Sharks on a Rollercoaster
Sharks on a Rollercoaster
“Come one, come all!” blared a voice through the loudspeakers. “And come with your coin purses! For today is the grand opening of the Flim Flam Brothers’ Fantabulous Shark Carnival!”
A spectacularly large crowd of Ponyville folk had gathered themselves ‘round the entrance and were chattering amongst themselves in excitement. They weren’t particularly concerned that the massive Shark Carnival was casting a rather menacing shadow over the entirety of their town, nor were they worried that the entire shebang seemed to have gone up overnight. The park was big and loud and assumed to contain a rollercoaster or two, so that was easily reason enough for them to stand around with their mouths hanging open. Life in Ponyville was a rather dull affair, after all.
And, at any rate, there wasn’t much else to do that day, considering that a Shark-Carnival-shaped shadow had recently plunged the entire town into darkness.
Onto the rickety wooden stage that had been set up just outside the entrance stepped two stallions of prodigious height. They were mostly identical in appearance, with well-coiffed red-and-white manes and matching pinstripe outfits. The crowd would have had a fair bit of trouble telling them apart, save that one of them wore a mustache, while the other wore a confident lack of facial hair.
“Greetings and welcome to everypony!” they announced in unison, to thunderous applause from the crowd.
“I’m Flim,” said the one with no mustache.
“I’m Flam,” said the lucky one.
“And we’re the Flim Flam brothers!”
The crowd cheered. Not a one of them knew what they were cheering about, but the two brothers had that charismatic quality to them that said it was probably safe to cheer whenever they said something. And, to be honest, the crowd just really liked cheering.
“It is our great privilege,” said Flim, “to present to you...”
“The Flim Flam Brothers’ Fantabulous Shark Carnival!” finished Flam.
Again, the crowd cheered.
“We’ve got sharks on log rides!” said Flim.
“Sharks in tea cups!” said Flam.
“Sharks on carousels!”
“Sharks on ferris wheels!”
“Sharks on roller coasters!”
“I’m not even sure how we did that last one!”
A third cheer, but with a bit less enthusiasm this time around. A few whispered murmurs were starting to mix in amongst the oohs and aahs. The dreaded “How much will it cost?” had not yet made an appearance, but the growing confusion of the crowd was clearly becoming an issue. One that would have to be addressed before it got into talk of pricing and complex market forces.
Flim cleared his throat into the microphone, and a hush settled over the crowd. “Questions?”
Everypony looked at each other in silence. Finally, one mare raised her hoof.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Flam. “You. Yes—you over there.”
“What’s a shark?”
“Excellent question, Madame!” Flim answered with practiced confidence. “I’m glad you asked!”
A pause.
“Well...?” asked the mare.
“They are, uh...” Flim continued, with somewhat less well-honed grace. “They are...” He paused again, scratched his chin. “They’re fish, probably?”
He called Flam in for a huddle and whispered, “I don’t know. Do you know?”
“I don’t know,” Flam whispered back. “They swim, don’t they?”
“Lots of things swim.”
“And so do fish.”
Flim thought about that for a second. “I’d believe it.”
They broke the huddle and turned back to the crowd.
“That is correct!” Flam shouted. “They are very much like fish.”
“That they are.” Flim nodded.
Murmurs of approval rippled throughout the crowd. The prevailing opinion was that fish, for the most part, were pretty okay for aquatic animals, so adding something very much like them to a carnival probably came out to a net positive.
"Wait," said a stallion who had slightly quicker wits than the others. "Didn't we run you guys out of town for—"
"And without further ado!" announced Flim, "The Flim Flam Brothers' Fantabulous Shark Carnival is now open! And with free ten-percent discounts on tickets to everypony who stops asking questions!"
The crowd considered this both completely fair and satisfactory. They therefore responded by breaking down the plywood gate separating them from the carnival and charging forward.
Within the confines of the Shark Carnival was a world of wonder and delight. And liability-free souveniers. Everything shone with the cool glow of lead-based paint, and the heady fumes of coal-powered cotton candy machines filled the air. A chorus of mixed delight and despair could be heard throughout the premises, as foals dug into bags of buttery popcorn and their parents were told that, yes, the food really did cost that much.
It was everything Ponyville had ever wanted from a carnival-slash-theme-park—despite the disappointing omission of an army of clowns on stilts.
"C'mon, girls!" called Scootaloo as she ran toward the Sharkapalooza log ride. "We gotta beat the line!"
"I'm not really sure about this, Scootaloo," said Sweetie Belle, trying her best to keep pace. "I think I read somewhere that sharks are supposed to be pretty scary."
"And Ah'm pretty sure those Flim Flam folks tried to run mah family out of business?" said Apple Bloom. "Ah mean, that was kind of a big deal..."
"Aw, you guys are worrying too much," said Scootaloo confidently. "This place is gonna be awesome." She pointed to the rollercoaster looming above their heads. "Do you SEE how big this thing is?"
The Sharkoaster, to which Scootaloo was pointing, was the source of the Shark Carnival's curious absence of visible light. Indeed, the ride's prodigious girth eclipsed the sun more effectively than even the late Nightmare Moon, mitigated only by the occasional metallic glint from the duct tape holding it together.
It was, in fact, a pretty big rollercoaster.
Neither Apple Bloom nor Sweetie Belle looked particularly reassured by that, though.
"Plus," Scootaloo reminded them, "the ticket booth said no refunds."
"Well..." Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle looked at each other in resolute acknowledgement of their defeat. "Since you put it like that..."
“Great!” Scootaloo grinned. She grabbed her friends and dragged them along as fast as she could, sparing no speed for their physical comfort. “Then let’s go! Hurry!”
A banana-yellow stallion with a bright red mustache, who assured them that he was most definitely not Flam, accepted their tickets at the Sharkapalooza booth. Thereon, they were given a roll of silver duct tape and led into a tunnel even darker than the rest of the park, where the Sharkapalooza log was waiting for them. They each took their seats, strapped themselves in with their complimentary duct tape, and waited for the fun to begin.
"This is gonna be so sweet!" said Scootaloo, her wings practically buzzing with anticipation.
"Woo… hoo," said Apple Bloom, with just barely less excitement.
"Yay," agreed Sweetie Belle.
It took approximately five minutes for the ride to start, which the Cutie Mark Crusaders spent by looking around for objects of interest. In this task, they proved unsuccessful, as the darkness of the tunnel ranked somewhere between "pitch" and "unholy."
The Flim Flam Brothers, being inveterate penny-pinchers, put interior lighting at the bottom of their list of worthwhile expenses, right behind safety precautions and shark food.
Eventually, though, something happened. "Please keep your bits and hooves inside the log at all times," said a tinny voice from somewhere in the black of the tunnel. "Flim Flam and co. are not responsible for any loss of property, bladder control, life, and/or limb as a result of this ride. Enjoy!"
Sweetie Belle’s eyes went wide. "Wait, loss of what now?"
"Hooray!" squealed Scootaloo.
And that was about all they had time to say, as the log chose that moment to shoot forth into the unknown.The water splashed, the wind whipped, and the fatally dangerous g forces pressed the three of them into the backs of their seats. Thereafter their mouths were far too busy making shrieks of utter terror to provide much further comment — a known side effect of dangerous increases in velocity.
Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle soon found themselves clinging desperately to the log and praying that the end (of the ride, hopefully) would come quickly.
This was, in retrospect, the wisest and least exciting course of action.
Scootaloo, however, had plans of a decidedly more radical nature. As the proud owner of an actual scooter, she recovered fairly quickly from her fear, and even began to enjoy the feeling of moving at speeds approaching the sound barrier.
Which is to say: she was not quite as terrified of her probable doom as her friends were.
So, in complete defiance of what might generously be described as safety instructions, she stripped the duct tape off and stuck her hoof out, hoping that she might get the chance to see what a shark felt like. Her theory being that, somewhere in the tunnel, a ride named Sharkapalooza would probably feature an actual shark.
She was not disappointed. Soon, her hoof met a smooth, scaly surface, which she presumed to belong to a shark.
"Cool," she gasped, running her hoof over the strange texture of the skin. "This is the best thing ever."
Though she could not see that well in the dark, or at all, the shark seemed a friendly enough creature, and she continued petting it as it swam beside her. "You're a nice shark, ain'tcha," said Scootaloo, as her hoof made another pass over its skin. "And an awesome one too."
The probably-a-shark made no response.
With a sigh, she settled into a more comfortable position on the log's splinter-laden seat and continued petting. She had decided that the shark's name would be Sharky, and that when all was said and done, she would have to adopt it. And see what it actually looked like. And maybe, if she had time after that, ride it around until Rainbow Dash got jealous of her for having such a cool pet.
Obviously, sharks would make for cool pets, Scootaloo reasoned. Else they wouldn’t have their own freaking carnival.
She continued in this delusion right up until her hoof hit something awfully similar to a row of sharp, pointy teeth.
"Now I know there's been some talk about the recent disappearance of this 'Scootaloo' pony," said Flim at the official Shark Carnival press conference. "And I have heard some rather scandalous rumors that she disappeared while riding on one of the attractions at the Flim Flam Brothers' Fantabulous Shark Carnival..."
"Which have not been substantiated by more than three sources," Flam noted.
"Which have not been substantiated by more than three sources," Flim agreed. “But it’s a tenuous logical leap to say that this is at all related to the safety of our rides.”
The journalists nodded and anxiously scribbled out some notes. The various Ponyville tabloids had hit a slump in sales recently, and a breaking story on Scootaloo's disappearance at the Shark Carnival would be an excellent step toward fixing that.
"Nevertheless, we would like to announce that the filly in question has been found," said Flim.
"Then where is she?" asked a foal from the Foal Free Press.
Silence.
"Right... around back," replied Flam. "I will go get her now."
Flam returned half an hour later, dragging a large, scaly creature behind him. It had a raggedy purple mane that may or may not have been a crudely glued-on wig, and black, beady eyes that stared hungrily at the crowd. Also, it appeared to have been doused in neon orange paint.
"The missing Scootaloo!" Flim declared.
The journalists muttered and took down more notes. That Scootaloo had been located would make for a juicy story. Her mysterious acquisition of fins and gills would make it all the juicier.
"That ain't Scootaloo!" Apple Bloom shouted from the midst of the crowd, her voice somewhat muffled by a full-body cast.
"Yeah!" said Sweetie Belle, who had been fortunate enough to escape Sharkapalooza with only a neck brace.
"It's orange like Scootaloo," Flim countered.
The journalists nodded and took careful note of this fact.
"Scootaloo was pretty orange," Sweetie Belle admitted.
"And look!" said Flam. "If you inspect her closely, you'll see that her flank bears no cutie mark! Just like Scootaloo!"
Using his magic, he held the thing that might have been Scootaloo up by its tail, so that the crowd could see it clearly. It wiggled in response and made some gasping noises that might have been the sound of slow suffocation.
"You know, Scootaloo never did have a cutie mark," said Sweetie Belle doubtfully.
"Oh, c'mon," said Apple Bloom. "That's obviously not Scoot—”
“Twenty percent off on concessions and shark-related paraphernalia!” Flim shouted. “Offer valid while Scootaloo remains completely found!”
The journalists took a quick note of this and dashed off to the nearest concession stand. Hard-hitting journalism only mattered so much when the offer of cheap food was made to the hard-hitting (and underpaid) journalist.
Flim and Flam, meanwhile, took advantage of the opportunity provided by herd mentality and made a calculated exit stage-left.
Soon, the only ponies left at the conference were Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle, and... possibly Scootaloo.
Through her bandages, Apple Bloom looked long and hard at the creature flailing helplessly on the stage. She listened intently to its shrieks of oxygen-deprived agony and its cries of hungry anguish.
“Welp,” she said at last. “She does sing like Scootaloo. Maybe she’s the real deal after all.”
Sweetie Belle clambered up onto the stage and gave Scootaloo a hug. “We’re so glad we found you!” she said tearfully. She blinked through the salty water in her eyes to discover that she was now, quite unexpectedly, staring into Scootaloo’s wide-open mouth.
What followed after was needlessly intimate and best left to the imagination.
The Mayor’s appearance at the Flim Flam office was unannounced, but not entirely unexpected. The two brothers were slightly cleverer than the average pony, and recognized quite readily that shark-related death on a hitherto unprecedented scale would likely draw some attention.
“Now,” said the Mayor nervously, “I’m not saying I disapprove of your venture, per se, but I’m not saying I’m entirely in support of it either.”
“We understand, Madame,” said Flam, pouring her out a cup of tea.
“Quite,” agreed Flim. “And, on a completely unrelated note, we’d like to inform you that the tea is altogether free of poison.”
But despite this reassuring claim, the Mayor eyed the tea apprehensively. She had recently drank a bottle of something unpleasantly sludge-like from the Flim Flam concession stands, and did not quite have the stomach for anything else provided by Flim Flam co.
She politely declined to take a drink and continued. “Some of my constituents, however...” she said. “Have raised some, uh, ‘concerns.’”
“Flim Flam and co. would like to remind its customers that all refunds are provided at the discretion of Flim and/or Flam,” said Flim quickly.
“Which is to say: never,” Flam added.
“Well, yes. Yes,” said the Mayor. “That’s not the issue at hoof here. My constituents are worried more about the, ah… the disappearances.”
Flim gave Flam a nervous look.
Flam gave Flim the keys to the getaway carriage.
“Well,” said Flim. “Flim Flam and co. would also like to remind its customers that all ponies who disappear under mysterious circumstances are simultaneously ponies who are not ahead of you in line.”
“Assuming mysterious disappearances are taking place,” Flam added. “An assumption we do not make.”
“Excellent save there, Flam,” said Flim.
“Anytime, Flim,” said Flam.
The Mayor gave a neutral sort of cough to that. “And there’s the matter of more than half of Ponyville’s residents becoming somewhat shark-like in character,” the Mayor went on. “In that they seem to have become sharks. Like, literally... Sharks.”
“A curious happenstance, Madame,” said Flim, using a nearby napkin to wipe the sweat from his brow. “But what does this have to do with our carnival?”
“Well,” the Mayor mumbled, somewhat intimidated by the fact that Flim and Flam were both better liars than she was, “these concerns don’t reflect particularly well on the, ah, democratically elected governing body of Ponyville, so to speak. They’re calling for...”
Flam raised his eyebrow. “For...?”
“Public safety inspections,” she squeaked. “And lower taxes.”
“Ah!” said Flam brightly. “Then say no more, Miss Mayor.”
“Madame,” said Flim, “we would be remiss in our duty as honest carnival owners if we were to hide from you the fact that our rides are not one-hundred percent safe.”
“However,” said Flam, taking a briefcase out from under the desk, “we would also be remiss for hiding from you the opportunities for fabulous mutual profit.”
The briefcase clicked open, revealing the trove of bright golden bits stuffed inside.
The Mayor’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened appreciatively. The briefcase before her contained more money than Ponyville’s yearly educational budget, and certainly more than her legitimate bank accounts. She wondered briefly as to how many reelection campaign ads those bits could buy.
“We’re not suggesting that we’d ever attempt to bribe a public official...” said Flim.
“But this is totally a bribe,” finished Flam.
“Ahm. Um. Of course,” said the Mayor. She closed the briefcase and cradled it possessively in her hooves. “I’ll, uh, see what I can do.”
“I’m glad we could come to a perfectly reasonable and non-threatening understanding!” said Flim.
“Quite,” agreed Flam.
Just then, a banana-yellow stallion with a bright red mustache, who was most assuredly not Flam, poked his head through the door. “Sirs? Rarity just went through the Sharkapalooza and the water appears to have turned an unsightly shade of crimson. I’m given to believe these two occurrences are not unrelated, so... we may require your assistance again.
“Now, if you’ll excuse us, Miss Mayor,” said Flam, taking a bucket of white paint out from beneath the desk, “there are some urgent matters we must attend to.”
The Princess’ visit to Ponyville was rather quieter than she’d thought it would be. She had expected cheers and public celebrations. Instead, she was greeted by the customary crickets and tumbleweeds of an abandoned town.
It is hard to say why this happened, exactly. Certainly the spontaneous suffocation of the entire town’s population hadn’t helped. Nor had the economic depression brought on by high ticket prices.
The Princess looked around the empty streets, wrinkling her nose at the stench of decaying shark corpses. “What could have happened here?” she wondered aloud.
Soon enough, she came upon the remains of what looked to be a carnival of some sort. It was hard to be certain, however, given the gigantic rollercoaster that had collapsed on top of it all.
Celestia squinted at a nearby sign, faded from age and cheap paint, and read: “Flim Flam Brothers’ Fantabulous Shark Carnival.”
She looked again at the ruins and noticed an errant shark fin sticking out from a pile of rubble.
“Well, now,” she whispered. “This place seems...”
She paused.
“A bit fishy.”
