. “AJ, what do you think?” She took a sip. “Fruity, that’s a plus. High proof, another plus. But it’s peach. Therefore, I too, return a neutral verdict. Apple Bloom?” The youngest Apple took a taste. “Meh from me.” “That’s three neutral votes,” Big Mac said. “You know the rules.” Peachy Keen nodded. “To the elder.” “To the elder.” The younger Apple siblings reverently passed the glass to Granny Smith, who took one sip and spit it out on the floor. “Pah. Peach? Off with her head.” Applejack shrugged, and picked up her sword. “Well, sorry, but you heard the verdict.” Chapter 8: The Worst Possible ThingTechnically, not terrible Chapter 8: The Worst Possible Thing “This is the worst possible thing,” Rarity groused. “I dunno,” Pinkie Pie replied. “This one time, at band camp—” “I just dropped a stitch,” Rarity grumbled. “Never mind that, row!” Pinkie looked in the water around them, where the unmistakable dorsal fins of sharks patrolled. “Why are you even sewing on a boat?” “It’s what I do. It’s all I do; I’m prim and proper and a fashion horse and totally one dimensional.” “Let it all out.” “And that’s it.” “Really?” “No, not really.” Rarity reached under the pile of fabric and pulled forth a Thompson machine gun. “Die, motherfuckers!” Her words were mostly lost in the rattle of the gun. Pinkie sat in the stern and watched as the water turned into a pink froth. Yeah, it was bad for the sharks, but in terms of their own survival, it was technically not terrible. Chapter 1: CheerileeTechnically, not terrible Chapter 1: Cheerilee It was out of respect for her students that Cheerilee didn’t start drinking until after she’d graded all their homework, despite the temptation. College hadn’t really prepared her for the reality of teaching. Her first student teacher position had been gentle, in hindsight, and from there it had progressed into an inexplicable downward spiral. It wasn’t that her students were stupid, far from it. Many of them were smart and creative and just plain awful at the basics. She did her best to help them focus on what they were good at—as long as it was productive, of course; encouraging Diamond Tiara at her bullying was not useful for society, despite her talent. It was that every year they seemed less skilled at mouthwriting or hornwriting or composing a complete sentence. There surely was a cause of it, but she had no idea what it was. She couldn’t blame a previous teacher, since there were none to blame. Parents, maybe. Some big cities had a problem with teachers serving in lieu of actual parents, and that could be trickling down to Ponyville. Or maybe she was just getting more cynical as the years passed. That was certainly a possibility. She sighed, and picked the next essay up off the pile, her eye twitching at the scrawling writing. Scootaloo’s work, without a question, and it was long. Scootaloo had a tendency to forget to put in vowels when she was writing in a hurry, and she also often skipped bumps in letters that had bumps, saving time by replacing them with a straight line. If I ever decide to change careers, I’ll work in a pharmacy Cheerilee squinted down at the essay, unconsciously wondering how soon Rainbow Dash would be mentioned, despite the weathermare’s lack of relevance in an essay about the Equestrian economy. To her surprise, it wasn’t until page two. And to her further surprise, the essay was largely on point, so long as she ignored every mention of how awesome Rainbow was. Scootaloo had a tenuous grasp of how weather affected everypony and therefore influenced Equestria’s economy, although her understanding of how many ponies actually made it work was far more tenuous. Cheerilee shrugged. Despite the poor penmareship and the blatant idolization, it wasn’t technically terrible. She scrawled a B+ across the top and moved to the next essay in the pile. Chapter 4: 5k napTechnically, not terrible Chapter 4: 5k nap Miss Harshwhinney eyed the bed, a regulation mattress where the 5k nap was nearing completion. The competitors were sacked out in varying positions—many were opting for the belly, a few were on their sides, and a rarer few sprawled out on their backs. A pegasus had her head tucked beneath her wing—bold, although wing-moves risked points being docked. That was in the rules. And then there was Lyra. Her position was an affront to Equinity. Ponies just shouldn't bend that way, and if they did, they shouldn’t be able to sleep that way. Kinematics practically prohibited it, to the point where there had not been a rule prohibiting it. As much as duration earned points, so too did form, and Lyra was very much off-form. The nap guide rulebook was quite clear on that. And yet . . . it was working for her. She was completely out, a faint smile on her muzzle as she dreamed, and that kind of dedication counted for something, even if the something was ‘technically not terrible.’ Which was actually an award, because of course it was.
Chapter 2: Proper PrimTechnically, not terrible Chapter 2: Proper Prim Proper Prim didn’t really need to check her notes; she knew the show inside and out. She lived it and breathed it and for the entire length of the run—from the first audition to the final curtain—it was her foal, and hers alone. Regardless of how many big-name ponies were up on the marquee or how many extras and stagehooves she had, she was the big swinging dick, and everypony knew it. She leaned down and whispered into her crystal mic. “Standby for lowering the swing.” In response, silence. Again. “Standby for lowering swing.” More silence. Nothing but a faint white noise in her earpiece. She looked towards the stage. Even if the crystal radio had broken, all the stagehooves knew their roles; they’d been drilled into them . . . but the swing stayed out of sight, still up in the catwalks. “Act two, set,” the radio whispered in her ear. “Light board, standing by.” “Sound board, standing by.” She couldn’t delay the act. Her focus narrowed; a set of stairs in the tech booth led to the catwalks. Proper Prim keyed her mic. “Act two, go.” “Lights, cue, complete.” “Sound complete.” As soon as the stage lights came up and there was noise below, she pushed the door open with her muzzle and set out on the catwalks. Somewhere out there, a pony was shirking her duty. [SOFT BREAK] For just a moment, a gentle smile played across her face. Despite the discomfort, despite the altitude, despite the noise of the play below, her stagehoof was sound asleep on the catwalk. She had her earpiece in, for all the good it had done. She’d made it as far as the swing before succumbing to slumber. One hoof rested lightly on the prop. A rare moment of maternal instinct flickered in Proper Prim. Her stagehooves worked so hard, and in many ways were the unsung heroes of the show. Then that thought was buried deep. She’d missed a cue, which was Not To Be Done. Proper Prim poked her stagehoof, and by the time the guilty party had snapped out of her slumber, Proper Prim had a stern frown etched across her face. “Swing, standby.” Giving the cue was rubbing salt in the wound, but she did anyway. Her stagehoof scrambled, looking at the stage below. “Swing, go.” It lowered over the edge, sliding into place, and the analytical part of Proper Prim’s mind knew full well that the audience had no idea the cue had been missed. She tapped the offending stagehoof on the forehead. “You can sleep later. Pay attention.” “Yes, ma’am,” was the meek reply. For a moment, her facade slipped. “At least it wasn’t a flat falling over,” Proper Prim decreed. “So it’s technically not terrible.”
Chapter 3: VirtuosoTechnically, not terrible Chapter 3: Virtuoso Virtuoso’s ears pinned back at the discordinant shriek of the electric guitar. Ponies were generally at least somewhat musical in nature, although judging by the fur-standing notes of agony from the instrument, there were clear exceptions. He raced back to the metal section of his music store, before the orange pegasus could commit another crime against harmony. To his good fortune, she’d moved on to a quieter instrument: the drum set. One drumstick held in her mouth, she began headbanging. Her hoof drove the bass drum, and her head chose between the cymbals or snare seemingly at random. Despite the unskilled enthusiasm, he couldn’t help but tap his hoof. She was unskilled and using the drum set wrong, but she technically wasn’t terrible.
Chapter 5: Novelember 2Technically, not terrible Chapter 5: Novelember II “So?” Applejack tried to hide her eager expression. “What do you think?” “Well.” Twilight set the manuscript down and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “You promised your next Novelember fic would have airplanes.” “And boy howdy, does it.” “Yes.” Twilight nodded. “It does.” “I see a bit of a frown.” “Well, it’s technically not terrible,” Twilight said. “It’s thematically connected to the first, with your same self-insert protagonist, but I’ll be completely honest, I liked the first one better. Your character was fresh and new, and the idea of a hostage situation during Hearth’s Warming inside a Neighponese office tower was creative. This feels like you’re reaching too hard.” “Well, maybe I did,” Applejack admitted. “I’ve got an idea for a third, though.” “Oh, yeah?” “I’ll be teaming up with a Zebra, and solving riddles to stop Flam’s brother as he tries to rob the Manehattan gold repository.” “Really.” “And it’s gonna involve trucks. And a train.” Twilight sighed. “Well, you’ve sold me.”
Chapter 7: Peach WineTechnically, not terrible Chapter 7: Peach Wine “And what is this?” Peachy Keen swallowed a lump in her throat. “It’s peach wine, if it pleases you.” Big Mac frowned. “It’s technically not terrible.” He passed the glass to his sister. “AJ, what do you think?” She took a sip. “Fruity, that’s a plus. High proof, another plus. But it’s peach. Therefore, I too, return a neutral verdict. Apple Bloom?” The youngest Apple took a taste. “Meh from me.” “That’s three neutral votes,” Big Mac said. “You know the rules.” Peachy Keen nodded. “To the elder.” “To the elder.” The younger Apple siblings reverently passed the glass to Granny Smith, who took one sip and spit it out on the floor. “Pah. Peach? Off with her head.” Applejack shrugged, and picked up her sword. “Well, sorry, but you heard the verdict.”
Chapter 8: The Worst Possible ThingTechnically, not terrible Chapter 8: The Worst Possible Thing “This is the worst possible thing,” Rarity groused. “I dunno,” Pinkie Pie replied. “This one time, at band camp—” “I just dropped a stitch,” Rarity grumbled. “Never mind that, row!” Pinkie looked in the water around them, where the unmistakable dorsal fins of sharks patrolled. “Why are you even sewing on a boat?” “It’s what I do. It’s all I do; I’m prim and proper and a fashion horse and totally one dimensional.” “Let it all out.” “And that’s it.” “Really?” “No, not really.” Rarity reached under the pile of fabric and pulled forth a Thompson machine gun. “Die, motherfuckers!” Her words were mostly lost in the rattle of the gun. Pinkie sat in the stern and watched as the water turned into a pink froth. Yeah, it was bad for the sharks, but in terms of their own survival, it was technically not terrible.
Chapter 1: CheerileeTechnically, not terrible Chapter 1: Cheerilee It was out of respect for her students that Cheerilee didn’t start drinking until after she’d graded all their homework, despite the temptation. College hadn’t really prepared her for the reality of teaching. Her first student teacher position had been gentle, in hindsight, and from there it had progressed into an inexplicable downward spiral. It wasn’t that her students were stupid, far from it. Many of them were smart and creative and just plain awful at the basics. She did her best to help them focus on what they were good at—as long as it was productive, of course; encouraging Diamond Tiara at her bullying was not useful for society, despite her talent. It was that every year they seemed less skilled at mouthwriting or hornwriting or composing a complete sentence. There surely was a cause of it, but she had no idea what it was. She couldn’t blame a previous teacher, since there were none to blame. Parents, maybe. Some big cities had a problem with teachers serving in lieu of actual parents, and that could be trickling down to Ponyville. Or maybe she was just getting more cynical as the years passed. That was certainly a possibility. She sighed, and picked the next essay up off the pile, her eye twitching at the scrawling writing. Scootaloo’s work, without a question, and it was long. Scootaloo had a tendency to forget to put in vowels when she was writing in a hurry, and she also often skipped bumps in letters that had bumps, saving time by replacing them with a straight line. If I ever decide to change careers, I’ll work in a pharmacy Cheerilee squinted down at the essay, unconsciously wondering how soon Rainbow Dash would be mentioned, despite the weathermare’s lack of relevance in an essay about the Equestrian economy. To her surprise, it wasn’t until page two. And to her further surprise, the essay was largely on point, so long as she ignored every mention of how awesome Rainbow was. Scootaloo had a tenuous grasp of how weather affected everypony and therefore influenced Equestria’s economy, although her understanding of how many ponies actually made it work was far more tenuous. Cheerilee shrugged. Despite the poor penmareship and the blatant idolization, it wasn’t technically terrible. She scrawled a B+ across the top and moved to the next essay in the pile.
Chapter 4: 5k napTechnically, not terrible Chapter 4: 5k nap Miss Harshwhinney eyed the bed, a regulation mattress where the 5k nap was nearing completion. The competitors were sacked out in varying positions—many were opting for the belly, a few were on their sides, and a rarer few sprawled out on their backs. A pegasus had her head tucked beneath her wing—bold, although wing-moves risked points being docked. That was in the rules. And then there was Lyra. Her position was an affront to Equinity. Ponies just shouldn't bend that way, and if they did, they shouldn’t be able to sleep that way. Kinematics practically prohibited it, to the point where there had not been a rule prohibiting it. As much as duration earned points, so too did form, and Lyra was very much off-form. The nap guide rulebook was quite clear on that. And yet . . . it was working for her. She was completely out, a faint smile on her muzzle as she dreamed, and that kind of dedication counted for something, even if the something was ‘technically not terrible.’ Which was actually an award, because of course it was.
