Celestia’s sun smiled upon the forest rendered in shades of red and gold. The rays weaved into bubbling streams and painted rainbows across the foliage. A soft breeze played with the last few leaves still clinging to their branches.
One would sigh with peaceful delight; had the scene not been broken by huffs, puffs, and heavy thuds of wood against wood, grunts, and warlike screams—
—all produced by a trio of fillies.
A tan earth pony, an orange pegasus, and a pale unicorn; dressed in thick armor fashioned out of cardboard and carpet, hooves occupied by wooden sticks wrapped in pillows.
And they were going at it.
“Gah! Applebloom!” Scootaloo screamed. “You almost hit my eye!”
“Sorry!” the earth pony yelled, adding a bone-curdling screech as she dashed towards her other opponent.
Sweetie Belle squealed as she retreated under the sudden flurry of blows. A second later, Scootaloo used her friend’s exposed flank and gave it a quick prod with her “sword”.
“Ouch!” Applebloom jumped up and spun around. “No poking! It’s in the rules—”
Her complaint was cut short by a pillow-wrapped branch crashing against her skull. As cushioned as it was, it proved a branch nevertheless.
Some time later, the two friends stood looking upon the third, wondering if they would get their cutie marks in “digging holes” and “pretending there never was a third Crusader”.
Luckily, Applebloom groaned and opened one eye. She moaned and tried to sit up.
“Do I–” she slipped and was caught by an orange hoof. “Do I have a cutie mark?”
“I think you have a concussion,” Scootaloo replied.
Applebloom winced, and sat up again, staring at her flank.
“Concussions can make you see funny, right?”
“Rainbow Dash said they can.”
“So… I do have a cutie mark?” Applebloom asked hopefully.
“Uh… Nah.”
Applebloom nodded slowly, testing just how much her head spun. But if the past year of Crusading prepared her for something, it was bodily harm.
“So, what’s next?” she asked, sitting up slowly.
Scootaloo frowned one last time and thought for a moment.
“We tried rock-climbing,” she offered, “zip-lining…”
“Ooh! And scuba-diving!” Sweetie Belle barged in. “And kite-flying!”
“Gardening, farseeing, dressmaking,” Scootaloo continued, “baking, dancing, singing...”
She took a breath, but Applebloom waved her hoof.
“What did we not try, Scootaloo?” she asked. “Sweetie Belle?”
A pair of frowns was their only reply. She realized she was adding a frown of her own, groaned, and got up.
“Let’s find something else than...” she looked at the discarded weapons and armor. “...martial arts and craft?”
“I’m out of ideas,” Scootaloo admitted.
“We should ask around!” Sweetie Belle chirped. “See what other ponies are doing and if they need some help.”
“We tried everypony!” Scootaloo groaned. “We even helped Twilight sort books!”
Applebloom shuddered.
“There are ponies we didn’t ask yet!” Sweetie protested.
“Yeah? Like who?”
“Like—” the little unicorn focused. In a few seconds, she slowed down and the look on her face slowly became that of panic. Her friends stopped, waiting for the moment to pass.
“Mayor Mare!” Sweetie Belle exclaimed finally. “We never asked her!”
“Mayor…”
“...Mare?”
Applebloom and Scootaloo looked at each other.
“That might just work...” Scootaloo said slowly, but Applebloom was already gone.
"But she did tell us—" Sweetie Belle began, only to realize the pegasus has left as well.
With an eye roll, she followed her two friends. Soon enough, they were in full gallop, whooping, their cart jumping over potholes.
“Why didn’t we think of that before!?” Applebloom yelled. “Mayor Mare knows every place in the town! She’s bound to know something we didn’t try yet!”
“I’m sorry, girls,” the gray mare shook her head. “It seems you really drained the well as far as the town goes.”
Grasping at something, she offered:
“How about showing some visitors around, since you know Ponyville so well?”
“We tried that,” Applebloom moaned, and blinked. “Wait a minute, didn't you tell us... What was it?”
“She told us we were," Sweetie cleared her throat and quoted: "Single-hoofedly destroying the town’s tourism industry,”
The twitch in Mayor Mare’s eye let the Crusaders know they would not find a cutie mark opportunity here today. They quickly thanked the mayor and made their way out of her office.
“Perhaps,” the Mayor told them as they passed her threshold, “you should try your hoof in the arena of politics someday.”
“What?” Applebloom asked and turned around.
The closed door didn’t say anything. And for some reason, the Mayor seemed to have a sudden meeting with a ‘Jack Trotter’ on her schedule, according to the secretary.
“She said ‘arena of politics’,” Sweetie Belle clarified.
“Thanks, Sweetie.”
“No problem!”
“Scootaloo?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s ‘arena of politics’?”
“What am I, a dict—”
“An arena,” Sweetie explained, “is an enclosed space where contests are held.”
“Like the rodeo?” Applebloom asked.
Sweetie Belle shrugged and smiled. The three gave a good long gaze to their weapon-laden cart.
“Yeah, but what’s ‘politics’?” Scootaloo asked.
The three ponies looked at each other for a few moments.
“We should ask around.”
The little ponies trotted away from the town hall, quickly reaching Carousel Boutique. Sweetie didn’t bother to knock and spearheaded their charge up the stairs.
“Rarity!” she piped excitedly. “Rarity Rarity Rarity!”
When the seamstress was sure her heart was going to stay in her chest, she gritted her teeth until her face could form an inviting smile. Only then she turned and looked at the filly over her half-moon spectacles.
“Sweetie Belle,” she said in a measured tone. “Applebloom. Scootaloo. I didn't expect you to be done with...”
Rarity’s eyes ticked desperately to the sketches she was making only a minute ago, in a hope of keeping her muse alive. Her efforts being in vain, the unicorn sighed, stretched, and finished:
“–with whatever you girls were doing today.”
She couldn’t help but glance at the ponies’ sides. Not a celebration, she noted sadly.
“What can I help you with?” she asked.
“Rarity,” Sweetie Belle asked innocently, “what are politics?”
“What is politics, darling,” Rarity corrected her automatically. “Wait. Why do you want to know?”
“We want to fight in the arena of politics!” Scootaloo proclaimed, hovering up excitedly before her face sank. “Only we don’t know what politics is.”
“Oh, I think you’re quite too young for this sort of thing...” Rarity waved her hoof. Under the trio’s unrelenting stare, she sighed and hovered her glasses out of the way to rub the bridge of her muzzle.
They were still there when she looked up again.
“It is a broad topic,” she began carefully, “and I simply must get back to work…”
She pouted.
“Politics is like...” her eyes wandered across the room, half-filled with her latest dresses. If I don’t finish these by the gala… She smiled.
“A dinner party,” she said. “Everypony wants something, so they all mingle and try to reach some kind of common ground.”
“So no swords?” Sweetie Belle asked sadly.
“No swords, just words!” Rarity stifled a giggle and continued: “Why, being a good politician is like being a good party-goer – knowledgeable, entertaining, but most of all, courteous.”
She glanced out of the window and added:
“Of course, there aren’t many of those…”
“Like who?” Scootaloo asked.
“Princess Celestia, of course,” Rarity said immediately. “And Mayor Mare is fairly decent, I suppose. On the other hoof, you have ponies like Filthy Rich.”
The fillies exchanged confused stares.
“But it would take hours to get into the intricacies...” Rarity’s voice trailed off, her eyes still on the window. The sunlight has crept across the floor and to a small pile of colorful cut-offs. Without a word, the unicorn stood up and walked to it, hovering her sketchbook close.
“It can be quite the spectacle...” she muttered as she sent her pencil flying across the paper.
“I think she’s in a spire,” Sweetie Belle whispered to her friends. “We shouldn’t bother her right now!”
The other crusaders nodded, and the trio vacated the area. They walked down the street, each trapped in her own thoughts.
“What’s a spire?” Scootaloo asked finally.
“It’s what you call the tip of a tower,” Sweetie Belle explained.
“So… a roof?”
“I think it’s a metaphor.”
“What’s a metaphor?” Scootaloo pried. “Is that a kind of roof, too?”
Sweetie shrugged and hid her ignorance by saying: “I never thought Filthy Rich would fight in an arena...”
“Oh, he’s a fighter all right!” Applebloom spat. “A dirty one! Did I tell you girls about the apple prices?”
“Yes, Applebloom,” the other two sighed in unison.
“Princess Celestia is definitely good at fighting!” Scootaloo quickly changed the topic. “But Mayor Mare? She doesn’t look so tough...”
“Must be why she’s always so tired,” Applebloom shrugged. “But Rarity said it was more like a party...”
“Oh!” Scootaloo grinned. “We should ask Pinkie Pie!”
“A dinner party, dar—!” Sweetie Belle coughed. “I, uh, I don’t think Pinkie is good at those.”
“So it’s fighting,” Scootaloo summarized slowly, staring ahead, “but with words, and you have to be nice and entertaining.”
“And it’s a spectacle,” Sweetie Belle added. “With dresses and stuff!”
They walked in silence for a few moments.
“We should ask Applejack,” Applebloom said. “If Filthy Rich fights in the arena, Applejack has to know something about it!”
They found Applejack in the middle of apple bucking. To butter her up, Applebloom brought a pitcher of water and a slice of fresh apple pie.
“Thanks, lil’ sis!” the mare beamed and downed half of the pitcher in one magnificent gulp. She sighed. “Gosh! That sure hit the spot.”
“Applejack, can I ask you a question?” Applebloom started.
“Shoot,” her sister said, and drank again.
“What is politics?”
To her credit, Applejack managed not to spit any of the water out. Instead, as she processed her sister’s question, her face went through a gamut of emotion; shock, disbelief, anger, curiosity, and finally settled on caution.
“Who told you about politics?” she asked suspiciously, before barking: “Was it Twilight?!”
The trio shook their heads.
“Good!” Applejack nodded. “Don’t listen to her. She has no clue how things go out here!”
“Mayor Mare told us,” Applebloom explained.
“Of course,” Applejack sighed. “I’ll have a word with her...”
Scootaloo interrupted: “Rarity told us Filthy Rich was politic… politicking?”
“He sure is,” Applejack growled darkly. “Did I tell you girls about the apple prices?”
“I told them!” Applebloom nodded vigorously. “So was that politics?”
Applejack nodded darkly.
“The rotten kind.”
“But Rarity said it was like a dinner party!” Sweetie Belle protested. “Where you’re courteous and fun and stuff!”
Applejack snorted.
“Sure!” she scoffed. “To the ponies you want to convince!”
She stared down at them, her hat casting a dark shadow over her face.
“But to your opponent…” she said quietly, “...it’s no mercy.”
They gulped, and Applejack blinked.
“Look, I know some ponies have to do this thing from time to time,” she closed her eyes. “I mean, I have to do it sometimes too.”
She looked away.
“It’s all just a giant circus…” she muttered and glanced back at the fillies. “And I ain’t no circus pony, ya hear?”
They nodded as she finished the water.
“Now! Time’s a-wastin’!” Applejack declared, and added under her breath: “Maybe imagining Filthy's face on these there trees will help me some...”
“Say what?” Applebloom asked curiously.
“Nothing!” Applejack spoke up. “Thanks for the water! And don’t let me find you were doing no politics, ya hear?”
“You won’t!” the Crusaders said in unison, and Applejack nodded with satisfaction as they disappeared over the hill.
“Soo…” Applebloom started, “...it’s a circus.”
“Sounds fun!” Sweetie beamed.
“...and a dinner party,” Scootaloo added.
“Double fun!”
“And you try to convince ponies about… something,” Applebloom went on uncertainly, “like the apple prices...”
“...while fighting your enemy...” Scootaloo continued “...in an arena.”
“Triple fun!”
They stopped and looked at Sweetie.
“And there are good guys,” Applebloom finished. “And bad guys? But ponies still go with the bad guys sometimes?”
They stared at each other for a moment.
“I’m confused,” Scootaloo admitted. “Maybe we should ask Rainbow Dash.”
“Why her?” Applebloom asked.
“Rainbow Dash knows everything!” Scootaloo explained.
Applebloom gave her a look.
“Well...” Scootaloo rubbed her chin. “Pinkie doesn’t know about dinner parties...”
“Yeah.”
“...and Applejack told us Twilight doesn’t know how politics work around here.”
“What do you think she meant?” Sweetie Belle asked.
“City folk have all kinds of comforts,” Applebloom explained. “They probably have cushions in their arenas!”
“Ooh! I like that idea!”
“We’re not getting cushions for our arena,” Applebloom stated simply.
“Aw...”
“Anyway,” Scootaloo spoke up again, “I don’t think Fluttershy knows much about fighting.”
“And she’s probably still angry about the chicken thing,” Sweetie reminded them.
“Oh yeah.”
“So…”
“Rainbow Dash it is.”
“Politics?!” the pegasus groaned. “Don’t ask me about politics! Politics is for clowns!”
“See?” Sweetie Belle prodded Applebloom as Scootaloo pried further.
“But Rainbow Da–ash!” she dragged. “I thought you’d know all about politics!”
“Oh, I know all about it!” Rainbow replied sternly. “And what I know is that everypony says something different, and nopony wants to even hear about it!”
She thumped her chest.
“Like me!” she clarified. “You want to ask somepony about politics? Try Mayor Mare. But please! Don’t just go around asking normal ponies!”
They tried some more, but Rainbow quickly steered the conversation to her favorite topic – herself. When they could, the Crusaders excused themselves and headed back to base.
The Crusader clubhouse, usually a nexus of wild activity, had become a place of quiet contemplation. Finally, Applebloom, staring into the ceiling, broke the silence.
“So it’s about convincing ponies,” she started slowly, “and fighting your opponent in an arena. It’s a big show and a ton of fun. But it has to be kept secret because most ponies don’t want to hear about it?”
She sat up. Her compatriots were watching her closely.
“We’ll need an audience.”
“And an arena,” Scootaloo added.
“And dresses!” Sweetie Belle exclaimed.
The other two stared at her.
“How are you going to fight in a dress?” Scootaloo scoffed.
“They have to be form-fitting. Duh!” the unicorn replied. “Like the ones we made for our show last year~!”
“We still have those.”
“Ooh! Ooh! Could we have cool nicknames?”
“...sure, Sweetie.”
“Yay!”
“We can ask ponies in our class to be the spectators,” Applebloom offered.
“Not Diamond Tiara though,” Sweetie said resolutely.
“I don’t know,” Applebloom smiled, “I’d kinda like to fight her.”
“But she probably knows secret moves!” Scootaloo warned. “Her dad is a dirty fighter!”
“So… where do we do this?” Applebloom asked.
“I think I have an idea...”
A lot of things were wrong with Ponyville.
After having her thirty-eight breakdown (this week), Twilight Sparkle realized she would either have to get used to the wrongness – or perish by it. Therefore, she elected to ignore the pony drama, illogical behavior, and lack of proper procedure.
Which was why she did not flinch, blow her top, or stammer. She simply lifted her head, looked at Spike's mouth, curved her own mouth up, and asked: “Could you repeat that, Spike?”
“I think the caves behind the town are haunted,” Spike said.
Twilight kept on smiling.
Haunted caves. Of course.
“Really?” she asked and looked back to the pages of Codex Gentes Obscure Equitum.
“...and stuff has been disappearing...” she missed the first part, and now she missed half a paragraph. Twilight closed her eyes, held the book open with her hoof, and looked up.
“Sorry, Spike,” she stretched the corners of her mouth further, the way she saw Pinkie do it. “Can you say that again?
“Stuff has been disappearing?” Spike said uncertainly. “A lot of ponies talk about it.”
He frowned.
“You really should get out more.”
Twilight nodded. The mouth thing was getting painful.
“So... what is this about the caves?” she asked. Her memory was still reshuffling, trying to keep up with new information and a few hours of speed reading.
“Ponies have been hearing weird sounds from them,” Spike repeated. “Yelling, crashing... They also found trails of hoofprints going in and out.”
The last page was still burned into Twilight’s mind. Of course, a scholar would never believe in fate... but there was still a giddy little filly deep inside her as well. Despite that, she asked the next question in a measured, flat tone:
“Would those be very small hoof prints, by any chance?”
“How did you know?” Spike’s jaw dropped as Twilight jumped up.
She hovered the book in a general direction of Spike’s face. The rest of her mind and magic was busy summoning an array of items from all across the library.
“Gnome Ponies,” Spike read and massaged his nose. “Also known as Gnomies. Elusive equine creatures who live near other ponies’ settlements and steal their belongings. Minuscule, noisy, and annoying.”
“And!” Twilight giggled as her things filled her saddlebags, and pointed to the bottom of the page.
“Status: Extinct,” Spike finished and shrugged. “I guess that’s it, then.”
“Yes!” Twilight clapped her hooves with excitement. “We found an extinct species! Let’s go!”
Spike followed her out of the door. When he caught up to her, he told her the caves were the other way and sprinted after her as she took off.
“Which is, Spike, why all of this fits so well! Look! Little hoofprints!” Twilight clapped her own hooves excitedly.
“That could just be foal’s or filly’s,” the dragon objected.
“Come now,” Twilight said with a dismissive chuckle. “What kind of foal would take random things and hide in a cave?”
“I–” Spike tried to square his personal experience with the general hearsay. “Most of them?”
“Did I ever do anything like that?” Twilight asked resolutely.
“No, but you’re kinda bor—” Spike stopped himself.
“Has anypony else from Canterlot ever done anything like that?” Twilight went on.
“Not that I know of, but–”
“Well, there you go, Spike!” the unicorn said resolutely. “Ponies don’t do that! Unless they are Gnome Ponies!”
She giggled as she zipped towards the cave entrance.
Spike has learned a long time ago not to try to stop a rolling avalanche. It would be much better to get out of the way and help deal with the damage.
“And now...” a booming voice echoed above the crowd, “we come to the final match of the evening! You know them, you love them — but which one do you love most?”
The announcer, standing in the middle of the ring, spun around and pointed.
“In the pink corner!” she rumbled. “Her weight might be a secret, but not her wit — put your hooves together for the pale magician, Fuuuuuurious Nightblooooom!”
The audience exploded with cheers and hooves stomping on the cavern floor. The unicorn strutted into the light and spun around like she owned the place. The jeers and boos would come later. Nightbloom was an excellent heel.
“And in the cyan corner, the crimson-maned mare of mayhem! She’ll promise you a prosperous tomorrow — and then buck your right into it! It’s no other than A~apple-licioussss!”
The fighters slowly walked to the center of the ring, throwing each other furious stares and friendly smiles. The announcer reached up to them, and hissed:
“No ad equum, no strawmares!”
They nodded, and the announcer stepped back.
“Aaaaan they’re off!” The mares circled each other, spiraling closer and closer. The audience quietened down, waiting for the first contact.
There it was.
Applelicious started to open her mouth and lift her hoof in a friendly greeting. But the moment she did, Nightbloom dashed in and grabbed her by the hoof, pumping it up and down.
“Applelicious, dear, darling!” she chirped. “It is simply delightful to see you back so soon! I would never have thought you would get over your last debacle so quickly—!”
As she gasped for breath, the audience oohed. Applelicious’ defeat and subsequent crawl through the losers’ bracket were still fresh in everypony’s minds.
“Nonsense, sweetie!” the earth pony replied jovially, and gripped the unicorn hoof, slowly turning it until her own was on the top of the hoof-shake. A classic move.
“I’ve never felt better, being here with you, in front of this amazing audience!”
With her other hoof, she pumped the air to the adoring shouts from the gallery. Nightbloom winced and pried her hoof from her opponent’s iron grasp.
“As brash as ever, I see,” the unicorn cleared an imaginary speck of dust from her coat, puffed her hair, and adopted a regal pose.
“Tell me,” she said. “Have you finally come up with an answer to my question?”
The crowd began to murmur as the unicorn pierced the earth pony with an icy glare, a cruel smile playing on her lip.
“Well?” she inquired. “Or have you forgotten?”
She licked her lip.
“Let me refresh your memory,” she took a deep breath.
“To quote:”
She went off at a breakneck speed:
“There is a runaway trolley barreling down the railway tracks. Ahead on the tracks are five copies of Diamond Tiara – each one more vile and slap–worthy than the next. The trolley is headed straight for them. You are standing next to a lever. If you pull it, the trolley will switch to a different track – but there's another pony on that track! A version of Diamond Tiara who, through self–growth, learned humility and accepted friendship into her heart!”
The mare gasped for air, then laughed maniacally.
“Now tell me, Applelicious!” she barked. “Which of these ponies would you — by action or inaction — lay to waste?!”
She stepped towards her opponent, poking her with her hoof.
“Would you sacrifice the five ponies who could, in time, become as pure and selfless as the reformed Diamond Tiara?”
She grinned and waited.
Applelicious said nothing, simply stared her opponent in the face.
“I came to finally hear your answer,” Nightbloom whispered as loud as possible, “but I see I once again come to nothing.”
She slammed her hoof down in triumph and announced: “I defeat you now as I defeated you before — with the Ultimate Tiara Question!”
She turned on her hoof to the audience’s cheers and began to walk away.
Something clapped against the stone. Something firm and hard, like a hoof of a giant. Or an angry earth pony.
“The tired old Tiara Question, eh?” Applelicious split the ensuing silence.
Nighbloom looked across her shoulder. Her opponent was half-hidden in a soft fog coming from the cave’s entrance.
“Why don’t we ask—” Applelicious began and stood on her hind legs. She spun around in a wild flourish and pointed behind herself.
“Diamond Tiara herself?!?!?!” she finished triumphantly.
The cave entrance lit up with an effort of several unicorn foals. The fog thinned, revealing none other than Diamond Tiara herself, strutting into the ring, head held high.
“Wait, what—” Nightbloom blurted out.
“—Or should I say,” Applelicious dug in and pointed. “Your long-lost sister?!”
“Stop, stop, stop!” Scootaloo screamed as she ran into the middle of the ring.
“Applebloom!” she pleaded. “You can’t just bring in Diamond Tiara! We talked about this!”
“But I couldn’t think of anything else!” Applebloom defended herself. “Sweetie’s thing was just too hard, I had to find something to throw her off—”
“And Sweetie Belle!” Scootaloo interrupted her other friend. “Don’t you think the Diamond Question—”
“The Ultimate Tiara Question!”
“Whatever!” Scootaloo rolled her eyes. “Don’t you think it’s getting old?”
She looked across the room and threw her hooves in the air.
“Aren’t we supposed to talk about what you’d do if you were elected the class president?”
Applebloom blinked.
“Is that the thing we were talking about?” she asked.
“Yeah!” Scootaloo said. “That’s what this whole debate is supposed to be about!”
She rubbed her face with her hoof and muttered: “How did I get roped into this?”
“Oh you like it,” Diamond Tiara said. “Don’t lie!”
“Don’t you care about them talking about running you over by a train?” Scootaloo pleaded.
“Not really,” Diamond Tiara shrugged. “I’m getting a year’s worth of homemade apple pies from this. Do you even know how much apples are worth these days?”
Scootaloo groaned and turned to the audience: “Don’t you ponies even care about who has the best arguments?!”
It was amazing how many ponies suddenly found something interesting anywhere other than in her general direction.
“See? They don’t!” Sweetie clapped her hoof on the ground and turned back to Applebloom. With a voice raised, she picked up where she left off.
“My sister?!” she intoned. “How quaint! What you do not know is that I am, in fact, adopted! Therefore, she is Rarity’s sister!”
“Nay!” Tiara objected, stepping forward. “For it is my mother who gave birth to you, in secret!”
The crowd gasped, and the cave entrance exploded.
The space filled with dust and smoke in seconds. Ponies screamed and rushed to wherever they thought the closest exit was. They stumbled, fell, and bounced right back up.
“There!” a high–pitched voice commanded. “There’s one! Catch it!”
Sweetie Belle felt a whip of magic rushing towards her. Her horn flared up instinctively and the spell’s focus veered sideways, vaporizing routines showering her side with sparks.
“Look out!” she screamed back, as a dark figure rose in the mist in front of her.
“Ha!” the thing barked, and twitched. “They know magic! Take a note!”
Sweetie tried to stop, but the figure grew too large, too fast.
She slammed into it and tumbled over it, foaming and flailing. Then, something hit her from behind, and then, another one. The ball of Crusaders rolled over the fallen creature and sprinted to the door.
“Are you okay, Twilight?”
The unicorn coughed and rolled onto her belly. She wheezed and coughed for a few moments. Then, with her friends’ claw’s help, she pulled herself up onto shaky hooves.
“Did you—” she gasped for breath. “Did you get the license plate of that chariot, Spike?”
“Twilight, I think those were just ponies...”
“You’re right!” the unicorn perked up, winced, and perked up again. She wheezed: “The Gnome Ponies!”
Pain notwithstanding, she started hobbled to the entrance and screamed:
“Hey! Come back! I have to ask you about your society and stuff!”
Spike bit his lip and followed outside. He found Twilight standing at the cave’s entrance, looking around maniacally.
“Oh come on!” she yelled, her voice cracking. “Please! I wanna write a thesis on you!”
She stopped, her lip quivering, and fell to the ground.
Applebloom’s hoof, firmly placed over Sweetie’s mouth, shook. She looked through the hole between the rocks. Twilight Sparkle was lying on the ground now, sobbing. Spike was next to her, muttering something into her ear, his claw brushing her mane.
“It’s not fair,” Applebloom heard. “I was sure this would be the day!”
Spike muttered something. The unicorn wasn’t listening.
“I could have finally done something for Ponyville! Then maybe I could get everypony to stop hating me!” Twilight moaned. “Maybe finding a long-gone race could have impressed the princess! Maybe she’d take me back!”
The rest was lost in a fresh wave of sobs.
Applebloom closed her eyes.
She opened them a second later when she heard a rustle of rocks.
Scootaloo was standing up.
And so was Sweetie Belle, twisting her way from under Applebloom's hoof.
Another noise behind her, and Applebloom jumped up like a spring.
She wouldn’t be beaten to this by Diamond Tiara.
Twilight looked at the four silhouettes in the mist. She felt her lip quiver. They were… so small… like fillies… She blinked her tears away as the mist broke.
“Hi, Twilight...” Sweetie Belle said. “I guess we’re in trouble, huh?”
“Bwuh?” Twilight replied.
“We’re sorry,” Scootaloo continued.
“Yeah,” Applebloom said. “About the clothes we borrowed and everything.”
They looked at the fourth pony. Diamond Tiara frowned, looked back at them, and at Twilight.
“I’m not sorry,” she said resolutely. “I had nothing to do with this. They paid me.”
“So… is that what happened?” Twilight asked, and sipped her tea. She snuggled deeper into the mountain of blankets as the fillies nodded.
“That’s all of it. Honest,” Applebloom said.
“So you made... a fight club,” Twilight restated.
“It’s called the ‘arena of politics’,” Sweetie Belle clarified. “Where ponies argue about stuff and try to make the audience cheer them on!”
Twilight sipped her tea.
“And is that something you’d really want to have a cutie mark in?” she asked defeatedly.
The fillies frowned.
“I don’t know,” Scootaloo mumbled, and smiled. “But it was fun to be the announcer...”
“And the heel!” Sweetie joined in.
“And having the ponies cheer for us!” Applebloom finished.
It was their turn to sip. Twilight looked out of the window and sighed.
“But now that we’ve read that book,” Sweetie Belle said, “we kinda know where we went wrong....”
Twilight glanced at her copy of Proper Pony Political Procedure by Pencil Pusher.
“Yeah!” Scootaloo confirmed. “The real politics isn’t like that at all!”
“It sound so boring!” Sweetie Belle nodded vigorously. “No fighting, arguing, no spectacle…”
“Just sitting around doing office work?” Applebloom added. “We don’t want to do that!”
Something heavy rolled off of Twilight’s chest.
“You don’t?” she asked weakly.
“No!” the Crusaders called out in unison, their teacups clinking on the table.
The librarian smiled.
“Well,” she started, “I think we all learned a bit today. I learned that we—”
But the fillies were gone already, heading out for some new adventure.
