Spike's script

by John_Wheel

Rating: everyone
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Spike, Comedy
Length: 2599

Spike writes a script about him and Rarity. And everything goes down hill.

Spike has a great idea to manifest his love for Rarity: to write a story about a brave dragon and a distressed unicorn and have it performed. And he has the actors to play it. Will he be able to give life to his love through art or will everything explode in his face?

Hint: the answer is the most fun one, well... except for Spike.

Published 2012-08-22 20:14:02 UTC
Last updated 2012-08-22 20:14:02 UTC

Chapter 1

“Do you promise me?” asked the pearl white unicorn with her mane combed in big curls. Her gaze was locked onto the scaly heartthrob.

The reptile repaid her shimmering eyes with his own deep stare, shaking her heart and trembling her shy smile.

“Oh, you! Stay with me forever. Never leave me alone, please!” she said grasping him in a tight hug, pressing his scaly body against her furry chest, rubbing her muzzle against his snout. He remained cold, in control of his instincts and impulses, rational... manly. Her emotions, on the other hoof, were overflowing, rushing along her skin, making her coat stand on end. She couldn’t handle it anymore and grabbed his head in front of her. “Kiss me, fool.”

The young reptile kept his composure, blocking his emotions.

“Kiss me!” she demanded.

He didn’t give in to her hot-headed commands.

“Spike, I don’t think this is working.”

The frowning dragon grumbled from the other side of the library-tree living room, sitting on his chair like a director supervising a staging, his snout resting over his joined claws. His chest rising and falling at long intervals, at the same rhythm of his deep breaths.

The little filly let a small grimace appear on her face as she darted her eyes from Gummy to Spike to Gummy again. “I’m not sure about kissing Gummy. Won’t he give me cooties?”

“What cooties? He doesn’t even have hair,” the director replied with a voice as flat as his ersatz eyebrows.

Spike had spent the last four hours explaining to Sweetie Belle what theater was, convincing her that the library was a castle, then a pirate boat, then a desert, then a thieves’ den; teaching her not to read out loud the annotations, correcting her every time she talked as if she was reading an ad... And Gummy wasn’t much better. He refused every direction and didn’t yield an inch until the script was rewritten to change the main character to his tastes. Now the dragon hero was the most green and most mute avatar of stoicism that literature had ever met. The fact that they also needed to put him on a stool was a subtle reminder of Spike’s own distance to Rarity that stuck a thorn in his pride. Spike wasn’t amused.

Sweetie Belle left Gummy on the floor, where the stolid gator continued playing his role of an impassive hero. “And I don’t get a lot of things about this game. Why do we have to be called ‘Club’ and ‘Extraordinary’? I like my name better.”

Spike’s claws clenched and his fingers cracked under the sudden pressure.

The little filly proceeded with her complaints, “And all those words that I didn’t hear before, like, inflatu... infastu... infanti...” the dragon’s eyes narrowed into sharp slits as his breathing accelerated, “infatuation.”

Spike’s tired mind couldn’t block the word. The accursed vocable dived into his heart, sticking a new thorn and twisting it. Every past patronizing talk and lecture about young love and his admiration for Rarity acted as catalysts and inflamed his mind. “It’s not infatuation!” He snapped, jumping from the chair and stomping his way to his actors.

Sweetie fell on her flank, her eyes watering, her lips trembling and her whole body shaking. “But, but, but, it’s what the script says!” she said grabbing the stack of papers.

“I know what it says!” the height-impaired dragon yelled, throwing his tiny fists into the air and casting a menacing shadow over the quivering white filly. “But it’s love! Can’t you concentrate on your character for a minute?”

“I-I just wanted to play games!”

“A game? A game!?” the furious director spit. “Apparently I ask too much wanting you to do the role of a haughty unicorn damsel. Apparently I ask too much wanting perfection!”

“I don’t like this anymore!” she yelled again, now more angered than frightened. The discussion was making her bolder instead of intimidating her. A nice side effect from her quarrels with Scootaloo.

“Bad luck! This is art! Art is angst! Now you’re going to PLAY!” he shouted the last word from the depths of his throat.

Sweetie narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips and remembered two important facts: Spike wasn’t taller than her and she had a pointy horn on her forehead. “I won’t play something that isn’t funny!” She grabbed the script, made a ball with it and aimed to Spike’s —subjectively— stupid face.

“GAH!” he achieved to spit to express the intricate and deep details of his commotion and surprise. That same shout also accidentally fired a green flame that saved him from the dangerous paper missile, transforming the lethal paper projectile into a traveling cloud of smoke that found an open window and left the library disregarding its victim.

Spike growled in despair, following the trail of smoke with his eyes and giving his back to the filly. Sweetie took the opportunity without a second thought and charged against the dragon sending him to the floor.

“I won’t play with you never, ever again!” and a slam was all he heard before he was able to unstuck his face from the wooden floor. Beaten by a small filly and with his whole play ruined and irretrievable, Spike rolled over his back and sighed, looking at the ceiling.

All he wanted was to see his fantasy breathing. To feel close to it even if it was in such a virtual manner. Maybe he could analyze the play and use it to make the scene real real with the actual Rarity. But now, all that was gone and he stayed on his improvised bed, trapped in his own thoughts.

Miles from there, a stack of papers materialized in front of a pair of royal eyes. Princess Celestia deposited them on her bureau, happy at the sight of such an elaborated report. Then, as she read, her smile vanished and her eyebrow arched. Apparently it wasn’t a friendship report, or at least not an usual one. What she was reading was a rather passionate tale about a young serpent capturing the heart of a mature pale unicorn princess expert in jewel cutting.

“Do you know my student, Twilight Sparkle?” the monarch said to the bodyguard at her side.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“And her friends Spike and Rarity?”

“A little dragon and...” He paused for a moment, licking his own lips. “I’m afraid I didn’t have the pleasure to meet Miss Rarity,” the soldier finally conceded.

“She’s a unicorn with jewels as a Cutie Mark,” the monarch explained disregarding any worry. “Would you be kind enough to read this letter from Miss Sparkle?”

“Of course, Your Highness.” The soldier took the script and gave a first look at it. “The characters’ names, Club and Extraordinary, aren’t very... original,” he commented, averting his look from the paper to his princess.

“They are kind of evocative,” Celestia agreed, maintaining her composure.

“The hero is quite strange, he barely does something.” The stallion frowned, shaking his head in disbelief. “He barely moves. In this fight the villain has to jump into the dragon’s sword and kill himself.” His eyes danced back and forth from the papers to the princess. “Is it symbolic?”

“If it is, it would be disturbing,” she responded again as nonchalant as she could.

The soldier continued his crawl over the text, narrowing his eyes in suspicion and puzzlement. “Hum, Your Highness?”

“Yes?”

“Looks like Miss Sparkle took some inspiration from her friends and wrote a peculiar love fantasy.”

“I will need my parchment and quill.”

Spike burped vertically, making a scroll appear right above him. His pupils shrank, a shiver ran across his back and an opportune gasp liberated a new magic flame that sent the message back to its sender.

“What have I done!” Spike clenched and scratched his face.

The reappearing scroll perplexed Princess Celestia. “I swear this never happened before.”

“Maybe the line was congested?” her bodyguard tried to help.

Celestia wasn’t convinced, but very puzzled. “Maybe...”

When the scroll traveled back to the library, a spasm launched Spike’s arm to grab it before having another embarrassing fire accident. The letter could be everything, from a banishment notification to a confirmation that the princess discovered his secret. Or even worse, a literary critique. Spike was shuddering and his heart fighting to escape climbing to his mouth just by imagining what could be written on the scroll. With a shaking claw, he broke the royal seal and unfolded the letter.

Dear Twilight Sparkle:

Your last missive had been an interesting reading. I can’t help but think the strangeness and familiarity of the lead characters holds a special meaning. I would like to hear more details about your story to clarify some points.

— Princess Celestia.

“Aaaaaaaaw, fiddlesticks.” Sweating thanks to the news, the dragon jumped and bolted to the writing desk, rummaged frantically through the drawers in search of some piece of paper and a quill and scraped the paper as he improvised an excuse.

Dear Princess Celestia

I’m sorry, but Spike burped or something while he was throwing the garbage out and accidentally sent some old papers to you. That story is a silly thing from my school days, you can do whatever you like with it. I’m so, so much sorry for bothering you and interrupting your agenda.

— Your Faithful Student, Twilight Sparkle

A quick flame and the letter was gone. Spike emptied his lungs in a long, relieved whistle and collapsed onto the floor, out of energy. He didn’t want to discuss the ulterior motives of his prose with Twilight, much less with the princess of all Equestria. His heart almost stopped dead just thinking of an official reunion to talk about his detailed descriptions of kisses, the same ones he yearned to give to Rarity. And, oh, Rarity! Of course she would discover everything, the quartering of his intimacy at the hooves of his guardian and the princess would reach her fabulous pearled ears. Maybe they would show her the script. Or maybe Sweetie Belle would betray him to get her revenge!

Spike’s face contorted in pain as he grabbed his chest with a tensed hand. The ache in his chest cut his hypothetical future shame and humiliation before it killed him.

Meanwhile, in the castle, the princess examined the message.

“Does that manuscript look old to you?” she requested her bodyguard’s help again.

“The paper although crumpled is new, the ink isn’t faded away and there’s a date written here that says it’s two months old.”

Celestia sighed. “I guess we’ll have to convince her to talk about it.”

Spike was laying on the floor, isolated in his own mind, but the world around him didn’t stop. The sun continued its course descending through the sky, bringing twilight. And a certain purple unicorn entered the library, returning to her home.

“Hello, Spike,” she greeted looking at her assistant laying in the middle of the room. “How was your little theater?”

“Not good,” he mumbled undistracted from the ceiling.

“Was it hard?”

Spike remembered his funny, long attempt to make a play with a foal and a pet. “They were always disagreeing or trying to do it their way. As if they think they know more than me, who wrote the dang thing.” The scorn in his voice was more than noticeable.

A discrete sweet smile grew on Twilight’s lips and her eyes half-closed, concerned by the small assistant blighted hope. The resulting expression not much different from a caring mother. “It takes a lot to create a story in group. You shouldn’t be ashamed.”

“Yes, but... I wanted to see my creation alive, walking on the world, you know?” His arm rose, as if he was picturing the sky over him with his palm. “Guess I flew too close to the sun.” His arm fell again besides him, losing its scant strength, making a low ‘thump’.

“Come on, Spike. Cheer up!” Twilight said with a merry tune and grinned, emphasizing her words. “It isn’t the end of the world. It was only your first try, after all.”

“I know, I know.” Spike sighed and directed a tired gander to Twilight, turning his head and forgetting the ceiling. “In the meantime,” Spike resumed after a brief silence, sitting on the floor and lifting up his eyes to Twilight in an apologetic look, “can I come back to your writers club?”

Calling it club was mostly a euphemism, since the only two members were Twilight and Spike. Some time ago, Pinkie Pie joined one of their meetings and gifted them with a heartfelt reading of her shop list and a couple of recipes, and that was the first and last new member the club had. There weren’t a lot of ponies that happened to have quills as a Cutie Mark in Ponyville. And one of those ponies only sold them. Along with sofas.

“You’re always welcome to join it, my faithful assistant.” Twilight nuzzled him. “So are you going to give up your director career?”

“Maybe I’ll give it another shot one day, but I have to rewrite the whole thing anyway.” Spike shrugged and rolled his eyes.

“And I’ll help you with it.” Twilight surrounded Spike with her foreleg, closing him in a hug. Spike’s lips curled into a smile as he felt her chest warmth and corresponded the gesture grabbing her with his tiny claws.

Unfortunately, their embrace was interrupted by a knock on the door. The unicorn opened it and on the other side there were two soldiers and a sergeant from the royal guard. All of them sported serious faces and stiff necks and legs that weren’t any indication of a courtesy visit.

“Miss Sparkle?” the sergeant asked without further ado.

“Yes. Is something wrong?” the unicorn asked, puzzled.

The sergeant took a step forwards and communicated their orders with a plain, loud voice. “I’m afraid that yes, Miss Sparkle. Princess Celestia is worried about your assistant’s welfare after reading your last letter. By order of Her Majesty, the young dragon will go back to Canterlot with us until Her Majesty is satisfied with the details of his tutelage.”

“Wait, no, what!?” she stammered, bewildered.

Spike attempted to flee from the guards, but one of the soldiers bit his tail and pulled him to the exterior.

“Noooooooooooo!” he shrieked leaving a trail of furrows with his claws.

“What are you doing? Don’t take him away from me!” she begged, powerless, blocked by the second soldier.

“Please Miss Sparkle, don’t make this worse than already is.”

“Twilight, help me!” he cried. He was dragged outside to the guard’s carriage, until the distance silenced his cry for help.

Rarity entered the library, her gait was haughty, her nose was pointing up and her eyes were closed showing her fine french eyeshadow. “Twilight! What was this nonsense game about kisses and creating love that made the poor Sweetie Belle cry and...?” At that moment, Rarity opened her eyes, dropping her facade, and darting her head around she saw the armored visitors and the distressed unicorn breathing frantically whose face had lost its purple color, held back by a soldier. “Am I interrupting something, perchance?”

The sergeant pointed at Twilight with eyes sharpened like daggers, expelling steam from his nose. “You have a lot to explain to Her Majesty, Miss Sparkle. You will come with us.”

From a dark corner inside the hollow tree, a gator observed the scene with a blank face. Slowly, his lips pouted waiting for a kiss. The show could go on.