The Wizard of Whitetail Woods II: The Lost Chaptersby Admiral BiscuitChaptersChapter 1: Enter the Doctor, Which Doctor?Chapter 2b: In Which the Wizard Commits A Crime and KitKat Is An AccessoryChapter !2b: What's In A Name? And Why Are There Zombies Now?Chapter ZSP: InterlewdChapter ♣: Perchance to DreamChapter 69 (nice!): Death of the AuthorChapter 2: Now Your Thinking With PortalsChapter 1: Enter the Doctor, Which Doctor? Two years ago, the FimFic world was taken by storm with the second installment of The Wizard of Whitetail Woods which, confoundingly, was numbered 3. [Editor’s note: don’t ask about how the third installment was numbered; it's completely irrational.] Some people thought the author couldn’t count,* while others were convinced that somewhere there must exist a Wizard of Whitetail Woods 2 and were willing to go to whatever lengths required to find it. Thus, defying all good sense, an effort was made to comb through stacks of rough drafts, dog-eared notebooks, and wherever else such a story might be found. Several pre-readers were contacted, none of whom would admit to having ever heard of the author or the story. Admiral Biscuit is well known for never writing outlines, which made the researcher’s task of piecing together all the found fragments into ~~a cohesive narrative~~ chapters difficult. The first chapter, presented here, was found on the garage floor, being used to soak up oil from a 1983 Chevy S-10 Durango**. _________________________________ *The chapter numbering scheme implies that the not only can the author not count, he is also unaware of the difference between numbers, letters, and symbols. We can only imagine what other horrors an unfound story might harbor. **Yes, Chevy really had a Durango trimline on the S-10s. Deal with it. The Wizard of Whitetail Woods II Chapter 1—Enter the Doctor, Which Doctor? Admiral Biscuit The Mareiott was a well-appointed hotel, especially for a hotel built on the edge of Whitetail Woods. One of the amenities, one which the Wizard immediately made use of, was the medical room service. Instead of having one of those fancy-restaurant-menu-leatherette-folders with a list of services on it, the room instead had a stack of pre-filled-out cards with a room number and a service required. The top card listed ‘doctor,’ and the one below it listed ‘sexy doctor.’ Under that was ‘tacos’. Any reasonable person or pony would have immediately selected one of the ‘doctor’ cards and stuck it into the pneumatic tube [ponies hadn’t invented telephones]; the Wizard instead reached into KitKat’s saddlebags and got out one of his spellbooks, intending to retire to the bathroom to enjoy his erection which had lasted more than four hours. KitKat, at least, was a reasonable pony. She grabbed the ‘doctor’ card and stuck it in the cylindrical container, and then put in the ‘tacos’ card as well, because she was hungry. Before the Wizard could protest, she slammed the button on the capsule pipeline, and the cylindrical capsule (with cards) zipped off to wherever. The Wizard zipped off to the bathroom. (In hindsight, it wouldn’t be entirely true to say that the wizard was the one who made use of the pneumatic doctor summoning system, but he was the one who benefitted from it, so. . . .) Five minutes later (the system was very efficient), the cylindrical capsule returned with a taco in it. Also five minutes later, there was a knock at the door (the doctor was very efficient), and also five minutes later, the Wizard was finished arguing with Henry Longfellow. The doctor was wearing a stethoscope and carrying a medical bag in her teeth. She had booties on all four hooves ‘for your protection’ and a perpetual scowl—her sense of humor had been shot off in the war. “I’m Doctor Spotsen Dots.” KitKat had a taco in her mouth (which had been wrapped for her protection, and to keep taco filling out of the cylindrical capsule). She opened the bathroom door, pointed to the wizard, and muttered through a mouthful of lettuce, refried beans, sour cream, cheese, tortilla, and taco, “That’s the problem.” “Uh.” Dr. Dots looked him up and down, then lowered her voice. “I think you’d find a pest removal service more of what you’re looking for. I can’t just murder him, I took a hippocratic oath.” “You’re not supposed to murder him. He got bit by a Brazilian Wandering Spider.” “Oh, I see.” She glanced at the afflicted member. “Are you sure? They normally cause priapism in males . . . he is male, isn’t he?” “It’s even less impressive when it’s flaccid,” Kitkat informed her. Kitkat normally would have used a slang term for the current condition and circumstances of Wizard’s jade stalk, but she was talking to a medical professional and should use professional terms. “I can hear you, you know.” “Yeah, whatever.” The doctor pulled a pair of half-spectacles out of her medical bag and propped them on her nose. “You want me to fix your pingas, or you want to wait until it falls off?” The doctor was a doctor, and any slang she used was, by default, medical in nature. The next thing she pulled out of her medical bag was a needle that might have been at home injecting ketamine into horses from the next stall over. She stepped into the bathroom as the Wizard cowered back but there was nowhere to go. He slipped and fell into the bathtub, and as the doctor descended over him, he managed to mutter out, “Do you even have a medical degree?” “I left it in the pocket of my other pair of pants,” she replied, and brought the needle down. 💉💉💉 To his good fortune, as soon as the doctor stuck her needle into the wizard’s corpus cavernosum, he passed out. He didn’t see as she removed all the ischemic blood, which was the consistency of ••• “Why do doctors compare everything to food?” KitKat asked. The doctor shrugged. “Ease of communication, I guess. Or else I’m hungry.” “You want a taco?” She tilted her head to the PTTTM system. “Room’s paid for with the Wizard’s credit card. It’s a business expense, so he can write it off on his taxes.” “Might as well.” Dr. Spotsen stripped off her booties and replaced them with fresh booties. “Tell him to inspect his cauda frequently, and if any unexplained swelling or discharge occurs, he should seek further medical care.” “I don’t think he’ll have any trouble remembering to run his hands all over it.” KitKat sighed. “Well, if I’ve learned nothing so far from this misadventure, I’ve learned to never sign a NDA from a wizard in a bar.” “Why’s that?” “I can’t tell you.” Author's Note I hate to tell y’all, but more chapters might be found. Don’t be lulled into a sunk cost fallacy; you still have time to escape. Chapter 2b: In Which the Wizard Commits A Crime and KitKat Is An Accessory The trail of lost chapters led our intrepid archivist to the Kum and Go Dumpster. After several battles with raccoons, the next chapter, or maybe another part of the previous chapter was discovered, floating on the garbage water at the bottom of the dumpster. Did you know that dumpster is a genericized trademark? The Dempster Brothers should have been more litigious. Invented in 1935, Dempster Dumpsters were standardized garbage containers loaded into Dempster Dumpmaster trucks. Although according to Wikipedia the Dempmaster trucks weren’t invented until the 50s, which leads one to wonder what the dumpsters were tipped into before that. [The Garwood Load Packer is a similar vehicle, introduced in 1938, but not by Dempster.] Literal dumpster fires are endemic; figuratively they’re often used to describe a ‘disastrously mishandled situation,’ which I feel compelled to point out even though that is not intended to be commentary or criticism of the chapter. ~~OR IS IT~~ This chapter was typed up while nursing raccoon wounds; who knew they’d be so possessive of the contents of a dumpster? The Wizard of Whitetail Woods II: The Lost Chapters Chapter 2b: In Which The Wizard Commits a Crime and KitKat is an Accessory Badmiral Biscuit “Yeah, yeah,” the Wizard said. “I’ve never even seen a euphemism, let alone used one. I—” He patted his pockets. “Uh, I’m a little short, it turns out.” KitKat thought about remarking that she was shorter than he, or making a dick joke, or lamenting the fact that she was basically crotch-high to a Wizard, but she bit her tongue and reached into her saddlebags for any appropriate currency or trade goods. She had some bits, but of course a human store wouldn’t take those. “I’ve got our stock of emergency cheese. Can we trade that for beer and a York Peppermint Patty?” “Cash only.” The Kum and Go clerk tapped a sign that said ‘cash only.’ “Or credit or debt card.” The sign actually said ‘no checks’; in this day and age who wouldn’t accept credit cards? Especially at a gas station based convenience store chain, have you seen the price of fuel lately? On a per-unit basis, it’s more expensive than milk! And this is true if you’re fueling your car (or whatever) with gallons, liters, litres, or firkins. Which are not the same as merkins, don’t make that mistake. KitKat had already bitten down on her Peppermint Patty which technically wasn't against the rules; it wasn’t theft until she left the store without paying for it. More importantly, the wizard’s robe came open and while back in Equestria nudity was acceptable, back on Earth it was not. Back on Earth it was, in fact, a crime. KitKat was, of course, more nude than the wizard, but the laws are really weird when it comes to sapient aliens . . . maybe? That’s never been tested in court, AFAIK. The clerk had assumed that KitKat was some kind of a service animal (and in the broadest sense, that was actually true), and hadn’t remarked on her nudity, anyway. Besides, her tail covered up pretty much everything most of the time. Of all the things the wizard has done or might have been going to did in future installments, robbing a Kum and Go shouldn’t have been high on that list. Right about at the very bottom, if we’re being honest. Even KitKat didn’t catch on right away, largely because he used slang she didn’t understand. “Cheese it,” the Wizard yelled, and KitKat obligingly grabbed a box of Cheez-Its off the shelf. “No, I mean grab our stuff and go.” The Wizard scooped the six-packs up in his gangly arms and made for the door; KitKat followed a moment later with her York Peppermint Patty and the box of Cheez-Its. “Oh no you don’t.” The thick Lexan shield wasn’t there to protect the clerk from robbers, no, in this store it was to protect robbers from the clerk. He pulled a sawed-off shotgun out from under the counter and fired indiscriminately out the door, nicking the top of one of KitKat’s ears and bouncing a few pellets into the wizard’s shins. He was still shooting as they rounded the corner at full run or gallop—which gave KitKat the advantage; she was faster than the wizard and now had a proper meat-shield behind her. Since this was a side-quest, it might not fall under the contract she’d signed. Nothing that they’d five-finger discounted out of the store was a proper campaign supply. Therefore if the Wizard got his fool self shot, she wasn’t obligated to go back and render aid. ••• They hadn’t counted on was the clerk reloading and chasing them through the portal. Well, the Wizard hadn’t counted on it. KitKat figured he might, and pushed their end of the portal up against the window, just in case. She could hardly enjoy her ill-gotten York Peppermint Patty if a shotgun wielding maniac suddenly appeared in their hotel room. She also, as a precaution, put a ‘pest removal service, bipedal, large, armed’ card into the pneumatic tube system and sent it on its way. •• AND IT WAS A GOOD THING SHE DID. No sooner had the wizard sat down to imbibe, the Kum and Go clerk came through the portal at a dead run. He promptly smashed through the window and started plummeting, but still had the presence of mind to twist around and fire two shots in the general direction of their room. By the time the clerk had landed, walked around to the front door, sweet-talked the deskmare into telling him what room the Wizard and KitKat were in (‘some old dude with a bathrobe’ ‘the one who looks like a monkey with mange?’ ‘yeah, and he’s got a little horse with him’ ‘they’ve been nothing but trouble since they checked in, smelling like a skunk’s asshole,’ etc. service workers the world over share some solidarity with their fellows) the pest removal pony had arrived. He was the size of a house, his special talent was being both bite- and bulletproof, and he liked both cheese and crackers. His name was Buttercup. • When the Kum and Go clerk reached their door, several things happened in very quick succession. The clerk kicked the door open—he hadn’t been able to charm the deskmare into giving him a key—and, having learned from his previous encounters with the Wizard and KitKat, emptied his shotgun into the first thing he saw, which happened to be Buttercup. Buttercup took it like a champ, and as the sound of the last shot was ringing through the hallway, knocked the shotgun out of the clerk’s hands and stomped on it, bending it into a U-shape. Once that was sorted, he grabbed the hapless clerk by the collar of his work shirt, carried him to the portal like a misbehaving kitten and tossed him back in. Not one to litter, Buttercup also threw the shotgun through the portal, then took both edges of the portal and crumpled it up until it was small enough to fit into itself. He lobbed it into the convenience store’s dumpster, and departed the hotel room, carrying the box of Cheez-Its with him. Neither the Wizard nor KitKat had intended to offer him the crackers, but they weren’t going to stop him. I really should have hired him instead, the Wizard thought. I really wish you had, KitKat thought. Although if I had, the occasional under-tail glances I sometimes get would be uncomfortably gay, the Wizard also thought. These Cheez-Its are delicious, Buttercup thought. Author's Note Chapter !2b: What's In A Name? And Why Are There Zombies Now? Next to the dumpster was a recycle bin, full of beer cans and bottles and wasps. So many wasps. Some of the beer bottles had sheets of paper rolled up in them, and after waiting a few days for a beekeepers suit to arrive from Amazon. It did not come with gloves, which caused a few more day’s delays. Luckily, the wasps were a deterrent to anybody considering taking the bottles for recycling. Suited and gloved, and in a rental U-haul, all the bottles were transported to a secure location and examined for pages of manuscript. The Wizard of Whitetail Woods II: The Lost Chapters Chapter !2b: What’s In A Name? And Why Are There Zombies Now? Admiral Bisquick There were things a young, foolish filly did which she regretted later in life. Things that at the time seemed smart and sensible, and which turned out with the benefit of hindsight, were neither. Such as agreeing to quest with a questionable Wizard, sign a NDA, rob a Kum and Go. . . KitKat paced around her cell restlessly, once again itemizing the poor life choices which had led to this. There was little else to do—she’d already used her shoe to scratch another tally mark on the wall. The barred window offered a tantalizing glimpse of a sort of freedom, but looking out the window too long was depressing, largely on account of all the zombies. It was better to focus on what she had. A bed, for one. With cotton sheets, a wool blanket, and two pillows. Three meals a day, delivered by pneumatic tube. A large supply of tea and beer, also supplied by the very same pneumatic tube. Plenty of reading material, too. (You won’t be surprised to learn that books fit in pneumatic tubes . . . at least, trade paperbacks do.) There was a stack of Daring Do novels available to her. Unfortunately, she’d been a voracious reader of the series as a filly. That was another thing she would have told her past self to not do, had she known how her future self would be yearning for something to pass the time. There was a telephone book which would have been more useful if ponies had invented telephones, and if it had pony telephone numbers in it instead of Pfafftown NC. She had her saddlebags, chock full of spellbooks and in a little pocket on the side, two wheels of emergency cheese. And her bedroll which could serve as an extra pillow. There was also a potted plant she’d been tending to. That wouldn’t last much longer; she’d given it so much attention it had nearly overgrown the pot. Maybe if she asked nicely, the warden would give her another. Small plants fit in the pneumatic tube. Pacing distracted her at least briefly from one other complaint past KitKat hadn’t considered—she really had to pee. There was plenty of beer and tea, and in her boredom. . . . Her ears perked as the bathroom lock clicked open and the Wizard walked out. Her hooves dug into the plush carpet—that was another thing to be thankful for—and she galloped to the bathroom. ••• She glared at the wizard when she was finished. “How come it takes you so long in the bathroom anyway?” “I was doing research.” He held up a spellbook he’d nicked out of KitKat’s saddlebags when she wasn’t looking. She reached for the magazine with her mouth, though better of it, and knocked it down with her hoof. “Well, stop. That’s what landed us here in the first place.” “It’s not my fault.” The Wizard folded his arms across his chest. “Of all the things you could have got at the Kum and Go, why’d you have to get a case of Corona? It’s totally your fault we’re locked up in quarantine.” “Because your beer is terrible.” “So’s yours. It tastes like piss and has stupid names.” “You’re one to talk about piss beer . . . what’s Kirin Beer made out of again?” “Kirin piss. But it doesn’t taste like it.” “And why are the names so strange?” “They’re not strange, they’re perfectly cromulent pony names.” “This coming from a pony named for a candy bar.” KitKat stomped her hoof. “At least it’s a good candy bar, or so I’ve been told. You’re named for . . . you’re not even named at all. What is your name, anyway? Your parents didn’t just name you Wizard in the hopes that one day you’d fuck a unicorn and fulfil your destiny, did they?” She turned her head to the phone book. “Almost everybody in there has two or more names. Like Smith Mary or Cunningworth Clarice J or Qdoba Mexican Eats.” The Wizard sat down on the armchair (which was an odd piece of furniture for a pony hotel to have) and his eyes got unfocused as he philosophized. For just a moment, KitKat got a glimpse into what actually made him a Wizard (because it sure as hell wasn’t his magic).* “What’s in a name? Some names have cultural significance, or ancestral significance, or Biblical significance, and most societies assign them at birth. Some people change their names as a rite of passage, whether it be attaining the age of majority or getting married or some other ceremony. Some people choose to change their name to better reflect who they are as an adult. Some people get nicknames from friends, or they make up their own pseudonym for online chats and forums and sometimes they become that person when they’re wearing that name. “Names can have power, especially true names. Those known but never spoken, the names given by the gods. Maybe at birth, maybe after accomplishing a great deed.” “Wait, I can just give you a nickname? I don’t have to call you ‘The Wizard’ all the time?” “Do not speak it aloud,” the Wizard cautioned. Okay, Eenhorn Klootzak. She felt a chill wind blow through the hotel room and the Wizard twitched in his seat. For the moment, the two of them were silent, then the Wizard spoke again. “You’re not a prophet or oracle or anything like that, are you? Because I just felt a chill wind.” “Window’s still broken, dude.” She waved a hoof over at the broken window. “Besides, if I were a prophet or an oracle, do you think I’d be here, trapped in a hotel room with you, while hordes of zombies wander around outside?” “Shamble,” the Wizard corrected. “What they’re doing is shambling, that’s how zombies move.” He took a sip of his Corona and then rubbed his chin. “Why are there zombies anyway? How did that happen?” KitKat pointed at his light and crisp pale Mexican lager. “Sure, I get that, but if exposure to Corona causes zombie-ism, how come you aren’t zombified?” “I’m an Earth Pony, I’ve got strong constitution. Our chief ability is strong constitution. And great strength. Our two chief abilities are strong constitution, great strength, and a fanatical devotion to the Pony Pope.” “There’s a pony Pope?” KitKat nodded. “Her Holiness Pope Pontifix Presbyter Papal Proprio Pentiarch Pallium Peregrin Paltor.” “Ponies have Latin?” “The Pope does. It’s Pony Latin, though.” “What does that mean?” “All the words start with ‘p.’ Kitkat paused in thought. “Well, except for cum, because that word made Her Holiness giggle. I don’t know much Pony Latin, only some of the proclamations and the informational carvings on the Papal Palaces and on the pews.” “That’s really interesting.” The Wizard leaned forward in his seat. “So you’re completely immune to Corona?” “No, I’m not going to try it, I already told you it tasted like piss.” “It’s got a lime in it.” “Fine, like someone pissed on a lime.” “I could order a lemon.” KitKat huffed. “I’ll only drink your beer when zebras fly.” “Fine, that’s more for me. Honestly, as long as I’m certain you won’t turn into a zombie and try and eat my brains, I see this as a good opportunity to rest and recharge.” He picked up one of his ‘spellbooks’ and started leafing through the pages. “You keep going into the bathroom for an hour with your spellbooks, you won’t be recharging.” She tilted the magazine down and examined the centerfold. “Are those tits even real?” “Doubt it.” “I can’t believe I’m looking through this.” She snapped the magazine shut and slid it back into her saddlebags. “Or that I’m still carrying these around for you. You couldn’t have gotten a backpack on Earth?” He shrugged. “I brought you back a phone book, you should be happy for that.” “That’s not much of an accomplishment.” “You say that, but back on Earth, they’re rare these days. Everyone uses their phones to look up the numbers.” He looked over at the dresser. “Well, might as well read a Daring Do novel.” He got up and went over to the stack of books. “You want me to bring you one?” “Might as well.” KitKat took a sip of her beer. “Huh.” The Wizard thumbed through the books. “Six Shades of Grey?” “You’ll like that one. It’s right up your alley.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” KitKat shrugged. “I’m not going to spoil it for you. You’ll have to read it and find out on your own.” “Fine, fine.” He picked the next book off the stack and set it on the bed for her, then laid down on his own bed. She glanced down at the book he’d selected for her. “Daring Do and Mutunus Tutunus? Hmm, never heard of that one before.” Author's Note *Is it wizards or sorcerers who have the higher wisdom score? Whatever, KitKat has never played Dungeons and Dragons. She has played Ogres and Oubliettes; while she was still in high school she and a group of friends would gather every Friday night and campaign, gossip, eat too many hay Doritos and drink too much Jolt Cola. Chapter ZSP: Interlewd The archivists really had to dig deep for this one. A row of pony plushies is pretty innocuous (well, except for the Cinder Glow who’s wearing a lanyard that says “Vore me daddy” and is that an anonfilly? . . . MOVING RIGHT ALONG Among those plushies is a zebra, and if one were to look close, those stripes aren’t just stripes; no, an author who was clearly losing his sanity actually wrote a chapter on a zebra. Along with an apology note for having done so. The Wizard of Whitetail Woods II: The Lost Chapters Interlewd: ZSP Lt. Col. Biscuit As KitKat well knew, Zebras can’t fly. They can’t do horn magic either. There are no zebracorns and there are also no zebrasuses (zebrasi? pegazeebs?) and there are certainly absolutely no alibras. Well, zebras can fly, so long as they’re on some sort of aircraft, but everybody knows that’s not what the phrase means. Even the Wizard knew that. Most importantly, the zebras knew that, and while most of them were content with their lot in life, and while some of them had founded a successful aircraft manufacturing company and yet another herd operated the second-largest airship delivery service. They had also gotten into the photocopier market with their Zerox machines, but that’s not particularly germane to this chapter. Zanthe was a zebra, which was obvious by how her name started with a Z. In zebra tradition, all names start with Z, or if not, they start with an X which is pronounced as Z. Such as Xerus and Xyanthene and of course everybody’s favorite Zebra hero, Xylene. And let’s not forget Xylene’s daughter, Xylene Xylol. Some might think that naming convention silly or presumptuous, but some would do well to remember that the noblest of the noble gasses is Xenon. You didn’t think of that, did you? OF course not, you never think of anyone but yourself. ✈✈✈ Point is, Zanthe really wanted to fly on her own. Like with her own wings. Her parents were supportive, but one can only support what is likely a wishful dream so much. If Zanthe were to fly with her own wings, she’d first have to have wings, and while puberty brought the usual things to the young zebress, it did not bring wings. During her angsty teenage years, she did consider in some of her darker moments just taking a pegasus’ wings. You know, chop them off, sew them onto herself, and she might have done so (and this story might have earned a GORE tag) except that she was practical enough to pay attention in biology and understand that in order to function, wings required a vast number of supporting structures. That didn’t make it impossible, but it would require more than just the wings; there were muscles and ligaments and bone structures and nerves and a region of her brain that would need to be programmed for flight. An exoskeleton that was operated by magical implants was a possibility, and she took a few robotics courses as well as Crystal Lattice Engineering 101. And if any of that had borne any fruit, there wouldn’t be much of a ztory. A few articles about flappy wingsuits, speculation on how they might be used, and some day a collection of PonyTube videos with non-winged ponies using the things even though it’s way more practical to just buy a ticket on a nice, reliable airship. Also there would probably be some PreenHub videos, because let’s face it, Rule 34. That would have been the way the story went, that should have been the way the story went, or maybe the story would be one of those rare knocked-out-of-the-park success stories and flappy wingsuits would become all the rage, like fidget spinners but with a very real possibility of falling to your death. At some point, the idea of aircraft and the idea of rocket power merges, since the two share some general principles. Rockets are of course ancient technology; if you set a boomy thing out in the open it goes boom, if you put that boomy thing in a tube, it flies. Add some wings, and suddenly it flies predictably; use some rudimentary aerodynamics and it’s steerable. Realize that the faster you make it go the smaller the wings need to be for some kinds of control (and you’ve invented nozzles, so you’ve got that for steering) and pretty soon you’re in an arms race with your neighbors, digging holes to hide your intercontinental ballistic missile farms. Well, I guess with equines it would be a legs race, because of course they aren’t armaments, they’re legaments. Or wingaments in the case of pegasi. ~~Or hornaments for the unicorns.~~ ~~But~~ ~~Unicorn horns are made of alicorn, so maybe they’d be alicorniments instead, but to carry this all the way out (to beat a dead horse, so to speak) since we have Princesses to deal with, I think it would be best to separate alicorniments and horniments.~~ And since this thing is tangenting almost as fast as Super Trampoline sometimes does (love you, bro ), we should mention the alicorn artillery. It is legit—100%, hand on heart—a line in a Christmas hymn, ‘And the star rains its fire while the beautiful sing.’ Source [EDITORS NOTE: This goes even MORE off the rails before it gets back to the plot] [EDITORS EDITORS NOTE: This has a plot?] [THE GHOST OF redacted because I didn’t ask his permission: I told you not to write this but did you listen to me?] [EDITOR’S NOTE: He’s not a ghost, he’s alive and well.] By conventional standards, Zanthe wasn't a beautiful mare. The stripe she had running between her hind legs was almost as narrow as a zebra stallions, and while that’s a pretty shitty standard of beauty, it’s how zebras do. Never mind that she’s smart and motivated and has a generally friendly personality and good hygiene, every stallion thinking of expanding his harem only considers that stripe, and the other mares are super catty, so even if he was thinking of it, well . . . it’s the same old story, don’t you know. Just to paint a picture, because in a lot of cases there’s a bunch of history behind what turns out (in hindsight) to be a really stupid idea. Let’s just winnow this down to the few facts that matter. Rockets work because Newton invented the laws of motion [CONTENTIOUS, CITATION NEEDED]; tubes make rockets go zoom instead of boom (zoom is better for zebras for obvious reasons); faster = smaller wings and by the transitive property, most fastest = no wings required; and it’s not like she was going to use that orifice for anything else anyway. For reasons lost to time or a lack of interest in a simple google search, model rocket engines are sized by letter, and the bigger the letter, the more the rocket. Based on past NASA projects it’s reasonable to conclude that for rocket propulsion purposes, the alphabet ends at V (much to the chagrin of zebras the world round, since that alphabet lacks their favorite letter and also their second favorite letter, and they have to settle for only N which is a Z that fell over). As it happened, a size V rocket engine fit perfectly in her zagina and while she voided her birth certificate in the pursuit of her dreams, I can reliably inform the audience at large that the answer to ‘when Zebras fly’ is April 5, 2022. 🚀🚀🚀 The following was written on the hind stripe, and while it is clearly not intended to be a part of the story, is included for the sake of completeness. ‘Doctor’ [abbreviated DR below] is assumed to be a psychologist or psychiatrist or some other kind of zyatrist; AB is you-know-who. —Archivist AB: Here’s a dollar. I’ve got an idea. DR: Oh God. AB: What if, like Zecora achieved flight by shoving a model rocket engine up her ass? DR: What the fuck is wrong with you? AB: DR: Never write that. AB: DR: I’ll kill you. AB: So I was googling slang for vagina and found ‘wizard sleeve’ which is kind of topical even if it doesn’t start with Z, and— DR: It ends there, suddenly. —Archivist Author's Note Legit this isn’t the worst thing I’ve written. But it’s very much up there. In the interests of full disclosure, the stripe thing is real (well, according to a casual internet search), and I really did pay someone at a convention to tell me that this was a horrible idea. Not that I needed to be told; I knew the truth the moment I spoke the words. If I had a lawyer, he’d tell me that I should tell you that you should not, under any circumstances, stick a rocket engine of any size into any bodily orifice. Seriously, don’t. Also I’m running on nine hours of sleep this week. Typos are a feature. Chapter ♣: Perchance to Dream Cautiously the researcher traipsed into the forbidden catacombs, in search of still yet even more manuscript. Maybe something to explain why there were zombies all of a sudden, or whether or not the doctor (whatever kind of zyatrist he might have been) actually Lt. Col. Biscuit. Could a motivated zombie crank out a ~~stunning masterwork~~ words on a page ~~that make sense~~? Maybe. Give enough zombies enough typewriters and there on the floor, strewn about as if there had been a struggle, a sheaf of papers, crumpled and tattered and torn and one of them has a bootprint on it. The Wizard of Whitetail Woods II: The Lost Chapters Chapter ♣: Perchance to Dream Adi Limbic Surat Night fell on the Mareiott hotel and also on the surrounding woods. The zombies shuffled back to their homes to make dinner or whatever it is that zombies do when they’re not trying to get into a hotel to eat brains. Way out in the forest, the McGuffin was still un-found, and KitKat was wishing that her contract had included a daily rate rather than just a flat rate for services to be rendered. Still, the Wizard had provided room and board, and she was taking full advantage of that. As well she should be. The Wizard wouldn’t have Brazilianed himself, even if he’d thought of it. He’d gotten a little too interested Six Shades of Grey and at least the blanket on his bed was providing cover but KitKat knew fell well what he was doing under there with his hand. “What have I told you about saving energy for when you need it? You’re gonna wear out your snausage.” “I’m just casting a sleeping spell,” the Wizard protested. “Oh for fuck’s sake, I know a sleeping spell that doesn’t require any mana to cast.” “You do? But you’re a plain pony.” “We have our ways, hoofed down from generation to generation of wise mare.” KitKat got out of bed and padded over to the Wizard’s bed. “It kinda takes effect all at once, so make sure you’re comfortable.” The wizard nodded, set the book aside, and wiggled his head around on the pillow, like a dog circling its bed. “Now close your eyes.” The wizard obliged. “You’re going to feel a light pressure.” KitKat set her hoof on his forehead and felt for his aura and for bone thickness. Once she was satisfied, she rapped him between the eyes with her shod hoof. The sound it made was not unlike the sound a coconut makes when you hit it with a hammer. With one tok, the Wizard was asleep. Maybe it wasn’t the most magical sleep spell, but it was really effective. A nice little nap tap, let nature take its course from there. He’d wake up in the morning with a small lump, maybe, but otherwise be no worse for the wear. Sadly, KitKat didn’t know how to use the spell on herself. It was possible, she knew that, but getting the force just right was tricky. It was better to use a different method of sleep: a little bit of Special K was the perfect thing to relax her. The Red Berries kind, which had freeze-dried strawberries that softened in the milk. It was loaded with iron and potassium and malt flavors. When she’d finished, she washed out the spoon and bowl in the bathroom sink, put the cereal back in its place on top of the dresser, and settled into bed, circling the mattress several times to find the softest spot before going down, rolling over to stretch her back, then sliding under the covers. Within a few minutes, she was snoring almost as loudly as the wizard. And a few minutes after that, she started dreaming. 🍆💦 Morning found our two intrepid adventurers both in their beds; the night had passed uneventfully. The Wizard was the first to wake, and since he’d closed his eyes before being clubbed to sleep, he had no idea that was how KitKat had done it. He just assumed a bit of residual soreness and muzziness was a result of her spell (which, to be fair, it was). He had had the usual dreams and woke up with the usual morning wood. Rather than get out of bed right away, he took one of his spellbooks out of KitKat’s saddlebags—she didn’t lock them, which was quite the oversight. What she didn’t know wouldn’t kill her. What provided additional fodder for his fap was KitKat moaning in her sleep. Not moans of distress, that wouldn’t have got his libido going (he wasn’t into BDSM [or KMFDM]). No, these were pleasured moans with occasional phrases tossed into the mix, things like ‘Oh yes,’ and ‘right there,’ and ‘deeper.’ She eventually fell silent and dozed off again, only to wake a few minutes later. “Did you have a pleasant dream?” The Wizard asked lecherously. She was still too asleep to process if lecherously was even a word, so she just nodded. “Was it a wet dream?” “Yes, and you were in it.” KitKat wrinkled her muzzle and trudged off to the bathroom, bits of the dream still playing at her memory. The Wizard both regretted asking and was intrigued by this turn of events. And he was wise enough to know when not to ask any further questions, so he instead turned his focus back to the spellbook and returned to ‘studying’. 🛶💦 It was just as well that he hadn’t asked. Like normal healthy mares going through puberty, KitKat had had her fair share of erotic dreams, had woken up with her tail wet, all the usual things. Luckily she had an older sister to confide in, who assured her that it was a normal part of growing up and prepared her for her first estrus which happened soon after. Ever since meeting the Wizard and seeing his wand, she’d completely lost interest in anything sexual. Even her dreaming mind wouldn’t hook her up with the Wizard, not even if his stupid bell-ended kielbasa were replaced with a proper horsecock. No, her wet dream had involved water, and her using said water to solve her Wizard problem once and for all. She’d led him down to a pond, kicked his knee to make him fall over, then just held his head under the water until he stopped struggling. And a few minutes more, just to make sure. Once she was sure, she’d dragged him back out of the water—there was no point in polluting a perfectly good pony—made a fire to burn his bathrobe and sticky spellbooks, and then just gone home. It was a pleasant dream, a happy dream, and one that she would play back in her mind during their rough patches together. Dreaming about murdering her employer was probably not proper pony behavior, she didn’t know. It didn’t feel pony-like; most of her dreams were of frolicking among the daisies or galloping across endless plains or getting absolutely railed by Tempeh and maybe Tofu, too. All day long, ending with a soul-shattering orgasm and the good pain everywhere. (Not that she was thinking about that at the moment; the most vaguely sexual thought she could muster was a memory of eating a delicious butter cookie.) She washed her hooves and splashed some cold water on her face, decided if it came to it the bathtub was deep enough to drown a Wizard in, and then returned to the hotel room proper. Their quarantine was over, and if they were quick, there would be time for a continental breakfast and a departure before the zombies returned. Author's Note Tempeh’s the Feather Bangs of the comics: Tofu’s not as hot, but a good second. Chapter 69 (nice!): Death of the Author The house is boring, conventional, uninspired. A one-story square, white aluminum siding that’s dated, and two minivans in the driveway. That author really likes minivans. Hoofprints in the squelchy mud, and the front door is closed but not locked. After knocking and getting no response our intrepid archivist opened the door and beheld a scene of violence. That was a matter for the detectives. The sheets of paper arrayed on the desk, that was what the People wanted and demanded, and he gingerly removed them, then himself. He closed the door and vanished as if he had never been there. The Wizard of Whitetail Woods Chapter 69 (nice!): Death of the Author Admiral Biscuit Eight P.M. in an ordinary country home. Birds at the feeder, the sky darkening as night fast approaches. Serj Tankian is singing on the radio, and the author is sitting at his keyboard, pondering what new indignity to subject KitKat to. Suddenly, a gentle knock at the door. The author turns his head in surprise. He isn’t expecting a visitor or a pizza delivery or a package from Amazon. Did one of my neighbors wreck their car in my driveway again? he wonders. The knocking becomes more insistent, rattling the door. “I’m coming.” Ctrl+S was instinctive, and he leaves his lonely writer’s garret and makes his way through the living room to the front door. “Better be the pope,” he mutters under his breath. It’s probably someone at the wrong house. There was a sign out front with the address on it, but the neighbor knocked it down when she wrecked, and he hasn’t bothered to put it back up yet. A quick glance out the window, there’s no car in the driveway. And nobody visible by the door, either. He opens it just the same, and it isn’t Amazon or Jet’s Pizza; it’s not a Jehovah’s Witness or a door-to-door knife salesman; it’s a pony. A MLP pony. A very familiar MLP pony. ƱƱƱ The author rubbed his eyes in disbelief. How could this be? Up close, she was not exactly like he imagined. Bulkier; the show had all three tribes looking basically the same, but KitKat was built like a mini draft horse, if a draft horse was mastiff-sized. Saddlebags slung across her back, a sturdy duck canvas, stained with grass and dirt and the rust-colored spots were probably blood. Her coat was well looked after, but showed some wear. A few small scars here and there, even a healing wound across her rump. One ear had a notch out of it, and the author tried to remember if she’d gotten hit by any of the shotgun pellets the Kum and Go clerk fired at her. Across her back, in easy mouth reach, is a strange sheath with an axe in it: the tabarzin. Her eyes are mesmerizing, boring into him as her nostrils flare, taking in his scent or the scent of the house, marking it and memorizing it. He guiltily looked back at his writing desk (which was not like a raven) and the bottle of liquid muse—bottled in Lynchburg, Tenn.—wondering if it was a hallucination. A waking dream, of sorts. He had no idea how wrong he was. “Are you Admiral Biscuit?” “Huh?” “Of course you are, well since you're so fond of putting me through Tartarus, let me tell you what I think about you in a language you oh so love: “Het verbaast me eigenlijk niks dat je hetzelfde ras bent als die godverdomde tovenaar, natuurlijk is de klootzak die me bedacht heeft de zelfde haarloze aap als hem, vond je het leuk om me te vernederen jij waardeloos excuus van een schrijver? Ik durf te wedden dat je mijn taal niet eens spreekt Ik weet dat onze taal in Europa gesproken word en het zou me niks verbazen als je zo zielig bent geweest om een van je vrienden daar te vragen om onze taal voor je te vertalen.” “What?” “I said you don’t even speak Ponish. You’ve got to get someone to translate it for you. It’s been your headcanon for years and you can’t be bothered to learn a single word.” “It was based on a meme, who takes that seriously?” “You should have. Am I based on a meme?” “I—” “Don’t answer that.” She let herself in, and would have sat on the couch, but he didn’t have one. “Why did you do it? Did you think it was funny?” “Yes?” “The Wizard kind of was, at first. Then he got tiresome and then he turned me into a Playboy model. I suppose you think it was funny, too? Me wandering around on wobbly human legs, cold and bouncy? That some kind of a fetish?” She wrinkled her muzzle. “Don’t answer that.” Admiral Biscuit sighed. “I suppose it’s too late to say I’m sorry?” “You should have thought about what you were doing years ago.” “Yeah, I should have. There’s a lot of things I would have done differently if I knew then what I know now.” “Me, too.” She eyed the bottle of Jack Daniels, and Biscuit nodded. KitKat took a deep swig and closed her eyes as the burn went down her throat and the suffused her, and for a moment she was relaxed, calm, at ease. “Do you know how I got here?” The author shook his head. “Shouldn’t have let the Wizard create a portal. You went for the cheap Kum and Go joke, and I was thinking that if I jerked him off while he slept, I might be able to make a portal of my own. And I did.” “I see.” That had been a terrible idea, and all in service of a cheap Corona joke that never got published the first time around. “So what’s next?” Biscuit took a cautious step towards her, maybe with an irresistible urge to pet her. “You created me, you tell me.” “I . . . I don’t know.” “I do.” KitKat reached back and pulled her tabarzin out of its sheath. 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Author's Note Special thanks to Snowliason for the Dutch! I legit have no idea whatsoever what it says. Chapter 2: Now Your Thinking With Portals The second chapter (we think) was found in a firepit, after having been put through a paper shredder. To our good fortune, the author was too cheap to invest in a crosscut paper shredder, and for whatever reason had not lit the chapter on fire yet. Maybe he was too cheap to invest in matches. Hours of painstaking reassembly resulted in a mostly coherent chapter, although one section was lost to the wind or to small animals who wished to make use of the nesting material a Simply Shred SG-820C [based on forensic evidence and Amazon reviews] can provide. The Wizard of Whitetail Woods II Chapter 2—Now Your Thinking WIth Portals Admiral Biscuit After a day in the wild Whitetail Woods and fighting and the Zebras, after a narrow escape and battling an erection lasting more than four hours, both the Wizard (the erection) and KitKat (actually doing the heavy lifting, already tired of dealing with the wizard’s bullshit and she hasn’t even been turned into a SPOILER yet) should have done nothing but rest. Especially since the Wizard had just had a delicate medical procedure done by a doctor who’d had her last fuck shot off in the war, and KitKat had had one too many tacos. You would also think that the Wizard couldn’t get a pants panhandle (and all that that entailed) with two smiley-face bandages on his pintle—one from where the spider bit him, and one from where he paid the price—but you’d be wrong. Maybe it was a lasting effect of the Brazilian [spider]; maybe he was just perpetually horny when it came to plot convenience; maybe he’d caught a glance under KitKat’s tail, who can say? The Wizard’s powers—and here I am being generous—came to him late, only after he fucked a unicorn. Granted, he didn’t know that she was a unicorn at the time. Regardless, while KitKat was progressively learning the awful truth, so too was the Wizard. ~~In fact, when you really think of it, they were both victims of circumstance~~. Neither of them knew that his widdler could shoot portals, but it could. It’s said that magic is mostly wishing for something and then making it happen magically, and the Wizard was thinking of having a convenient comfort food snack. Now, ponies had invented comfort food, but a large percentage of it (by weight and volume) was hay-based. Hayburgers, Hay Fries, Hay Chips, hay, Frozen Hay Cream, Oat Smoothies (with hay), even various hay-based beers. Lately kirin beer had been making inroads in the pony beer market, ever since kirin had been discovered, along with their beer-making prowess. Therefore, not only did the wizard wank a portal, said portal came out at a convenience store. It would have been convenient for them to have arrived in the store proper, but that wasn’t KitKat’s luck. It would have been nice to arrive with American spending money, but that was neither of their luck. It would have been better for the Wizard to have arrived clothed in anything other than his ‘wizard robes,’ although admittedly KitKat had seen it all before and if she had to suffer, why shouldn’t everypony and everybody else? It was a good thing that they arrived at three AM (local) and that the clerk at the store was a battle-hardened veteran, nearly unflappable in the face of adversity or Karen. A bathrobed wizard and an annoyed Little Pony(TM) appearing in a flash of light by the Dumpster wasn’t his strangest night yet. For the Wizard, it was a routine destination and a routine sight, but KitKat had never seen anything like the store before. She’d seen woodcuts and postcards, she’d read descriptions in various travel journals, but to see for herself the big windows and harsh fluorescent lights inside, the ranks and ranks of colorful boxes and cans, the missing cat poster taped up by the door . . . it was a lot for her to take in. Archivist’s Note: Here part of the chapter was missing, so it is unknown what the Wizard and KitKat (and the clerk and any other patrons of the convenience store) were doing. The chapter picks up again as they’re near the checkout counter. “You can get a candy bar too,” the wizard said, magnanimously. “I’m feeling magnanimous.” KitKat, who knew he’d already paid for a room service doctor and at least three room service tacos, ran her eyes over the million billion boxes of candy and made her choice: a York Peppermint Patty. “Really?” She furrowed her brows. “I mean . . . well, maybe it’s on the nose, but we’re here, I would have thought you’d pick a KitKat.” She narrowed her eyes. “Since that’s your name.” “I’ve only known you for a couple of days,” KitKat said. “And in that time, I’ve already decided you’re de slechtste tovenaar ooit and a few other things too. Even if I was generous as fuck and only applied that to your wizarding skills and your forest-smarts, I still wouldn’t have anticipated that you wouldn’t see the problem with autocanibalism.” “Cars don’t eat—” “And idiocy and obliviousness.” For once, the wizard took a moment to actually think and process before speaking or God forbid, doing. “You aren’t made of candy, you don’t taste like a candy bar.” Bitter. “Are you sure of that?” “Well. . . .” “Really really sure, mister I-fucked-a-unicorn-who-I-didn’t-know-was-a-unicorn-and-now-I-sling-spells-with-my-dingus?” At that, the Kum and Go clerk perked up. “Hey, there’s no need for that kind of language. We’re a family-friendly store that doesn’t believe in euphemism.” Author's Note In the silence that followed, three sets of eyes fixed on the reader. It might be true?
Chapter 1: Enter the Doctor, Which Doctor? Two years ago, the FimFic world was taken by storm with the second installment of The Wizard of Whitetail Woods which, confoundingly, was numbered 3. [Editor’s note: don’t ask about how the third installment was numbered; it's completely irrational.] Some people thought the author couldn’t count,* while others were convinced that somewhere there must exist a Wizard of Whitetail Woods 2 and were willing to go to whatever lengths required to find it. Thus, defying all good sense, an effort was made to comb through stacks of rough drafts, dog-eared notebooks, and wherever else such a story might be found. Several pre-readers were contacted, none of whom would admit to having ever heard of the author or the story. Admiral Biscuit is well known for never writing outlines, which made the researcher’s task of piecing together all the found fragments into ~~a cohesive narrative~~ chapters difficult. The first chapter, presented here, was found on the garage floor, being used to soak up oil from a 1983 Chevy S-10 Durango**. _________________________________ *The chapter numbering scheme implies that the not only can the author not count, he is also unaware of the difference between numbers, letters, and symbols. We can only imagine what other horrors an unfound story might harbor. **Yes, Chevy really had a Durango trimline on the S-10s. Deal with it. The Wizard of Whitetail Woods II Chapter 1—Enter the Doctor, Which Doctor? Admiral Biscuit The Mareiott was a well-appointed hotel, especially for a hotel built on the edge of Whitetail Woods. One of the amenities, one which the Wizard immediately made use of, was the medical room service. Instead of having one of those fancy-restaurant-menu-leatherette-folders with a list of services on it, the room instead had a stack of pre-filled-out cards with a room number and a service required. The top card listed ‘doctor,’ and the one below it listed ‘sexy doctor.’ Under that was ‘tacos’. Any reasonable person or pony would have immediately selected one of the ‘doctor’ cards and stuck it into the pneumatic tube [ponies hadn’t invented telephones]; the Wizard instead reached into KitKat’s saddlebags and got out one of his spellbooks, intending to retire to the bathroom to enjoy his erection which had lasted more than four hours. KitKat, at least, was a reasonable pony. She grabbed the ‘doctor’ card and stuck it in the cylindrical container, and then put in the ‘tacos’ card as well, because she was hungry. Before the Wizard could protest, she slammed the button on the capsule pipeline, and the cylindrical capsule (with cards) zipped off to wherever. The Wizard zipped off to the bathroom. (In hindsight, it wouldn’t be entirely true to say that the wizard was the one who made use of the pneumatic doctor summoning system, but he was the one who benefitted from it, so. . . .) Five minutes later (the system was very efficient), the cylindrical capsule returned with a taco in it. Also five minutes later, there was a knock at the door (the doctor was very efficient), and also five minutes later, the Wizard was finished arguing with Henry Longfellow. The doctor was wearing a stethoscope and carrying a medical bag in her teeth. She had booties on all four hooves ‘for your protection’ and a perpetual scowl—her sense of humor had been shot off in the war. “I’m Doctor Spotsen Dots.” KitKat had a taco in her mouth (which had been wrapped for her protection, and to keep taco filling out of the cylindrical capsule). She opened the bathroom door, pointed to the wizard, and muttered through a mouthful of lettuce, refried beans, sour cream, cheese, tortilla, and taco, “That’s the problem.” “Uh.” Dr. Dots looked him up and down, then lowered her voice. “I think you’d find a pest removal service more of what you’re looking for. I can’t just murder him, I took a hippocratic oath.” “You’re not supposed to murder him. He got bit by a Brazilian Wandering Spider.” “Oh, I see.” She glanced at the afflicted member. “Are you sure? They normally cause priapism in males . . . he is male, isn’t he?” “It’s even less impressive when it’s flaccid,” Kitkat informed her. Kitkat normally would have used a slang term for the current condition and circumstances of Wizard’s jade stalk, but she was talking to a medical professional and should use professional terms. “I can hear you, you know.” “Yeah, whatever.” The doctor pulled a pair of half-spectacles out of her medical bag and propped them on her nose. “You want me to fix your pingas, or you want to wait until it falls off?” The doctor was a doctor, and any slang she used was, by default, medical in nature. The next thing she pulled out of her medical bag was a needle that might have been at home injecting ketamine into horses from the next stall over. She stepped into the bathroom as the Wizard cowered back but there was nowhere to go. He slipped and fell into the bathtub, and as the doctor descended over him, he managed to mutter out, “Do you even have a medical degree?” “I left it in the pocket of my other pair of pants,” she replied, and brought the needle down. 💉💉💉 To his good fortune, as soon as the doctor stuck her needle into the wizard’s corpus cavernosum, he passed out. He didn’t see as she removed all the ischemic blood, which was the consistency of ••• “Why do doctors compare everything to food?” KitKat asked. The doctor shrugged. “Ease of communication, I guess. Or else I’m hungry.” “You want a taco?” She tilted her head to the PTTTM system. “Room’s paid for with the Wizard’s credit card. It’s a business expense, so he can write it off on his taxes.” “Might as well.” Dr. Spotsen stripped off her booties and replaced them with fresh booties. “Tell him to inspect his cauda frequently, and if any unexplained swelling or discharge occurs, he should seek further medical care.” “I don’t think he’ll have any trouble remembering to run his hands all over it.” KitKat sighed. “Well, if I’ve learned nothing so far from this misadventure, I’ve learned to never sign a NDA from a wizard in a bar.” “Why’s that?” “I can’t tell you.” Author's Note I hate to tell y’all, but more chapters might be found. Don’t be lulled into a sunk cost fallacy; you still have time to escape.
Chapter 2b: In Which the Wizard Commits A Crime and KitKat Is An Accessory The trail of lost chapters led our intrepid archivist to the Kum and Go Dumpster. After several battles with raccoons, the next chapter, or maybe another part of the previous chapter was discovered, floating on the garbage water at the bottom of the dumpster. Did you know that dumpster is a genericized trademark? The Dempster Brothers should have been more litigious. Invented in 1935, Dempster Dumpsters were standardized garbage containers loaded into Dempster Dumpmaster trucks. Although according to Wikipedia the Dempmaster trucks weren’t invented until the 50s, which leads one to wonder what the dumpsters were tipped into before that. [The Garwood Load Packer is a similar vehicle, introduced in 1938, but not by Dempster.] Literal dumpster fires are endemic; figuratively they’re often used to describe a ‘disastrously mishandled situation,’ which I feel compelled to point out even though that is not intended to be commentary or criticism of the chapter. ~~OR IS IT~~ This chapter was typed up while nursing raccoon wounds; who knew they’d be so possessive of the contents of a dumpster? The Wizard of Whitetail Woods II: The Lost Chapters Chapter 2b: In Which The Wizard Commits a Crime and KitKat is an Accessory Badmiral Biscuit “Yeah, yeah,” the Wizard said. “I’ve never even seen a euphemism, let alone used one. I—” He patted his pockets. “Uh, I’m a little short, it turns out.” KitKat thought about remarking that she was shorter than he, or making a dick joke, or lamenting the fact that she was basically crotch-high to a Wizard, but she bit her tongue and reached into her saddlebags for any appropriate currency or trade goods. She had some bits, but of course a human store wouldn’t take those. “I’ve got our stock of emergency cheese. Can we trade that for beer and a York Peppermint Patty?” “Cash only.” The Kum and Go clerk tapped a sign that said ‘cash only.’ “Or credit or debt card.” The sign actually said ‘no checks’; in this day and age who wouldn’t accept credit cards? Especially at a gas station based convenience store chain, have you seen the price of fuel lately? On a per-unit basis, it’s more expensive than milk! And this is true if you’re fueling your car (or whatever) with gallons, liters, litres, or firkins. Which are not the same as merkins, don’t make that mistake. KitKat had already bitten down on her Peppermint Patty which technically wasn't against the rules; it wasn’t theft until she left the store without paying for it. More importantly, the wizard’s robe came open and while back in Equestria nudity was acceptable, back on Earth it was not. Back on Earth it was, in fact, a crime. KitKat was, of course, more nude than the wizard, but the laws are really weird when it comes to sapient aliens . . . maybe? That’s never been tested in court, AFAIK. The clerk had assumed that KitKat was some kind of a service animal (and in the broadest sense, that was actually true), and hadn’t remarked on her nudity, anyway. Besides, her tail covered up pretty much everything most of the time. Of all the things the wizard has done or might have been going to did in future installments, robbing a Kum and Go shouldn’t have been high on that list. Right about at the very bottom, if we’re being honest. Even KitKat didn’t catch on right away, largely because he used slang she didn’t understand. “Cheese it,” the Wizard yelled, and KitKat obligingly grabbed a box of Cheez-Its off the shelf. “No, I mean grab our stuff and go.” The Wizard scooped the six-packs up in his gangly arms and made for the door; KitKat followed a moment later with her York Peppermint Patty and the box of Cheez-Its. “Oh no you don’t.” The thick Lexan shield wasn’t there to protect the clerk from robbers, no, in this store it was to protect robbers from the clerk. He pulled a sawed-off shotgun out from under the counter and fired indiscriminately out the door, nicking the top of one of KitKat’s ears and bouncing a few pellets into the wizard’s shins. He was still shooting as they rounded the corner at full run or gallop—which gave KitKat the advantage; she was faster than the wizard and now had a proper meat-shield behind her. Since this was a side-quest, it might not fall under the contract she’d signed. Nothing that they’d five-finger discounted out of the store was a proper campaign supply. Therefore if the Wizard got his fool self shot, she wasn’t obligated to go back and render aid. ••• They hadn’t counted on was the clerk reloading and chasing them through the portal. Well, the Wizard hadn’t counted on it. KitKat figured he might, and pushed their end of the portal up against the window, just in case. She could hardly enjoy her ill-gotten York Peppermint Patty if a shotgun wielding maniac suddenly appeared in their hotel room. She also, as a precaution, put a ‘pest removal service, bipedal, large, armed’ card into the pneumatic tube system and sent it on its way. •• AND IT WAS A GOOD THING SHE DID. No sooner had the wizard sat down to imbibe, the Kum and Go clerk came through the portal at a dead run. He promptly smashed through the window and started plummeting, but still had the presence of mind to twist around and fire two shots in the general direction of their room. By the time the clerk had landed, walked around to the front door, sweet-talked the deskmare into telling him what room the Wizard and KitKat were in (‘some old dude with a bathrobe’ ‘the one who looks like a monkey with mange?’ ‘yeah, and he’s got a little horse with him’ ‘they’ve been nothing but trouble since they checked in, smelling like a skunk’s asshole,’ etc. service workers the world over share some solidarity with their fellows) the pest removal pony had arrived. He was the size of a house, his special talent was being both bite- and bulletproof, and he liked both cheese and crackers. His name was Buttercup. • When the Kum and Go clerk reached their door, several things happened in very quick succession. The clerk kicked the door open—he hadn’t been able to charm the deskmare into giving him a key—and, having learned from his previous encounters with the Wizard and KitKat, emptied his shotgun into the first thing he saw, which happened to be Buttercup. Buttercup took it like a champ, and as the sound of the last shot was ringing through the hallway, knocked the shotgun out of the clerk’s hands and stomped on it, bending it into a U-shape. Once that was sorted, he grabbed the hapless clerk by the collar of his work shirt, carried him to the portal like a misbehaving kitten and tossed him back in. Not one to litter, Buttercup also threw the shotgun through the portal, then took both edges of the portal and crumpled it up until it was small enough to fit into itself. He lobbed it into the convenience store’s dumpster, and departed the hotel room, carrying the box of Cheez-Its with him. Neither the Wizard nor KitKat had intended to offer him the crackers, but they weren’t going to stop him. I really should have hired him instead, the Wizard thought. I really wish you had, KitKat thought. Although if I had, the occasional under-tail glances I sometimes get would be uncomfortably gay, the Wizard also thought. These Cheez-Its are delicious, Buttercup thought. Author's Note
Chapter !2b: What's In A Name? And Why Are There Zombies Now? Next to the dumpster was a recycle bin, full of beer cans and bottles and wasps. So many wasps. Some of the beer bottles had sheets of paper rolled up in them, and after waiting a few days for a beekeepers suit to arrive from Amazon. It did not come with gloves, which caused a few more day’s delays. Luckily, the wasps were a deterrent to anybody considering taking the bottles for recycling. Suited and gloved, and in a rental U-haul, all the bottles were transported to a secure location and examined for pages of manuscript. The Wizard of Whitetail Woods II: The Lost Chapters Chapter !2b: What’s In A Name? And Why Are There Zombies Now? Admiral Bisquick There were things a young, foolish filly did which she regretted later in life. Things that at the time seemed smart and sensible, and which turned out with the benefit of hindsight, were neither. Such as agreeing to quest with a questionable Wizard, sign a NDA, rob a Kum and Go. . . KitKat paced around her cell restlessly, once again itemizing the poor life choices which had led to this. There was little else to do—she’d already used her shoe to scratch another tally mark on the wall. The barred window offered a tantalizing glimpse of a sort of freedom, but looking out the window too long was depressing, largely on account of all the zombies. It was better to focus on what she had. A bed, for one. With cotton sheets, a wool blanket, and two pillows. Three meals a day, delivered by pneumatic tube. A large supply of tea and beer, also supplied by the very same pneumatic tube. Plenty of reading material, too. (You won’t be surprised to learn that books fit in pneumatic tubes . . . at least, trade paperbacks do.) There was a stack of Daring Do novels available to her. Unfortunately, she’d been a voracious reader of the series as a filly. That was another thing she would have told her past self to not do, had she known how her future self would be yearning for something to pass the time. There was a telephone book which would have been more useful if ponies had invented telephones, and if it had pony telephone numbers in it instead of Pfafftown NC. She had her saddlebags, chock full of spellbooks and in a little pocket on the side, two wheels of emergency cheese. And her bedroll which could serve as an extra pillow. There was also a potted plant she’d been tending to. That wouldn’t last much longer; she’d given it so much attention it had nearly overgrown the pot. Maybe if she asked nicely, the warden would give her another. Small plants fit in the pneumatic tube. Pacing distracted her at least briefly from one other complaint past KitKat hadn’t considered—she really had to pee. There was plenty of beer and tea, and in her boredom. . . . Her ears perked as the bathroom lock clicked open and the Wizard walked out. Her hooves dug into the plush carpet—that was another thing to be thankful for—and she galloped to the bathroom. ••• She glared at the wizard when she was finished. “How come it takes you so long in the bathroom anyway?” “I was doing research.” He held up a spellbook he’d nicked out of KitKat’s saddlebags when she wasn’t looking. She reached for the magazine with her mouth, though better of it, and knocked it down with her hoof. “Well, stop. That’s what landed us here in the first place.” “It’s not my fault.” The Wizard folded his arms across his chest. “Of all the things you could have got at the Kum and Go, why’d you have to get a case of Corona? It’s totally your fault we’re locked up in quarantine.” “Because your beer is terrible.” “So’s yours. It tastes like piss and has stupid names.” “You’re one to talk about piss beer . . . what’s Kirin Beer made out of again?” “Kirin piss. But it doesn’t taste like it.” “And why are the names so strange?” “They’re not strange, they’re perfectly cromulent pony names.” “This coming from a pony named for a candy bar.” KitKat stomped her hoof. “At least it’s a good candy bar, or so I’ve been told. You’re named for . . . you’re not even named at all. What is your name, anyway? Your parents didn’t just name you Wizard in the hopes that one day you’d fuck a unicorn and fulfil your destiny, did they?” She turned her head to the phone book. “Almost everybody in there has two or more names. Like Smith Mary or Cunningworth Clarice J or Qdoba Mexican Eats.” The Wizard sat down on the armchair (which was an odd piece of furniture for a pony hotel to have) and his eyes got unfocused as he philosophized. For just a moment, KitKat got a glimpse into what actually made him a Wizard (because it sure as hell wasn’t his magic).* “What’s in a name? Some names have cultural significance, or ancestral significance, or Biblical significance, and most societies assign them at birth. Some people change their names as a rite of passage, whether it be attaining the age of majority or getting married or some other ceremony. Some people choose to change their name to better reflect who they are as an adult. Some people get nicknames from friends, or they make up their own pseudonym for online chats and forums and sometimes they become that person when they’re wearing that name. “Names can have power, especially true names. Those known but never spoken, the names given by the gods. Maybe at birth, maybe after accomplishing a great deed.” “Wait, I can just give you a nickname? I don’t have to call you ‘The Wizard’ all the time?” “Do not speak it aloud,” the Wizard cautioned. Okay, Eenhorn Klootzak. She felt a chill wind blow through the hotel room and the Wizard twitched in his seat. For the moment, the two of them were silent, then the Wizard spoke again. “You’re not a prophet or oracle or anything like that, are you? Because I just felt a chill wind.” “Window’s still broken, dude.” She waved a hoof over at the broken window. “Besides, if I were a prophet or an oracle, do you think I’d be here, trapped in a hotel room with you, while hordes of zombies wander around outside?” “Shamble,” the Wizard corrected. “What they’re doing is shambling, that’s how zombies move.” He took a sip of his Corona and then rubbed his chin. “Why are there zombies anyway? How did that happen?” KitKat pointed at his light and crisp pale Mexican lager. “Sure, I get that, but if exposure to Corona causes zombie-ism, how come you aren’t zombified?” “I’m an Earth Pony, I’ve got strong constitution. Our chief ability is strong constitution. And great strength. Our two chief abilities are strong constitution, great strength, and a fanatical devotion to the Pony Pope.” “There’s a pony Pope?” KitKat nodded. “Her Holiness Pope Pontifix Presbyter Papal Proprio Pentiarch Pallium Peregrin Paltor.” “Ponies have Latin?” “The Pope does. It’s Pony Latin, though.” “What does that mean?” “All the words start with ‘p.’ Kitkat paused in thought. “Well, except for cum, because that word made Her Holiness giggle. I don’t know much Pony Latin, only some of the proclamations and the informational carvings on the Papal Palaces and on the pews.” “That’s really interesting.” The Wizard leaned forward in his seat. “So you’re completely immune to Corona?” “No, I’m not going to try it, I already told you it tasted like piss.” “It’s got a lime in it.” “Fine, like someone pissed on a lime.” “I could order a lemon.” KitKat huffed. “I’ll only drink your beer when zebras fly.” “Fine, that’s more for me. Honestly, as long as I’m certain you won’t turn into a zombie and try and eat my brains, I see this as a good opportunity to rest and recharge.” He picked up one of his ‘spellbooks’ and started leafing through the pages. “You keep going into the bathroom for an hour with your spellbooks, you won’t be recharging.” She tilted the magazine down and examined the centerfold. “Are those tits even real?” “Doubt it.” “I can’t believe I’m looking through this.” She snapped the magazine shut and slid it back into her saddlebags. “Or that I’m still carrying these around for you. You couldn’t have gotten a backpack on Earth?” He shrugged. “I brought you back a phone book, you should be happy for that.” “That’s not much of an accomplishment.” “You say that, but back on Earth, they’re rare these days. Everyone uses their phones to look up the numbers.” He looked over at the dresser. “Well, might as well read a Daring Do novel.” He got up and went over to the stack of books. “You want me to bring you one?” “Might as well.” KitKat took a sip of her beer. “Huh.” The Wizard thumbed through the books. “Six Shades of Grey?” “You’ll like that one. It’s right up your alley.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” KitKat shrugged. “I’m not going to spoil it for you. You’ll have to read it and find out on your own.” “Fine, fine.” He picked the next book off the stack and set it on the bed for her, then laid down on his own bed. She glanced down at the book he’d selected for her. “Daring Do and Mutunus Tutunus? Hmm, never heard of that one before.” Author's Note *Is it wizards or sorcerers who have the higher wisdom score? Whatever, KitKat has never played Dungeons and Dragons. She has played Ogres and Oubliettes; while she was still in high school she and a group of friends would gather every Friday night and campaign, gossip, eat too many hay Doritos and drink too much Jolt Cola.
Chapter ZSP: Interlewd The archivists really had to dig deep for this one. A row of pony plushies is pretty innocuous (well, except for the Cinder Glow who’s wearing a lanyard that says “Vore me daddy” and is that an anonfilly? . . . MOVING RIGHT ALONG Among those plushies is a zebra, and if one were to look close, those stripes aren’t just stripes; no, an author who was clearly losing his sanity actually wrote a chapter on a zebra. Along with an apology note for having done so. The Wizard of Whitetail Woods II: The Lost Chapters Interlewd: ZSP Lt. Col. Biscuit As KitKat well knew, Zebras can’t fly. They can’t do horn magic either. There are no zebracorns and there are also no zebrasuses (zebrasi? pegazeebs?) and there are certainly absolutely no alibras. Well, zebras can fly, so long as they’re on some sort of aircraft, but everybody knows that’s not what the phrase means. Even the Wizard knew that. Most importantly, the zebras knew that, and while most of them were content with their lot in life, and while some of them had founded a successful aircraft manufacturing company and yet another herd operated the second-largest airship delivery service. They had also gotten into the photocopier market with their Zerox machines, but that’s not particularly germane to this chapter. Zanthe was a zebra, which was obvious by how her name started with a Z. In zebra tradition, all names start with Z, or if not, they start with an X which is pronounced as Z. Such as Xerus and Xyanthene and of course everybody’s favorite Zebra hero, Xylene. And let’s not forget Xylene’s daughter, Xylene Xylol. Some might think that naming convention silly or presumptuous, but some would do well to remember that the noblest of the noble gasses is Xenon. You didn’t think of that, did you? OF course not, you never think of anyone but yourself. ✈✈✈ Point is, Zanthe really wanted to fly on her own. Like with her own wings. Her parents were supportive, but one can only support what is likely a wishful dream so much. If Zanthe were to fly with her own wings, she’d first have to have wings, and while puberty brought the usual things to the young zebress, it did not bring wings. During her angsty teenage years, she did consider in some of her darker moments just taking a pegasus’ wings. You know, chop them off, sew them onto herself, and she might have done so (and this story might have earned a GORE tag) except that she was practical enough to pay attention in biology and understand that in order to function, wings required a vast number of supporting structures. That didn’t make it impossible, but it would require more than just the wings; there were muscles and ligaments and bone structures and nerves and a region of her brain that would need to be programmed for flight. An exoskeleton that was operated by magical implants was a possibility, and she took a few robotics courses as well as Crystal Lattice Engineering 101. And if any of that had borne any fruit, there wouldn’t be much of a ztory. A few articles about flappy wingsuits, speculation on how they might be used, and some day a collection of PonyTube videos with non-winged ponies using the things even though it’s way more practical to just buy a ticket on a nice, reliable airship. Also there would probably be some PreenHub videos, because let’s face it, Rule 34. That would have been the way the story went, that should have been the way the story went, or maybe the story would be one of those rare knocked-out-of-the-park success stories and flappy wingsuits would become all the rage, like fidget spinners but with a very real possibility of falling to your death. At some point, the idea of aircraft and the idea of rocket power merges, since the two share some general principles. Rockets are of course ancient technology; if you set a boomy thing out in the open it goes boom, if you put that boomy thing in a tube, it flies. Add some wings, and suddenly it flies predictably; use some rudimentary aerodynamics and it’s steerable. Realize that the faster you make it go the smaller the wings need to be for some kinds of control (and you’ve invented nozzles, so you’ve got that for steering) and pretty soon you’re in an arms race with your neighbors, digging holes to hide your intercontinental ballistic missile farms. Well, I guess with equines it would be a legs race, because of course they aren’t armaments, they’re legaments. Or wingaments in the case of pegasi. ~~Or hornaments for the unicorns.~~ ~~But~~ ~~Unicorn horns are made of alicorn, so maybe they’d be alicorniments instead, but to carry this all the way out (to beat a dead horse, so to speak) since we have Princesses to deal with, I think it would be best to separate alicorniments and horniments.~~ And since this thing is tangenting almost as fast as Super Trampoline sometimes does (love you, bro ), we should mention the alicorn artillery. It is legit—100%, hand on heart—a line in a Christmas hymn, ‘And the star rains its fire while the beautiful sing.’ Source [EDITORS NOTE: This goes even MORE off the rails before it gets back to the plot] [EDITORS EDITORS NOTE: This has a plot?] [THE GHOST OF redacted because I didn’t ask his permission: I told you not to write this but did you listen to me?] [EDITOR’S NOTE: He’s not a ghost, he’s alive and well.] By conventional standards, Zanthe wasn't a beautiful mare. The stripe she had running between her hind legs was almost as narrow as a zebra stallions, and while that’s a pretty shitty standard of beauty, it’s how zebras do. Never mind that she’s smart and motivated and has a generally friendly personality and good hygiene, every stallion thinking of expanding his harem only considers that stripe, and the other mares are super catty, so even if he was thinking of it, well . . . it’s the same old story, don’t you know. Just to paint a picture, because in a lot of cases there’s a bunch of history behind what turns out (in hindsight) to be a really stupid idea. Let’s just winnow this down to the few facts that matter. Rockets work because Newton invented the laws of motion [CONTENTIOUS, CITATION NEEDED]; tubes make rockets go zoom instead of boom (zoom is better for zebras for obvious reasons); faster = smaller wings and by the transitive property, most fastest = no wings required; and it’s not like she was going to use that orifice for anything else anyway. For reasons lost to time or a lack of interest in a simple google search, model rocket engines are sized by letter, and the bigger the letter, the more the rocket. Based on past NASA projects it’s reasonable to conclude that for rocket propulsion purposes, the alphabet ends at V (much to the chagrin of zebras the world round, since that alphabet lacks their favorite letter and also their second favorite letter, and they have to settle for only N which is a Z that fell over). As it happened, a size V rocket engine fit perfectly in her zagina and while she voided her birth certificate in the pursuit of her dreams, I can reliably inform the audience at large that the answer to ‘when Zebras fly’ is April 5, 2022. 🚀🚀🚀 The following was written on the hind stripe, and while it is clearly not intended to be a part of the story, is included for the sake of completeness. ‘Doctor’ [abbreviated DR below] is assumed to be a psychologist or psychiatrist or some other kind of zyatrist; AB is you-know-who. —Archivist AB: Here’s a dollar. I’ve got an idea. DR: Oh God. AB: What if, like Zecora achieved flight by shoving a model rocket engine up her ass? DR: What the fuck is wrong with you? AB: DR: Never write that. AB: DR: I’ll kill you. AB: So I was googling slang for vagina and found ‘wizard sleeve’ which is kind of topical even if it doesn’t start with Z, and— DR: It ends there, suddenly. —Archivist Author's Note Legit this isn’t the worst thing I’ve written. But it’s very much up there. In the interests of full disclosure, the stripe thing is real (well, according to a casual internet search), and I really did pay someone at a convention to tell me that this was a horrible idea. Not that I needed to be told; I knew the truth the moment I spoke the words. If I had a lawyer, he’d tell me that I should tell you that you should not, under any circumstances, stick a rocket engine of any size into any bodily orifice. Seriously, don’t. Also I’m running on nine hours of sleep this week. Typos are a feature.
Chapter ♣: Perchance to Dream Cautiously the researcher traipsed into the forbidden catacombs, in search of still yet even more manuscript. Maybe something to explain why there were zombies all of a sudden, or whether or not the doctor (whatever kind of zyatrist he might have been) actually Lt. Col. Biscuit. Could a motivated zombie crank out a ~~stunning masterwork~~ words on a page ~~that make sense~~? Maybe. Give enough zombies enough typewriters and there on the floor, strewn about as if there had been a struggle, a sheaf of papers, crumpled and tattered and torn and one of them has a bootprint on it. The Wizard of Whitetail Woods II: The Lost Chapters Chapter ♣: Perchance to Dream Adi Limbic Surat Night fell on the Mareiott hotel and also on the surrounding woods. The zombies shuffled back to their homes to make dinner or whatever it is that zombies do when they’re not trying to get into a hotel to eat brains. Way out in the forest, the McGuffin was still un-found, and KitKat was wishing that her contract had included a daily rate rather than just a flat rate for services to be rendered. Still, the Wizard had provided room and board, and she was taking full advantage of that. As well she should be. The Wizard wouldn’t have Brazilianed himself, even if he’d thought of it. He’d gotten a little too interested Six Shades of Grey and at least the blanket on his bed was providing cover but KitKat knew fell well what he was doing under there with his hand. “What have I told you about saving energy for when you need it? You’re gonna wear out your snausage.” “I’m just casting a sleeping spell,” the Wizard protested. “Oh for fuck’s sake, I know a sleeping spell that doesn’t require any mana to cast.” “You do? But you’re a plain pony.” “We have our ways, hoofed down from generation to generation of wise mare.” KitKat got out of bed and padded over to the Wizard’s bed. “It kinda takes effect all at once, so make sure you’re comfortable.” The wizard nodded, set the book aside, and wiggled his head around on the pillow, like a dog circling its bed. “Now close your eyes.” The wizard obliged. “You’re going to feel a light pressure.” KitKat set her hoof on his forehead and felt for his aura and for bone thickness. Once she was satisfied, she rapped him between the eyes with her shod hoof. The sound it made was not unlike the sound a coconut makes when you hit it with a hammer. With one tok, the Wizard was asleep. Maybe it wasn’t the most magical sleep spell, but it was really effective. A nice little nap tap, let nature take its course from there. He’d wake up in the morning with a small lump, maybe, but otherwise be no worse for the wear. Sadly, KitKat didn’t know how to use the spell on herself. It was possible, she knew that, but getting the force just right was tricky. It was better to use a different method of sleep: a little bit of Special K was the perfect thing to relax her. The Red Berries kind, which had freeze-dried strawberries that softened in the milk. It was loaded with iron and potassium and malt flavors. When she’d finished, she washed out the spoon and bowl in the bathroom sink, put the cereal back in its place on top of the dresser, and settled into bed, circling the mattress several times to find the softest spot before going down, rolling over to stretch her back, then sliding under the covers. Within a few minutes, she was snoring almost as loudly as the wizard. And a few minutes after that, she started dreaming. 🍆💦 Morning found our two intrepid adventurers both in their beds; the night had passed uneventfully. The Wizard was the first to wake, and since he’d closed his eyes before being clubbed to sleep, he had no idea that was how KitKat had done it. He just assumed a bit of residual soreness and muzziness was a result of her spell (which, to be fair, it was). He had had the usual dreams and woke up with the usual morning wood. Rather than get out of bed right away, he took one of his spellbooks out of KitKat’s saddlebags—she didn’t lock them, which was quite the oversight. What she didn’t know wouldn’t kill her. What provided additional fodder for his fap was KitKat moaning in her sleep. Not moans of distress, that wouldn’t have got his libido going (he wasn’t into BDSM [or KMFDM]). No, these were pleasured moans with occasional phrases tossed into the mix, things like ‘Oh yes,’ and ‘right there,’ and ‘deeper.’ She eventually fell silent and dozed off again, only to wake a few minutes later. “Did you have a pleasant dream?” The Wizard asked lecherously. She was still too asleep to process if lecherously was even a word, so she just nodded. “Was it a wet dream?” “Yes, and you were in it.” KitKat wrinkled her muzzle and trudged off to the bathroom, bits of the dream still playing at her memory. The Wizard both regretted asking and was intrigued by this turn of events. And he was wise enough to know when not to ask any further questions, so he instead turned his focus back to the spellbook and returned to ‘studying’. 🛶💦 It was just as well that he hadn’t asked. Like normal healthy mares going through puberty, KitKat had had her fair share of erotic dreams, had woken up with her tail wet, all the usual things. Luckily she had an older sister to confide in, who assured her that it was a normal part of growing up and prepared her for her first estrus which happened soon after. Ever since meeting the Wizard and seeing his wand, she’d completely lost interest in anything sexual. Even her dreaming mind wouldn’t hook her up with the Wizard, not even if his stupid bell-ended kielbasa were replaced with a proper horsecock. No, her wet dream had involved water, and her using said water to solve her Wizard problem once and for all. She’d led him down to a pond, kicked his knee to make him fall over, then just held his head under the water until he stopped struggling. And a few minutes more, just to make sure. Once she was sure, she’d dragged him back out of the water—there was no point in polluting a perfectly good pony—made a fire to burn his bathrobe and sticky spellbooks, and then just gone home. It was a pleasant dream, a happy dream, and one that she would play back in her mind during their rough patches together. Dreaming about murdering her employer was probably not proper pony behavior, she didn’t know. It didn’t feel pony-like; most of her dreams were of frolicking among the daisies or galloping across endless plains or getting absolutely railed by Tempeh and maybe Tofu, too. All day long, ending with a soul-shattering orgasm and the good pain everywhere. (Not that she was thinking about that at the moment; the most vaguely sexual thought she could muster was a memory of eating a delicious butter cookie.) She washed her hooves and splashed some cold water on her face, decided if it came to it the bathtub was deep enough to drown a Wizard in, and then returned to the hotel room proper. Their quarantine was over, and if they were quick, there would be time for a continental breakfast and a departure before the zombies returned. Author's Note Tempeh’s the Feather Bangs of the comics: Tofu’s not as hot, but a good second.
Chapter 69 (nice!): Death of the Author The house is boring, conventional, uninspired. A one-story square, white aluminum siding that’s dated, and two minivans in the driveway. That author really likes minivans. Hoofprints in the squelchy mud, and the front door is closed but not locked. After knocking and getting no response our intrepid archivist opened the door and beheld a scene of violence. That was a matter for the detectives. The sheets of paper arrayed on the desk, that was what the People wanted and demanded, and he gingerly removed them, then himself. He closed the door and vanished as if he had never been there. The Wizard of Whitetail Woods Chapter 69 (nice!): Death of the Author Admiral Biscuit Eight P.M. in an ordinary country home. Birds at the feeder, the sky darkening as night fast approaches. Serj Tankian is singing on the radio, and the author is sitting at his keyboard, pondering what new indignity to subject KitKat to. Suddenly, a gentle knock at the door. The author turns his head in surprise. He isn’t expecting a visitor or a pizza delivery or a package from Amazon. Did one of my neighbors wreck their car in my driveway again? he wonders. The knocking becomes more insistent, rattling the door. “I’m coming.” Ctrl+S was instinctive, and he leaves his lonely writer’s garret and makes his way through the living room to the front door. “Better be the pope,” he mutters under his breath. It’s probably someone at the wrong house. There was a sign out front with the address on it, but the neighbor knocked it down when she wrecked, and he hasn’t bothered to put it back up yet. A quick glance out the window, there’s no car in the driveway. And nobody visible by the door, either. He opens it just the same, and it isn’t Amazon or Jet’s Pizza; it’s not a Jehovah’s Witness or a door-to-door knife salesman; it’s a pony. A MLP pony. A very familiar MLP pony. ƱƱƱ The author rubbed his eyes in disbelief. How could this be? Up close, she was not exactly like he imagined. Bulkier; the show had all three tribes looking basically the same, but KitKat was built like a mini draft horse, if a draft horse was mastiff-sized. Saddlebags slung across her back, a sturdy duck canvas, stained with grass and dirt and the rust-colored spots were probably blood. Her coat was well looked after, but showed some wear. A few small scars here and there, even a healing wound across her rump. One ear had a notch out of it, and the author tried to remember if she’d gotten hit by any of the shotgun pellets the Kum and Go clerk fired at her. Across her back, in easy mouth reach, is a strange sheath with an axe in it: the tabarzin. Her eyes are mesmerizing, boring into him as her nostrils flare, taking in his scent or the scent of the house, marking it and memorizing it. He guiltily looked back at his writing desk (which was not like a raven) and the bottle of liquid muse—bottled in Lynchburg, Tenn.—wondering if it was a hallucination. A waking dream, of sorts. He had no idea how wrong he was. “Are you Admiral Biscuit?” “Huh?” “Of course you are, well since you're so fond of putting me through Tartarus, let me tell you what I think about you in a language you oh so love: “Het verbaast me eigenlijk niks dat je hetzelfde ras bent als die godverdomde tovenaar, natuurlijk is de klootzak die me bedacht heeft de zelfde haarloze aap als hem, vond je het leuk om me te vernederen jij waardeloos excuus van een schrijver? Ik durf te wedden dat je mijn taal niet eens spreekt Ik weet dat onze taal in Europa gesproken word en het zou me niks verbazen als je zo zielig bent geweest om een van je vrienden daar te vragen om onze taal voor je te vertalen.” “What?” “I said you don’t even speak Ponish. You’ve got to get someone to translate it for you. It’s been your headcanon for years and you can’t be bothered to learn a single word.” “It was based on a meme, who takes that seriously?” “You should have. Am I based on a meme?” “I—” “Don’t answer that.” She let herself in, and would have sat on the couch, but he didn’t have one. “Why did you do it? Did you think it was funny?” “Yes?” “The Wizard kind of was, at first. Then he got tiresome and then he turned me into a Playboy model. I suppose you think it was funny, too? Me wandering around on wobbly human legs, cold and bouncy? That some kind of a fetish?” She wrinkled her muzzle. “Don’t answer that.” Admiral Biscuit sighed. “I suppose it’s too late to say I’m sorry?” “You should have thought about what you were doing years ago.” “Yeah, I should have. There’s a lot of things I would have done differently if I knew then what I know now.” “Me, too.” She eyed the bottle of Jack Daniels, and Biscuit nodded. KitKat took a deep swig and closed her eyes as the burn went down her throat and the suffused her, and for a moment she was relaxed, calm, at ease. “Do you know how I got here?” The author shook his head. “Shouldn’t have let the Wizard create a portal. You went for the cheap Kum and Go joke, and I was thinking that if I jerked him off while he slept, I might be able to make a portal of my own. And I did.” “I see.” That had been a terrible idea, and all in service of a cheap Corona joke that never got published the first time around. “So what’s next?” Biscuit took a cautious step towards her, maybe with an irresistible urge to pet her. “You created me, you tell me.” “I . . . I don’t know.” “I do.” KitKat reached back and pulled her tabarzin out of its sheath. B̸̢̬̠͕̼͓̺͉͈̱̲̥͊̋̑̃͒͆́̓̅̈́̉͘͘͝ͅi̴̛̺͖̠̬͈̊͆̀͗̿̓̈͋̆̈́̏̚̕͘͠͝͝s̸̢̛̹̦̺̱̠͇̜͙̱̠̠̱͇͕͈̬̿̌̿͂̃͛̃͌̓͑̑̀͛͘͜͝͝c̴̨̨̢̛̟͉͔̰͈͓͍͉̦̒̓̄́̀̓̑͜u̴̟̦̟̼͌̋̀̎̒̑̓̅̔́̓̿̔͝i̴̗̗̝̙̍̃͌t̵̛͖͉̣̞̻̮̃̔̔̄̏͛̉̌̾͗̅͒͌̕ ̸̜͙̰͙͔͇͕͔̦͒̓̂́̎̀̋̈́̕t̸̤͍̗̮̖̓͊̅́̊͐́̎͛̇ơ̸̧̛̰̥͉̟̞͔͊́̀̿̔͂̓͆̍̋̃́̂͝õ̷̰̫͙̠͉͉̘͕̺̳̯̤̰̩̥̓ḵ̴̪̼̼̝̞͖̣̦̮̅̌ͅ ̶̧̛̩̥͔͚͕̘͙͉̭͔͕̯̻̮̠̂̿̌̓͊́̅̍̓̇̑̂̄ͅe̵͉̟̭͎̜͎̩̼̟̹̪̔x̷̮̤͓̤̭̃͝ą̵̡̡̗͔͚̺͈̟̹̪̪͇̐͘c̵̢̩̖̣̘̬̓̋̋̌̅̋͛́͌ţ̷̡̺̹̥̣͖͓͉̥͖̈́̀̂̔̈́͌͑͋̓̌͑̉͊̍̆̍̽͝ḻ̶̡̢̙̤͚̪͓̺̘̰̩̗̞͍̈́͜͜y̷̨̨̹͇̲̪̳̫̱͍̬͍͇͋̅̈́̏̽̒̃̚͜͠͝ ̴͙̼͔͕̫̜͓̦͎͉̭̩̀͑ͅo̶̳͓͖͈̾̀̒̅̌̑̎̆̇͗̈̈́͘̕͝͠ṉ̴̰̮̠͓̃̉e̸̡̙̣͊̐̒̎̈̂̓̋̔͆̊̌̚ ̸̧̢̢̪͇̖̪̳̩̙̳͙̖̻̘̦͓͓̌͛̂̈́̍̍̾̌̒̓s̴̡̠͔̦̗̗̮̦̪̟̗̘̯̆̈́̊͗̓̑͌̔͆̂͒̂̔́͠t̷̢̗̍e̴̳̪̦̘͓̙̣͎̝͓̐̌̇͜p̶̢̨͔̝̖̫̦̮͚̙͍̼̠̖̙̃̎̇̽̔͋́́̌̇̎͐͗̏̕̕ ̸̫̯̳͚̻̯̹̈͋̎̾͋̋̋̂̓̃͋̋̎͂͌͘̕͝b̵̧̡̛̙̗͈̳̣̠̻͍̟̟̱̗̹̳̻́̆̌͛́́̇̀͐̔̃͝a̶̢̡̨̙̳̤̬̤̙͔͕̖̖̣̞̒͑̍͌̎̔̓̽̑̎ç̵̡̗̙̯̪̱͕͎̼̣̜͙̠̞̮͆̈́̈́̏̎͆̽ͅķ̶̛̩̝̩͕͕̼̯̘̘̻̪̩̔̈́́̒͂͐͋̃̇͛͛͘ ̴̛̹̪̮̀̍̑̇̄́b̵̢̢̼̫̺͍͕͉̦̝͍͓̾̃͌̀̇̇̓̄͐͒̔̆̉̔̌͘̕͝ḛ̴̡̯̼̈́̏̄͛̓͋̃͗̆͋͋̀͌̕f̴̡̗̝͕̣̬̗̿̏ọ̶̳͎̮͇͓̝̝̒́̎̑̌̔͊͋̾͑̓̀̏̉͌͘r̵̨̫̦̦͖̹̍ͅę̵̗̻̩̩̟͔̩̠̲̂̀̍́͛͊ ̴̢̯̜̻̙͚̥̋͌̀̇͂̐͜s̷͓̭͉͉̼͇̤̳̼͍̪̪̤͂̍̉̄̄͂͂̏͌̓͑̋͂̕͝ͅͅh̸͖̣̦͔̤̼͚̭̮̖̀̉̽͐͋̓̈́̒̈̓́̾͛͛̕̚̕͘e̸̹͎͈̖͎͂͛̄̑̉̂̇́̽ ̸̟̗͈̮̃͛̓̿͜s̶̛̗̯̤̹̟̪̦͕̠͛̀̓́͌̇̀̒͒̅̓͐̈ẁ̸̧̡̗̥͖̻̓̋̍̎͛̍̄̀̆̆́͗̍͜͜͠͝u̴̹̘͙͍͗̑͊̃̎͊͠ń̷̢̥̥̘̫̝̯͑̋̄͆̽͂̿͒͆̎̊̚͠͝g̶̯̗̳̀͗̽͗̈́͐͗̓̃͗ͅ.̵̪͇͇͙̤̟̯̞̏͆͗̒̆̈́̎͑͂̈́͆̊̀͋̎̉̕ͅ ƱƱƱ There was nothing in the house that she needed or wanted, so when she was finished, KitKat closed the door behind her. Author's Note Special thanks to Snowliason for the Dutch! I legit have no idea whatsoever what it says.
Chapter 2: Now Your Thinking With Portals The second chapter (we think) was found in a firepit, after having been put through a paper shredder. To our good fortune, the author was too cheap to invest in a crosscut paper shredder, and for whatever reason had not lit the chapter on fire yet. Maybe he was too cheap to invest in matches. Hours of painstaking reassembly resulted in a mostly coherent chapter, although one section was lost to the wind or to small animals who wished to make use of the nesting material a Simply Shred SG-820C [based on forensic evidence and Amazon reviews] can provide. The Wizard of Whitetail Woods II Chapter 2—Now Your Thinking WIth Portals Admiral Biscuit After a day in the wild Whitetail Woods and fighting and the Zebras, after a narrow escape and battling an erection lasting more than four hours, both the Wizard (the erection) and KitKat (actually doing the heavy lifting, already tired of dealing with the wizard’s bullshit and she hasn’t even been turned into a SPOILER yet) should have done nothing but rest. Especially since the Wizard had just had a delicate medical procedure done by a doctor who’d had her last fuck shot off in the war, and KitKat had had one too many tacos. You would also think that the Wizard couldn’t get a pants panhandle (and all that that entailed) with two smiley-face bandages on his pintle—one from where the spider bit him, and one from where he paid the price—but you’d be wrong. Maybe it was a lasting effect of the Brazilian [spider]; maybe he was just perpetually horny when it came to plot convenience; maybe he’d caught a glance under KitKat’s tail, who can say? The Wizard’s powers—and here I am being generous—came to him late, only after he fucked a unicorn. Granted, he didn’t know that she was a unicorn at the time. Regardless, while KitKat was progressively learning the awful truth, so too was the Wizard. ~~In fact, when you really think of it, they were both victims of circumstance~~. Neither of them knew that his widdler could shoot portals, but it could. It’s said that magic is mostly wishing for something and then making it happen magically, and the Wizard was thinking of having a convenient comfort food snack. Now, ponies had invented comfort food, but a large percentage of it (by weight and volume) was hay-based. Hayburgers, Hay Fries, Hay Chips, hay, Frozen Hay Cream, Oat Smoothies (with hay), even various hay-based beers. Lately kirin beer had been making inroads in the pony beer market, ever since kirin had been discovered, along with their beer-making prowess. Therefore, not only did the wizard wank a portal, said portal came out at a convenience store. It would have been convenient for them to have arrived in the store proper, but that wasn’t KitKat’s luck. It would have been nice to arrive with American spending money, but that was neither of their luck. It would have been better for the Wizard to have arrived clothed in anything other than his ‘wizard robes,’ although admittedly KitKat had seen it all before and if she had to suffer, why shouldn’t everypony and everybody else? It was a good thing that they arrived at three AM (local) and that the clerk at the store was a battle-hardened veteran, nearly unflappable in the face of adversity or Karen. A bathrobed wizard and an annoyed Little Pony(TM) appearing in a flash of light by the Dumpster wasn’t his strangest night yet. For the Wizard, it was a routine destination and a routine sight, but KitKat had never seen anything like the store before. She’d seen woodcuts and postcards, she’d read descriptions in various travel journals, but to see for herself the big windows and harsh fluorescent lights inside, the ranks and ranks of colorful boxes and cans, the missing cat poster taped up by the door . . . it was a lot for her to take in. Archivist’s Note: Here part of the chapter was missing, so it is unknown what the Wizard and KitKat (and the clerk and any other patrons of the convenience store) were doing. The chapter picks up again as they’re near the checkout counter. “You can get a candy bar too,” the wizard said, magnanimously. “I’m feeling magnanimous.” KitKat, who knew he’d already paid for a room service doctor and at least three room service tacos, ran her eyes over the million billion boxes of candy and made her choice: a York Peppermint Patty. “Really?” She furrowed her brows. “I mean . . . well, maybe it’s on the nose, but we’re here, I would have thought you’d pick a KitKat.” She narrowed her eyes. “Since that’s your name.” “I’ve only known you for a couple of days,” KitKat said. “And in that time, I’ve already decided you’re de slechtste tovenaar ooit and a few other things too. Even if I was generous as fuck and only applied that to your wizarding skills and your forest-smarts, I still wouldn’t have anticipated that you wouldn’t see the problem with autocanibalism.” “Cars don’t eat—” “And idiocy and obliviousness.” For once, the wizard took a moment to actually think and process before speaking or God forbid, doing. “You aren’t made of candy, you don’t taste like a candy bar.” Bitter. “Are you sure of that?” “Well. . . .” “Really really sure, mister I-fucked-a-unicorn-who-I-didn’t-know-was-a-unicorn-and-now-I-sling-spells-with-my-dingus?” At that, the Kum and Go clerk perked up. “Hey, there’s no need for that kind of language. We’re a family-friendly store that doesn’t believe in euphemism.” Author's Note In the silence that followed, three sets of eyes fixed on the reader. It might be true?
