Pinkie the Unicorn - A Tale in Four Acts

by theworstwriter

Rating: everyone
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Comedy, Pinkie Pie, Twilight Sparkle
Length: 8814

Pinkie Pie becomes the proud owner of a unicorn horn. Celestia help us all.

True, heart-stopping terror takes many forms:

Foul beasts roaming the dark who consume their victims, flesh and soul.
The object of one's affections finding a diary they weren't meant to.
Being tardy.

But until now, Equestria has not known the meaning of fear. The past's petty concerns and phobias mean nothing this day, for today, Equestria shall experience unimaginable horror. Today, Pinkie Pie becomes a unicorn.

Published 2012-09-25 04:34:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-12-03 04:11:13 UTC

Act II - In Which Everything Might Be Okay but Then Isn't

Twilight perched in front of the doorknob and scrutinized it intensely for several minutes, mostly via staring with only the occasional taste or prod. So absorbed was she that a loud knock from the other side of the door echoing throughout the library did nothing to move her.

“Twilight? Are you home?”

Every muscle in her body tensed. She knew that voice. No level of engrossment could shut off the portion of her mind dedicated to picking out and reacting to threats of that magnitude. That was the innocent and bubbly voice that was going to bring about the ruination of all creation if it wasn’t stripped of that horn really soon. A voice that was supposed to be back in the kitchen of Sugarcube Corner baking delicious treats. How long have I been sitting here? Twilight wondered.

“Twiiiiiiliiiiiiiiight, c’mon,” Pinkie whined, “if you’re not home then you gotta tell me so I can stop knocking before all the extra hoof exercise gives me super huge muscles and it becomes my duty to out-box the Soviets’ even bigger muscley stallion boxing champion. I don’t think I can do it! I’m not like iron at all!”

A chill ran down Twilight’s spine. She shivered, blinked, then immediately fell over backwards upon opening her eyes to find Pinkie staring into her face.

“Go on, feel,” Pinkie said, thrusting a hoof toward Twilight. “It’s more like some kinda marshmallow.”

Twilight sputtered a few syllables that might almost have been words.

Pinkie gasped sharply. “Hey, you are home! Is that why you didn’t tell me you weren’t?”

“What are you doing here? I thought—” Twilight heaved, stopping to swallow a lump of anxiety so massive that it threatened to capture her teeth as orbital bodies. “I thought I told you not to do anything but bake. Did I tell you that? Please tell me I told you that,” she begged.

“Well of course you did, silly! You were starting to do that thing where your breathe really quickly and your eyes get all funny and you sweat a lot. Y’know, like you always do whenever you’re worried you’re gonna disappoint Princess Celestia or alphabetize something incorrectly or look goofy in front of that nice doctor,” Pinkie chirped brightly before bouncing around Twilight. “So I decided to meet you halfway by doing almost nothing. That way I’m not enabling your craziness or completely letting you down. I Pinkie Promise I only did one other thing besides walk over here,” she chattered while crossing a hoof over her chest.

Twilight’s left eye twitched imperceptibly; it tried to twitch much more, but she managed to suppress it. Unfortunately, the effort of hiding that left her with nothing and she couldn’t stop her right eye from flipping out a little. “What... um... what did you do?” she squeaked, managing to maintain control over her voice even as dozens of pre-apocolyptic scenarios ran through her head. A flood of frosting. Launching Equestria out of a cannon. Total protonic reversal. Any number of world-endingly horrible things could go wrong with a magically-powered random whim generator like her. There hadn’t even yet been any clear indication of just how much power Pinkie had in that oversized reality-puncturing device on her head.

“...ilight? Hello?” Pinkie said, waving a hoof in front of Twilight’s eyes. “You’ve been sitting there with a really delicious glazed doughnut look in your eyes for a while now and not saying anything.”

“I what?”

“I guess you also drooled a little bit, but I can’t blame you for that. I drool, too, when I think about doughnuts. Especially jelly doughnuts! Is Spike dry yet?”

“I... what?” Twilight stammered.

Pinkie rolled her eyes. “You said you left him in the washing machine. I thought that you were probably gonna put him in the dryer, but now that I think about it it might be better if you didn’t. Air-drying is a lot more green, and since you live in a tree you probably care about the environment and stuff. Also, Spike is part green, so there’s that.”

At this point, a faint shuffling faded down the hall as an eavesdropping Spike scampered away, trying his best not to attract the attention of either of those mares.

With a giggle, Pinkie booped Twilight’s nose. “I know you’re home, Twilight. You didn’t tell me you weren’t and also you talked earlier and also I can see you.”

Twilight inadvertently blew a small bubble with her saliva before snapping out of her stupor and switching out of imminent-danger-mode. Wait a minute, she thought, this is good. Pinkie’s here in the library where I can contain and examine her, and she still hasn’t done anything more than one standard Pinkie deviation off from normal. All I need to do is—

“Hi AJ!” Pinkie shouted, waving out the open door at the passing farmer.

...Pay attention to my surroundings. Get a grip, Twilight! You’re losing focus!

“Well howdy, Pinkie,” Applejack said with a tip of her hat. “You’re just the mare I was lookin’ for. Ya seem a mite busy, though. Helpin’ Twilight with an experiment o’ some sort?”

“I don’t think so... why? Do I have something on my face?”

This proved to be the necessary kick Twilight needed to resume semi-rational thought. She leaped directly behind Pinkie and frantically shook her head, pantomiming beheading in Applejack’s direction.

Pinkie’s smile slackened. “Twilight’s been a Nervous Nellie all morning and I’ll feel really bad if it’s because she feels awkward telling me about something embarrassing nopony else is willing to tell me.”

Applejack turned her lost gaze to Twilight, silently pleading for guidance. Lying wouldn’t do, but apparently neither would letting Pinkie know about her new forehead accessory. Both mares stared silently for several seconds before disappearing in a blink of light.

Desperate, airy bubbles swam to the surface, crowding out their soapy brothers as two mares flailed and splashed and struggled to breathe under the formerly tranquil spa waters. Rarity shrieked once when Applejack surfaced in front of her and again when Twilight surfaced to her right, leaving no nearby windows unshattered. “WHAT are you two DOING here?!” she demanded.

“Oh, this is bad. Really, really bad. I think she just teleported us!”

Sudden and terrifying comprehension dawned across Applejack’s face. Without a word, she galloped away at full speed in the direction of Sweet Apple Acres, presumably to lock herself and her family in the storm cellar.

Rarity exhaled and relaxed her scowl. “Twilight, dear, I gather something awful is happening, but would it kill you to be a little more mindful of—”

“Yes,” Twilight interrupted, “it would. Equestria is about to face an unfathomable threat, and we’re all doomed if I don’t figure out a way to restore the natural order.”

Stiffening her posture and discarding her indignation, Rarity flipped straight into hero mode. “What are we dealing with, and what can I do to help?”

Twilight allowed a small grin to surface. She knew she could count on her friends. Applejack would be back, too, as soon as her family was safe. “To start with, how about—”

She disappeared in a small puff of smoke, replaced by a large stone statue of a shark.

“Twilight?”

“Hey, I found you! I was wondering where you went. I was also wondering whether or not ski-jumping over a shark is cool. I should probably ask Dashie.”

Twilight rubbed a hoof against her aching head. She still doesn’t seem to have realized anything is wrong, but that was definitely her magic at work. Maybe she’s unconsciously triggering it? Applejack and I seemed like we could use a trip to the spa, and... something about trying to find me while distracted by aquatic predators? In a way, that’s probably more dangerous.

Pinkie’s smile disappeared and her ears drooped. “Are you okay, Twilight? I’m kinda worried about how you keep blanking out like that.”

“Huh?” She shook her head in an attempt to clear it. “I... I’m sorry, Pinkie. I think I’m okay, but there’s a big problem I’m trying to solve, and I’m not sure what to do.”

Wrapping a leg around Twilight’s neck, Pinkie pulled her into a gentle hug. “You’re the smartest pony I know, Twilight. You’ll figure something out.”

“Thanks,” she sighed. “I hope you’re right.” She ducked out of her friend’s embrace and peered into her earnest expression. “I’ll be right back. This time, I promise. Two minutes or less. Can you stay in this room for me?”

“Aye aye, cap’n,” Pinkie said, performing a quick salute. However, her hoof stopped before it reached its destination. She guided it down in front of her eyes and squinted at it. “That’s funny. Last chapter when I did that, it worked.”

Twilight sat in stunned silence, too terrified to risk anything. There was still a chance, however small, that Pinkie would shrug it off and carry on unaware.

Pinkie straightened her legs and back, standing rigidly. She slowly raised one hoof out in front of her and started another salute. As she moved through the gesture, she spoke. “Aye aye, ca—” she managed before her horn thwarted her again. “Is today the day we’re supposed to dismantle the military-industrial complex?”

Come on... shrug! Shrug!

Her gaze drifting toward the ceiling and her tongue peeking out of one corner of her mouth, Pinkie audibly pondered the mystery as her hoof probed the space around her head. After several seconds, she gasped. “Of course!”

Twilight ducked down low and cowered under the meager protection of her hooves.

“Blueberries!”

She cracked one eye open and peered up at Pinkie.

Pinkie grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, what were we talking about? I just realized what was missing from a recipe I tried the other day.”

For what seemed like the hundredth time, Twilight’s body relaxed as she exhaled the worst of her grief. “That’s a relief,” she murmured.

“I know, right?”

In a sudden blue blur, the door flew open and Rainbow Dash dropped to the ground. “Twilight, have you seen AJ? It’s kinda important.”

Pinkie smiled and bounced. “Hiya Dashie! I have a question for you about coolness!”

“Oh? What exac—HOLY COW that’s a big horn!” she exclaimed.

“Horn? Like what, a clown horn? But I can’t juggle and I don’t like Faygo!”

Dash stared quizzically at her for a moment. “Huh?”

“What have you done?” Twilight shouted. “Why did you tell her?”

“Tell her what? I have no idea what’s going on here or why Pinkie’s a unicorn or what clowns have to do with anything!”

“I’m a unicorn?” Pinkie asked flatly. She attempted one more salute and stopped her hoof on the side of her horn, slowly feeling the length of it. She blinked a few times, then focused her gaze at an empty spot on the floor. With a dull glow around her horn and a gentle pop of magic, a cookie appeared. She didn’t smile. Or laugh. Or bounce. She just stood and stared at it.

Twilight grabbed Rainbow Dash by the shoulders and shook her. “We have to stop her!”

Dash pushed her away and stepped back. “Whoa! Calm down. Stop her? I’m... I’m still confused here, but what exactly is so dangerous here?”

Rapidly vibrating with renewed panic, Twilight sputtered, “I don’t know... something, anything, everything, nothing... there’s... there’s no way to know what’s going to happen! Pinkie can’t even be trusted with power tools. This is magic! Magic!”

“And? What’s she gonna do, make trampolines? Turn a tree into spaghetti? Pinkie may be a complete goofball, but she would never hurt anypony.”

“Not on purpose,” Twilight replied, “but she has no idea what she’s doing!”

The cookie in front of Pinkie suddenly doubled in size. The corner of her mouth turned upward a few degrees. Something deep in the core of reality broke. Twilight shuddered. Dash shivered. A sinister grin crept across Pinkie’s face as she disappeared in a bright flash of pink light. Several motes of dust settled where she’d been standing as the cookie slowly grew stale.

“SPIKE! LETTER. PRINCESS. NOW!”

Act III - In Which Everything Falls Apart

The indignant stamp of a hoof that could tolerate no more oppression rung throughout the chamber. “Sorry, but your reign ends now,” Pinkie shouted.

Celestia gaped at the intruder and marveled at how easily she’d dispatched her guards. “What are you—”

“No more games!” Pinkie snarled. “You know exactly what I want.”

A cloud of smoke swirled together and formed a bound scroll. It landed softly at Celestia’s feet. She blinked at it before returning her gaze to the pony before her. “Pinkie Pie, this is no laughing matter. I have all the confidence in the world that you’d do your best for my little ponies, but you’re not experienced enough to lead them all.”

“I don’t want to lead,” Pinkie spat. She glared back at the Princess with determination in her eyes.

Smiling serenely, Celestia stepped forward. “I know you don’t. But if I’m gone, who would take my place?”

“You don’t have to be gone. We can settle this peacefully. Just please, give me what I want.”

A thunderous crack split the air as Pinkie Pie’s body shattered a pillar. Celestia was frowning. “I thought I’d made it perfectly clear that the only way was over my dead body.”

Pinkie coughed in the dust of her impact and stood on shaking limbs. “I don’t... want to hurt you,” she managed between labored breaths.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Celestia replied.

Ethereal sparks danced on the edge of her pink horn as Pinkie leaned forward and grinned. “Let’s party.”

Twilight alternated between calm, measured pacing and completely undignified flail-galloping about the library—both completely useless—in anticipation of a reply to her letter that she wouldn’t get. The sound of Spike’s fingers drumming against the table steadily marked the seconds ticking by as Twilight switched back and forth faster and faster with each passing minute.

“I just don’t get it!” she blurted. “The Princess and I established a whole system for prioritizing our correspondence, and this one was marked higher than any letter I’ve ever sent!”

Spike lifted his head a few inches above the wooden surface and droned, “Even more important than the letters apologizing for other letters being late?”

Twilight stopped in place. “Yes! Much more important than those! Those are only a category epsilon-six. Even the...” she trailed off into a furious blush before vigorously shaking it off to regain a sense of composure. “The very personal letters that she always responds to immediately are only tau-four. This one was marked psi-nine! Psi-nine, Spike! It’s been eighty two seconds and she should’ve replied within ten. Something’s wrong, I just know it.”

“Or maybe she’s just taking a shower,” he muttered, plopping his head back down with a sigh. “Seriously, Twilight, get some therapy. You’re so paranoid it’s making me tired just listening to you.”

“It’s taken more than nine times as long as it should have for her to write back to me!” she snapped.

Spike yawned. “Yeah. And it’s still been less than two minutes.” He hopped off the stool and dragged his feet toward the stairs. “I’m gonna take a nap. You should think about taking a walk to clear your head.”

“Already walking.”

Shaking his head and suppressing another yawn, Spike began to climb up to the second floor. “Outside, Twilight,” he called back down, “part of the point is getting some fresh air.”

She walked into the door and groaned at the dull pain of hitting her face against a solid surface. She peered at the door closely. “You open... somehow,” she mumbled as her eyes scanned the surface of it. “Aha!” she cried upon spying the knob. With a loud snap, her hoof broke the metal free from the door and it swung open freely. A breeze blew in and Twilight’s eye twitched imperceptibly in the wind. She trotted outside and set off down the road.

Six hours later, Twilight found herself in a seedy back alley of a city she couldn’t identify. “Huh. Must’ve gotten lost in my own thoughts and lost track of time. And space. Did I just say that or did I think it?”

“You said it.”

“Who said that?”

“You did.”

“No, not who said what I said, who said what you said!”

“I did.”

Twilight growled and turned to find the source of the voice. She saw a stallion, sitting down, looking over a map.

“Are you done here?” he asked.

“I... don’t know. Where am I?”

He rolled his eyes and pointed down at the map.

“Whinniepeg?” Twilight shook her head. “I walked to Whinniepeg? And it’s still light out? That’s impossible.”

The stallion rolled up the map and chuckled. “Lady, you gotta come back down to Equestria. You pay any attention to your surroundings at all? The sun hasn’t moved all day. Chaos in the streets,” he said, gesturing toward the alley’s entrance where a few ponies could be seen galloping by. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I just finished planning my lootin’ route.” He rolled up the map and tossed it into a large sack, then slung the empty bag over his shoulder. His gaze traveled up and down Twilight once. “Good luck out there,” he offered with a smirk before waltzing away to commit incredibly grand larceny.

“Why wouldn’t the sun have moved? It’s not like Celestia is busy fighting off...” Twilight’s eyes doubled in size. “Oh no. No no no,” she sputtered as she scrambled into the streets. “I need... I need to get... to go... not here. I need to be not here,” she panted. “I need to go to Canterlot right now.”

A small fire that smelled surprisingly delicious burned nearby, the scent causing Twilight to skid to a halt. “Bakery?” She tilted her head to the side. “Bakery!” she barked. One of her eyes went slightly askew. “Plan. Plans are good! Plan to locate and de-horn Pinkie. Plan can’t be half-baked. No no no.”

A flash of light and a maniacal cackle were the only heralds of Twilight’s sudden appearance in the castle courtyard. The moment she materialized, she snapped her head in the direction of the throne room and took a disturbingly deep breath in through her nose.

“Not there.” She sniffed again. “Also not there. Missing royalty. Paralyzed celestial cycle. Crisis, yes,” she babbled, nodding her head rapidly. “Desperate times, desperate measures, you know how the saying goes.” With a swift, cracking jolt of her neck, Twilight pointed her eyes up to the top of the tallest tower of the castle. A bolt of lightning shot out of the sky just behind the tower. A frightening peal of laughter emanated from a lone window high above her.

“First things first,” she mumbled as she pulled a glowing pastry from a box. Inspecting it closely and seeming satisfied with both its glowiness and its flakiness, she carefully lowered it back into the cardboard vessel and closed the lid, patting it gently. “She would never suspect you!” Twilight chirped with a crooked, toothy grin.

Twilight’s legs blurred as she ran faster than she’d ever run before across the courtyard, into the castle, and up a nigh-endless spiral staircase, ever so slowly revolving upward toward her goal. Her body protested with each hoofbeat, letting her know in no uncertain terms that this was unacceptable. She didn’t listen and pressed onward, leaving a trail of sweaty air and madness in her wake. Up and up and up she climbed, but the tower refused to end.

“Spatial warping,” she huffed, “is cheating. This tower,” she panted, “isn’t this tall.”

“You okay, Twilight?”

“Gah!” Twilight slid to a stop and fell on her face.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no.’”

She rubbed her head as she righted herself. “Spike? What are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “I figured you’d show up to check on the Princess. But, uh, I guess you’re not. What are you doing?”

“Pinkie’s at the top of this tower!” she shouted. “And I’m trying to get to her so I can put an end to this!”

Spike frowned heavily. “O...kay then. I’m gonna go see if I can track down some medical staff,” he said before turning and waddling away.

Twilight took a moment to examine her surroundings. She was not on a staircase. Tugging at her mane and groaning, she cast her gaze about looking for the stairs. “I have to stop her before I go completely nuts.” One eye blinked slowly, then the other. “Obviously my temporary reduction in mental stability is a side-effect of her misuse of magic.”

A giddy shout echoed throughout the castle halls, “YOU-REEK-A!”

With a heavy slump, Twilight buried her head in her hooves and closed her eyes. “I’ll never make it. She’s probably discovered some kind of anti-life equation she’s mistaken for a recipe and there’s nothing I can do to stop her.”

A set of footsteps and a set of hoofsteps, one right after the other, rapidly approached. “Here she is. I dunno what’s wrong with her, but you gotta do something. I’m worried about her.”

A gentle hoof landed on Twilight’s shoulder. “Twilight Sparkle? Could you please come with me?”

She peeled her hooves away and glanced at Spike. “She has to be stopped.”

“Twilight, come on. Please. Snap out of it. Wake up.”

Her gaze hardened as much as her resolve. “You’re right,” she said firmly as she stood up. “I can’t give up. I have to fight.”

Spike stepped forward. “Twilight?”

She held her head high. “She just got magic. I’ve been studying it for years. I’m smarter than her. More powerful than her. So what if hers is twice as big as mine? She’s just an earth pony with a horn, and to save Celestia... to save Equestria, I’ll do what I must to thwart her mad plans.”

“You see?” Spike tugged on the doctor’s leg. “It’s like she’s totally somewhere else!”

Turning to face him and grinning more crookedly than she realized, Twilight let out a chuckle. “I am somewhere else. I’m wherever Pinkie is!” she shouted, and with another flash of light, she disappeared.

“There you are, Twilight! Moondancer’s having a little get together in—” Pinkie shook her head. “Whoa. Way off. Um... right!” She cleared her throat. “There you are, Twilight! I was wondering when you’d show up. I sorta accidentally made a mess of things, and I was gonna fix it but I couldn’t figure something out.”

“Pinkie, I’m here to put a stop to—”

“Is the moon made out of cheese?”

“I... what?”

With a giggle in every bounce, Pinkie hopped over to Twilight and pulled her into a hug. “I missed you, too. But I really, really need to know if the moon is cheese or not.”

Twilight pushed Pinkie off. “No. It’s not. And I have to stop you now.”

She frowned at that. “Aww... that’s adorable. You think you can stop me! Hold on just one itty bitty second; I’ll be right back.” Pinkie unfurled her wings and rose into the air. Glowing majestically, she closed her eyes and channeled an enormous stream of energy out into the sky. The sun set and the moon rose. She landed daintily on her hooves and smiled.

“Okay. I guess I’m ready for our climactic battle, but I’m pretty sure this was supposed to be a comedy.”

Twilight stammered out half-sentence after half-sentence, never collecting the mental fortitude to finish contemplating the uncontemplatable. “How did you... I can’t believe... why do you have...” Her whole body shook with violent twitches as she failed to come to terms with the situation before her.

“That’s more like it! Babbling incoherently is totally hilarious. Still, though, we do need to settle this somehow. I just didn’t think a fight would’ve been a good fit. We couldn’t even show ‘em any blood or dismemberment or anything because this has an ‘E’ rating!”

“Pinkie, I need you to stop being completely inscrutable for five freaking minutes so I can figure out just how badly you’ve managed to damage reality before I break your horn off—”

“Hello? Are you asleep or something? I thought we just agreed not to fight!”

“No. There are no agreements and there are no rules because you’ve thrown away any logic that could potentially glue ideas together! Everything is ruined forever unless I take away your magic, restore the princesses, and stitch the world back together the way it’s supposed to be.”

Pinkie bounced in place and giggled. “You’re really bad at staying in character.”

Twilight’s body went completely still. Her left eye twitched just a little. And she snapped.

Act IV - In Which Blatant References Ruin Everything

Reality warped and buckled beneath Twilight’s rage as she unleashed the terrifying enormity of truly unchained unicorn potential. The aura surrounding her scattered blinding light over the majority of Canterlot and the brilliance of the light emanating from her eyes eclipsed the sun itself.

Pinkie tossed some popcorn into her mouth and stared as Twilight shrieked and shook, giggling at the cloud of debris levitating around her even as the castle fell to pieces. “Wow... so THAT’S what they mean by ‘Twilight O.P. Sparkle!’”

Rising off what remained of the floor and physically pulsating with power, Twilight’s glow subsided. Without opening her mouth, she spoke with a voice that shook the heavens. “LOGIC UNDERPINS ALL THINGS. YOU ARE THE ENEMY. YOU CANNOT BE. YOU MUST NOT BE. YOU MUST NOT.”

Pinkie clapped her hooves and tipped the hat she was now wearing. “Good show, ol’ chappess. But you’re not the only one drinking the crazy juice. I totally love craisins.”

“MISCREANT, THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING: SURRENDER THE HORN.”

“I would if I could, but it’s stuck to my face,” she replied, making a show of pulling on her horn with two hooves. “See?”

Twilight blurred out of and into place so that she was practically muzzle-to-muzzle with Pinkie. “YOU HAD YOUR CHANCE,” she resonated before a bolt of energy launched from her horn. It rebounded off of some invisible barrier before it could reach its target, and Pinkie smiled.

“Not just crazy juice as in being insane, also crazy as in powerful and juice as in performance enhancer! You’d be scared to learn just how powerful I’ve become, Sparkle,” she droned, her lips twitching on the edge of curving into a smile. “I wanted to stay friends. I just wanted to have my cake and eat it, too. Why couldn’t you leave well enough alone, huh? Why do you have to make me have to be the villain here?”

“SILENCE.”

Pinkie blew a raspberry at her friend. “Fine. I see how it is. You want me to be the bad guy? I’ll be the bad guy. It’ll be a great chance to try out some pithy one-liners!” She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. “FLAME ON!” she shouted as an aura, much like Twilight’s before, expanded outward from her and her eyes lit up with crackling arcane energies.

The two mares shot mirrored beams of power that met in an explosive reaction, wiping away the majority of the castle rubble and destroying anything unfortunate enough to be in its radius. When it faded, they found themselves in an unfamiliar place. Pinkie and Twilight drifted through a sea of stars, devoid of any recognizable features beyond twinkling lights.

Pinkie sat relatively still and blinked in silence.

Twilight cocked her head to one side. “WHAT?”

“I dunno. I think maybe we broke everything.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘EVERYTHING?’”

“Ooh, nevermind! I see something! Down there!” she shouted, gesticulating wildly at an approaching mass of yellow material.

Floating around to examine the thing from another angle, Twilight asked again, “WHAT?”

Pinkie somehow hopped through empty space to join her friend in viewing the anomaly from another angle. “Oh! Yeah, that is weird. How can stars have a war?”

Twilight blinked once, then shook her head clear of the lack of rage. “I’LL EXAMINE MY SURROUNDINGS LATER - PRIORITY ONE IS ELIMINATING YOU.” Her horn began to glow with the preliminary charge for another beam.

Pinkie frowned and bounced away. “Aw, you’re no fun. You’re not supposed to use the same attack twice!” she said before beginning her own charge.

Again the two mares loosed torrents of unimaginable power and again the collision wiped everything away, including the very space they occupied so that they found themselves in another foreign location.

Thrusting a hoof into the air, Pinkie shouted, “I know, I know! Pick me!”

Twilight glared at her.

“Every time we cross the streams, we get a total protonic reversal! But instead of exploding at the speed of light, we just get teleportatoed to somewhere else!”

Twilight continued glaring.

“What? It’s an appropriate reference for the venue, right Dr. Venkman?” she chirped to her left, receiving only the blank stares of four men in khaki jumpsuits in return. And the warning light of Twilight’s horn preparing for another assault.

“You gotta be more creative,” she said as she started up her defense and disappeared in another explosion of energy.

“WHY WON’T YOU STOP BEING?”

“Stop being what?”

“ALIVE.”

“Oh. Uh, I dunno. Word count isn’t high enough yet? Really though, we should do something else. You keep shifting us so fast I don’t have time for any pithy one-liners! And the whole universe hopping thing is way overplayed.”

A middle-aged man in denim jeans and a plain white shirt arched an eyebrow. “Are the talking horses part of the set?”

“No. No they are not,” replied a superposition of a likable white-haired old man and a rotund, unlikable, bespectacled comedy hack.

“One hundred and fifty dollars,” said the first man.

The woman to his left smirked. “One hundred and fifty one dollars.”

At that moment, without prompt from either beam, the universe rippled and warped until the setting had completely changed again. A dimwitted schlub with orange hair, blue jeans, and a red jacket put down a megaphone and began doing the Hustle next to a set of stairs. Pinkie pointed a hoof and opened her mouth to speak, but before she could the universe warped again and the two mares stood on a cliff overlooking a city being terrorized by a gigantic, sticky ball and an incredibly catchy song.

“Um... I think maybe we have a problem.”

“YOU THINK?”

Pinkie nodded. “Uh-huh! I think maybe we did too much damage and the whole universe is dying now.”

“WHAT DO YOU suggest we—” Twilight shook her head, “—DO ABOUT IT?”

Another rippling warp coursed through the tatters of reality.

Tapping a hoof against her chin before shrugging and smiling, Pinkie never stopped bouncing. “I dunno. You’re the smart one. Maybe if you could stop being so mad about all the damage I was gonna cause, you could open your eyes and realize you’ve been directly responsible for much more. Or maybe I could get back in character!”

“WHA... what?”

“There’s my girl!”

“Pinkie, where are we?”

“Now? Somewhere you probably don’t want to be. There’s this guy here who likes chimichangas about as much as I do, but I don’t think you’d be able to handle me and him at the same time. In ten seconds or so, though, I think we’re headed for Mr. Castle. If we’re really lucky, we might even see an irrepressibly chipper background character we know and love!”

Twilight suppressed the urge to blink and say nothing, instead shifting her brain into gear and running mind-boggling calculations about reality’s current half-life and what function was translating their spatial coordinates before screeching to a halt and realizing Pinkie already seemed to have the answers she needed. “How do you know where we’re going to be?”

“Lazy writing.”

Twilight blinked and said nothing. The cliff and the city disappeared and were replaced by a grim pile of corpses and an incredibly out of place cartoon pony covered in blood and smiles.

“Whatever! I’m going to assume, Celestia help me, that you’re infallible here and none of your predictions will be wrong. I’m going to come up with a plan, ask you some questions, and then maybe, maybe we can fix this.”

After a short silence and another shift, Pinkie found herself staring at two small, white rodents and adopted a face-splitting grin. “Ooh, ooh, Twilight! Ask me if I’m pondering what you’re pondering! I think this is the one about the duck and the hose!”

Twilight looked up from the scribbles she was making on the back of her hoof. “Are we ever going to land near the same place twice?”

Suddenly, Pinkie’s wings, ears, and mane all drooped and her smile disappeared.

“What did I say?”

She shook her head morosely. “Nothing... it’s just now everything really is ruined forever.”

“What?”

Pinkie almost smiled. “It’s pretty funny the way you really only do two things anymore. You used to be such a vibrant, unique pony. Maybe we can ask why you’re only blinking and asking what these days.”

“Ask? Ask who?” Twilight asked, gently shaking her friend.

“Who do you think? We’re headed to the one place we really don’t want to be.”

“Detrot?”

Pinkie’s gaze snapped up and she beamed. “That’s it! Keep going!”

“What?”

“NO NO NO NO! NO MORE WHAT! Be different! Be funny, be sarcastic, be smart! Be you!”

Twilight took a step back. “Pinkie, what in the hay is going on here?”

“We were headed for a bad end! The author was getting boxed in and wanted to work on other things but didn’t want to be a jerk and cancel this so he was going to pull a stupid, cheap ending where we appeared in his apartment and forced him to write a generic happy ending because he had no more ideas about how to stop this trainwreck, but if you can keep adding momentum, we can keep plowing through the wreckage!”

“What?”

“NO! As long as we’re interesting, the story can go on and we don’t have to be downvoted into oblivion!”

“What’s a downvote?”

“The worst possible fate!”

“Isn’t manipulating things to get fewer downvotes than you rightfully deserve a bad thing?”

“No, because—” Pinkie gasped. “Oh no! It’s happening! We’re stagnating! Look at this, it’s all talking heads and no action! Where’s the prose? Quick, do something Twilight!” Pinkie screamed, slapping Twilight across the face.

“What did you do that for?”

“Do something! React!” she said, slapping her again.

“Stop that!” Twilight said with a stamp of her hoof.

“Better!”

“Look, Pinkie, I’m completely lost here. Are you saying it’s impossible to save the world? That we have to either go down in flames or be trapped in a puppetshow forever?”

Pinkie nodded vigorously.

“And that being interesting or unique is objectively a good thing?”

She nodded twice as vigorously.

“Then wouldn’t a unique ending be the best fate for us? Going out with a bang, so to speak?”

“Yeah, totally! How do we do that?” Pinkie said, looking around before starting to dance just to fill the actionless void with something other than dialogue.

“What about teaching a valuable moral? Something about relying too much on metahumor being a bad thing? Or maybe that leaving a short piece to stagnate too long makes it hard to come back to later?”

“Are you serious? Nobody wants morals at the end! You need something bittersweet or chilling or hilarious otherwise memorable!”

“Well what do we want out of those? What kind of story were we in, a horror? So we should end on a chilling note?”

Pinkie leaned back. “Chilling? No way, this was a comedy!”

Twilight grimaced. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope! See the little yellow tag over there?”

“No, but again, Celestia help me, I’m assuming you’re correct about this stuff. So if we’re in a comedy, then the appropriate ending would be either a callback to something mildly funny that happened earlier that the readers would’ve forgotten about or a really funny joke.”

“Better Nate than lever!”

“What?”

“NO!”

“Do we have anything to go back to? Did anything get embedded in the first act that we can reference now?”

“I don’t think so... at least not deliberately.”

“Isn’t deliberately a word that shouldn’t be in your vocabulary? What’d you call that, ‘out of character?’”

Pinkie recoiled in horror. “You’re right! Oh noes... how much of that have we been doing?”

“I’d say a lot. It’s fine, nothing is off limits as long as it serves the purpose of the story and right now we’re having a meta-existential crisis that allows us to go way beyond our normal characterizations.”

“Who died and made you the queen of stories?”

“I’m a librarian,” Twilight said. “Now then, even if we can grab something that wasn’t deliberate, it might work. In fact, if it’s enough of a stretch that it becomes absurd, that might work even better for something like this.”

Pinkie’s nose wrinkled. “Um, what if we bring it all back to the very beginning?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean coming full circle and treading back over the opening as part of the ending.”

“That’d be great! Can we do that?”

“You tell me. I smell a compelling smell. Maybe even an alarming one.”

Twilight’s eyes widened. “Fire,” she mouthed as flames began to lick at the void. “But... but how? How can space be on fire?”

“Oh come on! How is it not obvious? I left the oven on!”

Act I - In Which Twilight Begins a Descent into Madness

Twilight Sparkle’s nose twitched. A scent, both bewilderingly foreign and uncomfortably familiar had wormed its way through the open window and into her study. Lifting her muzzle out of a book, she sniffed at the air. The distraction clawed at her, demanding she determine what it was. She could not. Many memories of smells long past marched through her mind, but none fit. She huffed and returned to the book she’d been reading, trying and failing to reimmerse herself. The strange smell was compelling. Alarming, even.

In a coincidence the likes of which only the worst writers would dare to make use of, her gaze fell upon the perfect word. There on the page she was reading, she was given the kick she needed to identify what was wrong. Her mouth dried up and her pupils shrank to pinpricks.

“Fire,” she mouthed as an explosive boom tore through the air. In a blink, she teleported outside and frantically began scanning the area. Within seconds, her expert gaze completed the monumental task of tilting slightly upward and finding the enormous plume of smoke leering above Ponyville. Tracing the cloud of ash back to the ground, she noticed a blackened husk where Sugarcube Corner should have been. She gasped, her mind reeling at the horrifying possibilities, but before she could complete a thought she was squashed beneath a huge lump of cake.

As ponies tend to do when accosted by raining globs of... of anything, really, Twilight flailed about in a panic, scattering chocolate and frosting in a wide circle. The sweet, sticky mess began to multiply as more baked goods fell from the sky and pelted the town, inciting similar panic in each pony assaulted by the fiendish desserts. Ponyville filled with screams as its inhabitants stampeded about, not knowing what to do in the event of confectionery armageddon.

Several seconds ticked by. The sun dripped down to meet the horizon, and soon Twilight calmed, regaining a portion of her sanity. Enough to note that the recent precipitation of dessert was likely a side effect of the bakery exploding. The bakery her friend lived and worked in. Mustering up what courage she could, she charged through a hail of brownies and toward the smoldering ruins.

“Pinkie! Where are you? Are you okay?” she shouted into the hazy fog of sugar and soot.

Two blue eyes blinked their way through a mound of dough. “Oh hey, Twilight!” An absurdly long tongue reached out and swabbed away a circle of the gooey pile, revealing a pink face. “I was just trying some experimental ‘extreme baking’ while the Cakes were on vacation. I was gonna bring some stuff to our picnic tomorrow, but... I guess I should cross that recipe off the list, huh?”

Rushing forward and tackling the space beneath the face in a hug, Twilight breathed a sigh of relief. She had never felt so comforted while smearing uncooked and unidentified substances against her belly as she did in that moment.

The mess could be cleaned up. Rebuilding Sugarcube Corner would be a more daunting task, but at least nopony was injured. “Pinkie, don’t scare me like that. I don’t care what your recipe calls for; if it’s that volatile you probably shouldn’t put it in an oven! Somepony could’ve gotten hurt, and it’s probably a bad idea to risk maiming yourself or others for the sake of more appealing food.”

Something within the pile wriggled out of Twilight’s hooves and a thick glob of it curved up in a salute. “Aye aye, cap’n. I Pinkie Promise I’ll be more careful about explosive and/or magical ingredients when whipping up tasty treats.” Her faux-military discipline faded as a huge grin spread across her face. Twilight giggled.

“Okay, Pinkie,” she said. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up at the library? I think I can handle the mush out in the streets with a quick spell or two, and then we can figure out what to do about Sugarcube Corner.”

A smaller wad of dough bounced out of the main mass, pockets of pink peeking out here and there, and Twilight let herself smile. Pinkie never let anything get her down and had a pep to her step even in the most... well, even in whatever this situation was. Straightening herself and mentally sorting through different spells that could be useful, Twilight let Pinkie’s infectious and eternal enthusiasm seep in, foolishly feeling not only unburdened by, but almost eager for the task ahead.

Stumbling through the front door, Twilight nearly collapsed to the floor. In much the same way that sand invades every conceivable crevice after a trip to the beach, cake and frosting and batter had wound up smeared inside nooks and crannies of Ponyville nopony even knew about. Exhausted from tracking down and eliminating thousands of square feet of accidental pastry-painting and realizing most manual labor was done while the light of day shone down, she decided that reconstruction could wait until tomorrow.

Spike waddled up and frowned. “You okay, Twilight? You don’t look so good.”

“Huh? Oh, hello Spike. I’m... I’m fine. Just tired,” she replied, wobbling but still standing.

“That’s good.” Spike’s expression brightened a bit. “Say, is there a particular reason Pinkie Pie showed up coated in Celestia-knows-what, took a shower, then passed out in your bed? Or is this one of those things we’re just supposed to ignore because Pinkie Pie doesn’t fit that ‘rational actor’ thing you always go on about?”

“It, uh, actually makes more sense than most of what she does. I told her to come here and get cleaned up, and I can understand if she needed some rest after creating and surviving Equestria’s first recorded bakepocalypse.”

“OH!” Spike exclaimed. “So that’s what that sound was!”

Twilight raised an eyebrow. “You heard an explosion and didn’t even bother looking outside?”

He shrugged. “Things explode around here all the time; you get used to it.”

“That’s... unsettling,” she said with a frown.

“If I jumped out of my seat every time I heard a loud noise, I’d never get anything done. I mean, you blow something up in the basement at least twice a week.”

“Point taken.” She rubbed a hoof against the side of her head. “We’ll have to talk about the ethics of ignoring potential distress sometime, especially in the case of explosions, but I think I need to get some sleep myself. And tomorrow is probably going to be devoted to making sure Mrs. Cake doesn’t have a heart attack when she gets back. Could you add it to the medium-high priority checklist for me? I need to set up the other bed.”

“Man, like there weren’t enough lectures on the list already,” Spike grumbled. “Scientifically rigorous bubblebaths, proper care and feeding of alligators, the Dewey Don’t-cimal system, reasons not to trust Rainbow Dash, the dangers of short skirts, the ethics of explosions,” he rattled off in his best Twilight impersonation, fading as he waddled around a corner.

I guess it’s true — there’s always a silver lining. If nothing else, this incident will have given me a great reason to revisit the fascinating philosophy of ethics. Giving a good lecture was always so much fun. Twilight gleefully reviewed what she remembered of the topic while magically assembling a place to sleep. The pony-sized bulge under her covers emitted a soft snore. She smiled, glad that the world was such a wonderful place. She crawled into the newly-prepared spare bed, closed her eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

Sunlight streamed down across Twilight Sparkle’s face. She stirred a little and mumbled through the last few moments of a fading dream. Her eyes creaked open and a yawn escaped her lips. Sitting up in bed, she glided across the gap to waking and set the gears in her brain working. It was morning, there were things to do, and something was terribly, horribly wrong. An inexplicable sense of foreboding permeated the air. It hung so thickly that she could taste it. Kicking those mental gears into overdrive, she drew her memories of yesterday back into focus.

Flicking her eyes about the room, she noticed both Spike and Pinkie were nowhere to be found. She jumped out of bed and galloped down the stairs.

“Spike? Pinkie?” she called.

Spike’s head peeked out from the kitchen. “What?”

Twilight let out the breath she’d unwittingly held since leaving the bed. Even before he’d responded, she’d felt better. Whatever was wrong, it was less wrong down here than upstairs. “I don’t know. There’s... something isn’t right. You’re okay, though, and that’s a good sign.” She trotted into the kitchen where Spike was preparing breakfast. “Have you seen Pinkie?”

He shook his head. “Nuh-uh. She was gone when I woke up, but she did leave a few cookies on the counter.”

“Hmm.” Twilight put a hoof to her chin and glanced out a nearby window. “She could’ve wanted to get an early start fixing up the bakery.” The sun sat low in the east; morning had just begun. “How much longer is breakfast going to take?”

“Uh, maybe ten minutes?”

She nodded to herself. “Alright then. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll keep it warm for ya’,” Spike said.

“Thanks,” she tossed over her shoulder as she cantered toward the door. She shivered when her magic made contact with the knob. It felt... wrong. Blinking, she shook it off and opened the door, stepping out into the streets of Ponyville. She turned toward the charred stain that once was Sugarcube Corner and saw... Sugarcube Corner.

She blinked. She blinked again. I’m not crazy, right? Yesterday, Pinkie blew it up... didn’t she? The feeling that something was not as it should be intensified and her stomach sank, weighed down by the increasingly sickening feeling. Trotting carefully toward the bakery that shouldn’t have been, she grew increasingly repulsed by the nauseatingly ominous sensation. Her hoof rapped against the front door three times, and a moment later a voice chirped through.

“Come on in, Twilight,” it said.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside. Her head started to throb. “Pinkie?”

“I’m in the back! I need to get back to baking to replace all those poor little pastries that got exploded.”

With every hoofstep, Twilight became more certain that an unspeakable horror lurked just ahead. “Why is—” She gulped. “How did you rebuild so fast?”

“I dunno,” Pinkie replied as her head popped around the corner. “Maybe I was sleepbuilding last night!”

Time slowed to a stop. Twilight’s pupils tripled in size and her jaw brushed against the floor. Jutting proudly out of Pinkie’s forehead was an enormous horn, easily twice the length of her own. Of course, the size didn’t actually matter. She was just making an observation is all. Having a big horn didn’t mean a pony was skilled at making use of it no matter how many uneducated jerks perpetuated that myth. The Princesses had long horns by chance.

Purposefully derailing that particular train of thought, Twilight’s mind once again slammed on the brakes and sat gawking at the impossible. No, worse than impossible. Something so horrible she didn’t even have a word for it. If Pinkie was that destructive and unpredictable as an earth pony, flagrantly violating the laws of physics as if she didn’t even know they were there, then Pinkie with magic...

She shuddered and tried not to stare at Pinkie’s horn. “So,” she said, grinning awkwardly. “How are you?”

“I’m extra super fantastic! I feel like a million bits! Which is pretty weird, since I don’t think I can count that high and I’m probably not legal tender for all debts public and private.”

Beads of sweat rolled down Twilight’s forehead. Her head throbbed again. “That’s... that’s great, Pinkie. I uh, I left Spike in the washing machine and I’ll be back soon and please, please promise me you won’t go anywhere or do anything but safe, ordinary baking until I get back, okay?”

“Hmmm,” Pinkie’s gaze drifted aside, her tongue creeping out of her mouth. “Okay.”

“Good,” Twilight shouted. She turned, paused, looked back, and gestured to the floor. “ Stay,” she said before bolting out the door and smacking it shut behind her. She slumped to the ground and hyperventilated as peacefully as she could against the smooth stone walkways of a town on the brink of destruction. What she wouldn’t have given for a paper bag to breathe into...

Okay, think Twilight. Think. Pinkie seemed unaware of her condition, so maybe there’s still time to do something. But what? Is an arcano-surgical hornectomy possible? What about going back in time and stopping her from getting the horn in the first place? How did that even happen?

She flinched at the muffled sound of a metallic pan clattering to the floor, her face locked in a wince. One eye peeled open and toured the area, but found nothing out of place. She loosened slightly. She just dropped something. That happens. That’s normal. Calm down and breathe, Twilight. You can trust Pinkie. She said she’d behave. I just need to get back to the library and get my head on straight.

A serene silence blew threw her mind as she exhaled slowly. She subconsciously assured herself that the potential for doom is not the same as an actual impending doom and began trotting briskly back to the library. When her magic grabbed hold of the doorknob, she froze. It felt completely normal. She pulled the door open and stepped inside, pushing the door shut behind her, and then telekinetically reached for the inner doorknob. At the moment of contact, she was gripped by that wretched sensation again. Leaning down and squinting into the innocent metal bulb, she found it to be free of any visible deformations or blemishes.

“Spike?” she called.

“Yeah?” his voice answered, bouncing out of the kitchen.

She stepped toward it to find him sliding various foods onto plates.

“Oh, uh, breakfast is ready to go.”

Twilight shifted slightly. “Thanks, but there’s no time.”

“No time for breakfast?” he asked.

“I’m afraid not. There are much more urgent matters to attend to right now,” she said as she scanned the room. She stopped and stooped near the floor to find a few microscopic cookie crumbs on the floor. Craning her neck to look up at Spike from the ground, she narrowed her eyes. “Where did Pinkie get these cookies?”

“I dunno, Twilight. Is it even important? She could’ve just been carrying them with her in case of a cookie-emergency or something.”

Snapping her focus back to the tiles beneath her, Twilight followed a nigh-invisible trail of micro-crumbs around the library with Spike following behind out of worry at her odd behavior. A few flakes of cookie-dust had settled on just about everything Pinkie had touched that morning. Tracing them toward the door, she noticed a conspicuous absence of the stuff on the doorknob.

“Twilight, is everything alright?”

She licked it; it tasted metallic, without a hint of sweetness to it. “No, Spike. The doorknob feels all wrong, but tastes completely normal.”

He backed away slowly.