Sunny Starscout was a boring pony. Thankfully, her final smoothie delivery of the day had brought her out to the art museum—the Houvre—a place where there were ponies far more interesting than her.
Rufus liked his smoothie made with aloe and lemons. Three lemons to be precise, and they had to be sourced from three different gardens having been grown by three different ponies.
Onyx wasn't as particular. She took hers black—a charcoal slurry that turned the back of her throat into a galaxy of grunge.
The last drink was designated for a young pegasus named Glory until it wasn't. Glory tapped the cancel order button on her phone as Sunny trotted up to her, suddenly remembering that she was saving her allowance to buy a special mane glitter potion that she had seen on ClipTrot. She drank glue.
Artists were quite the bunch of freaks. Not something that Sunny would think, she was more in awe that each pony was special with interests worth celebrating. How lovely.
Sunny pushed open the exit door, not noticing the poster plastered on it. This Sunday: Let There Be Art—Houvre Open Art Day. She should have stopped to admire it—maybe even borrow it, just to own a memento of what would become the most bizarre and baffling event in all of pony history.
After putting on her rollerblades, Sunny began to skate down the path with her smoothie carriage rattling in tow. She sped forward and looked up to the sunset, not noticing the pony in her path who was still painting away in the courtyard.
Oh, wait. Sunny had noticed her. She shifted her weight and slid to a stop—but her carriage hadn't stopped. It ripped free from its harness, then slammed into the painter like a runaway tramcar.
The easel clattered to the ground and the painting landed sunny side down. The yellow and pink mare that had been thrown to the ground began to pull herself up with a third color spreading across her face: an angry red.
“I'm so sorry, Posey,” Sunny said as she ran over.
“Do you know how long that took me?” Posey’s eyes bore out, the surrounding skin drawn taut by the green bow she used to strangle her ponytail.
“Did I ruin it?" Sunny leaned down toward the fallen canvas. A whiff of air hit her face as Posey ripped it up off the ground, then set it back up on its easel. It was a portrait of a mare against a green, crystal-patterned background which now had tiny pebbles and blades of grass embedded in the half-dried paint.
“At least I don't need to worry about the horn anymore.” Posey clawed out with her hooves, leaving scratches and smudges as the debris fell away. She growled after realizing the blemishes only served to complement and enhance the realism of the background crystals.
“What do you mean?” Sunny said.
Posey eyed the canvas where the mare's forehead led into an expanse of bare canvas. The remaining parts were outlined in pencil and numbered, the most prominent being an elongated triangle that was split into three segments, each designated by the same number. “It wants me to paint a horn there.”
“I get it!” Sunny smiled. “You can't resist that instinct telling you to express your love for all of ponykind!”
“No. It's a paint-by-number,” Posey said as she unfolded a piece of paper and began to scan down it. “Color six…” She shook her head and crumpled it up.
“The ones Izzy was giving out the other day?” Sunny took another glance. The mare's fur in the portrait had been layered and detailed, the eyes calling out to her with a gentle plea. Sunny never thought something made to help foals learn to paint could look so good.
“That unicorn friend of yours told me it would make me an artist—she failed to mention that it would be a unicorn artist.” Posey mixed the colors around in her palette then ran her brush over the canvas leaving behind a stroke of coagulated gray that smeared the forehead and mane into one blurry blob.
“No, stop—it looks so good!” Sunny held her hoof out helplessly.
“It's awful, I don't even like painting," Posey said. "And it's not like it'd be good enough for the Houvre."
“Aw, Posey. You'll get something into the Houvre one day,” Sunny said.
“Pfft. They brought in stuff from Bridlewood and Zephyr Heights. I tried to tell them that the whole point of the Houvre was to show off our art. Now nopony wants to see anything by an earth pony.”
“There's a place for everypony in art—I bet I can help you find yours!”
“Hold that thought, Sunny. Forever, preferably.” Posey’s hind legs shifted. “It’s been a long day and there's no bathroom in there.”
“Come on, we could schedule something!” Sunny yelled as Posey skittered off.
Sunny sighed and looked down at her fallen carriage. The inside had been splattered with the unsold smoothie. She attached its harness to her back and began to make her way home with a trail of strawberry slime following behind.
That night, Sunny tucked herself into bed under the protection of the colorful figurines that adorned her shelf. She closed her eyes and tried to let the day drain away but a loud clattering of hooves up the stairs forced her awake.
Izzy cantered into their shared bedroom wearing a unicycled paper hat. The creased white and orange creation gleamed under the light, projecting its glow back into the dark corner of the room where Sunny lay. She climbed out of bed, approached, wordlessly reached her hoof out to Izzy’s head, then unseated the sacred crown. Sunny unfolded it edge by edge until a crinkled poster stared back up at her: Let There Be Art.
* * *
Sunny smashed her hooves against Posey's door and screamed, “I was up the entire night. The entire night.” Her forehead was drenched with sweat. “I almost threw up—I should have thrown up. I couldn't even tell them because I know they’d blame themselves.”
She sighed and leaned against the door. The patter of bongos began to beat back and forth in her mind. Her breaths grew shorter then intensified. “You, Posey, are the sickest, most disgusting, awful pony I have ever met. Do you know how much I cried last night?” Sunny slumped down with grit teeth. The pounding in her head was accompanied by flashes of a yesterday she wanted to forget.
* * *
Sunny knocked on Posey's door.
“No, Windy. For the last time, I'm not buying flight insurance.” The door swung open. Posey glowered out.
Sunny pulled the crinkled poster to eye level. “Did you see? The Houvre is having an open art day tomorrow and the best piece gets a permanent spot in the gallery!”
“I work there—I was the one who printed the fliers.” Posey closed the door, or at least tried to—Sunny stopped it with her hoof.
“What are you going to show?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, it's your dream.”
“My dream is to live in a town without Sunny Starscout.”
“What about your paint-by-number? You spent so long on that.”
“Twenty minutes?” Posey tilted her head to the side.
“You just have to try!”
“Can calligraphy be art?” Posey leaned down behind the half-closed door.
“Yes!” Sunny smiled like a puppy ready for a treat.
Posey came back up with a hoof-written sign in her teeth that read No Solicitors.
“You can't let an opportunity like this pass you by,” Sunny said, “let me at least take you out to town to get inspired!”
“I do like food.” Posey put her hoof to her chin. “Free food.”
* * *
“Aren't you going to eat your filet?” Sunny looked at Posey’s meal—breaded salmon, fried and crisped to perfection. It had been peppered with turmeric and thyme, then plated with a trail of lemon sauce that gave it a smiling face and a pair of wings. It was even topped with a little flag of Pipp's face.
“The appetizers were enough," Posey said as she looked at the disheveled stack of tiny plates to her left. "Since when did Fishermare's start serving pegasus food?" She pulled the flag out of her entrée and began to twirl it between her hooves. Pipp's popstar smile rapidly flipped in and out of sight.
“Actually, pegasi live way up in the mountains, I don’t think fish are part of their diet. Plum Chum must just want everypony to feel welcome.”
The lights dimmed and the beat of a bongo drum piped up. An overhead spotlight flickered on and turned toward a stage in the back of the restaurant. A unicorn began to rap to the beat.
Fish food. Fish fuel.
Sunny whispered, “Oh my gosh, I thought I saw Onyx come in—Slam Poetry!”
“I didn't know unicorns did that,” Posey said.
Wasn't our thing; now it's cool.
“Maybe you could do some for the art show?” Sunny said.
“The whole unity thing made me never want to write again.” Posey set her fork down on the plate between ten and four o'clock. “‘Horns like razors, teeth like tacks.’ It's not anything anypony wants to hear anymore.”
“No, but pony unity is in style. How about some free verse?”
“Waiter, could you get the bill—and take my plates.” Posey dropped the flag next to her fork and yawned.
“You can take mine too.” Sunny looked down at her last two fish sticks. They had tasted like freezer burn but she knew Plum Chum was just doing her best. She pushed the fish sticks onto one side of the plate and the crumbs to the other.
Plum Chum came over to the table and slid their dishes onto a serving tray, balancing it on her back. When Plum Chum returned with the bill in her mouth, Posey reached out and stamped her hoof in front of Sunny. Sunny forced out a chuckle as the bill unfurled down the side of the table until it touched down onto the greasy carpet.
Sunny bent down, pushed her nose into her saddlebags then began to dig for her coin pouch. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Plum Chum begin clearing their plates into the trash. Sunny's jaw popped open and the pouch jangled as it fell back into the depths of her bag.
She sped over and looked helplessly into the garbage bin. “What's going on Plum Chum? Isn't Roe Flow going to eat the leftovers? I left him my fish sticks—Posey even had today's special.”
“Health code,” Plum Chum said.
“Health code? Have fresh fish?”
“That new Pony Unity Life thing.” Plum Chum grumbled and wiped the crumbs off the trays with a damp towel.
Sunny slumped back down next to her table. The Earth Pony, Pegasus, and Unicorn Unity for Life Act. The taste of unwashed pen filled her mouth as she wrote thank you on the bill.
* * *
“So that's a no for poetry,” Sunny said as they approached the Crystal Brighthouse. “How about yes to sculpture?”
“Sculptures do stand out,” Posey said, “I'd love to have a huge display with my name on it.”
“Izzy is a master at unicycling!” Sunny put her hoof to the door.
“Oh, no. I can do without her schemes,” Posey said.
“Come on, she doesn't bite.” Sunny opened the door and spotted Zipp sprawled out on the couch staring at her phone.
“Hey, Sunny,” Zipp said. She turned upside down, rested her hind legs on the back of the couch, and continued to poke away at her touchscreen until she heard another set of hooves come through the door. The unfamiliar, intense rhythm of clip-clops broke her out of her trance as she lowered her phone to take a look. “Hey... Posey?”
Posey scowled back at her.
“Is Izzy home?” Sunny said.
“Nope, she's out swimming through trash”—Zipp flew over then unfolded her phone into a tablet—“but check this out!”
On the screen was a digital painting of hundreds of pegasi soaring through a stormy cloudscape.
“Wow, Zipp. Did you make that?” Sunny noticed that the lead flier was none other than Zipp herself. There was even a plump pegasus by her side with a phone in her mouth.
“It's called Stable Hoofusion.”
“That's a weird name,” Posey said.
“No, it's the name of the app I used to make it. Watch this.” Zipp pressed a button on the screen and commanded aloud, “Make it so all of the pegasi are fighting a giant Posey.”
The painting was transformed in a blink. The army of pegasi now flew against a backdrop of flowers. They frowned in unison, eyes focused on the large pink posy that had blocked their flight path.
“Woah, it did that for you that quick?” Sunny said.
“You can do stuff from scratch too, try it!” Zipp held the tablet out in front of her.
“Uh—A happy pony with a big smile!” Sunny said.
After a moment, a portrait of a pegasus smiling appeared on the screen—yes it was as plain and boring as you’re thinking.
“Let me try,” Posey said, “Do a landscape painting in the style of Reinbrandt with a hint of influence from the Apple Golden Age. Utilize underpainting for contrast then crosshatching on the top layer. Make it set on a hot sunny day with the focal point being an unbelievably gorgeous earth pony with a delicate yellow coat, flowing pink mane, and green eyes. She should be standing high above the largest flower garden in Equestria which is being tended by hundreds of unwashed pegasi and unicorns.”
A wiggling bar appeared on the screen. Posey smirked as it chugged and froze—then the screen changed. She shrieked and stammered backward.
From the brush techniques to the setting and the imagery, the result was even better than what she had seen in her mind's eye. The gardens spanned infinite fields spanning over rolling hills that reached beyond the horizon. On them lay the peasants who were individually detailed and just as thin and underfed as they deserved. And there was one pony above it all, among manicured grass and lotus trees, a self-portrait. Posey felt an itch at the back of her head. She wanted to undo her bows, drop her necklace, flick up her tail, and become the mare on the screen.
But then, she saw it—wings. The Posey had wings. That pony had wings. And the other one and the other one.
“Awful—completely useless.” Posey stuck up her chin and turned away.
“Oh,” Zipp said, “I forgot to mention the app is made from old data. It doesn't have a lot of knowledge about earth ponies or unicorns.”
“You should get them to work on that,” Sunny said. “But are you going to show off that cool pegasi drawing tomorrow?”
“What?” Posey said, “She can't enter something that somepony else made.”
Zipp rolled her eyes.
“Alright, out the door,” Hitch’s command echoed throughout the Brighthouse as he walked by with a bunnycorn in tow.
“What'cha up to, Hitch?" Sunny said as trotted to the door and held it open for him. Posey rushed out ahead.
“I've been trying to get Mr. Marbles to stop ‘going’ in Izzy's craft corner.” Hitch said.
“Ew," Posey said. She paused and her lips curled into a smirk. Izzy deserved it.
“It's the darndest thing, though,” Hitch said, “Izzy's influence has really rubbed off on him. The marbles he leaves behind are always in these strange patterns—yesterday's was like a supernova. He's becoming quite the artist.”
“TMI, Hitch. TMI,” Sunny said as she closed the door. “Speaking of Izzy, do you know which trash heap or dumpster she was looking through? We wanted to see if she would help us make a sculpture.”
A manic laugh rang out behind them. They turned toward the garden and saw Izzy wielding a welding torch in her mouth.
Sunny and Posey trotted over and found a junk pile arranged vertically over four ponies high. Within it were parts of bicycles, lantern holders, and even a tramcar railing. They had been welded into a tree-like structure with hollow branches jutting out.
“Woah,” Sunny said.
“Like it?” Izzy flipped up her welding mask. “It's an unverse fountain.” She hopped down off of a steering fork.
“That doesn't look anything like a fountain,” Posey said.
“Well, of course not,” Izzy said, “it's an unverse fountain. But it's not done yet.” Her horn began to glow and the end of the garden hose levitated.
Posey took a step back. “I'm not sticking around for this.”
“Yeah,” Sunny said, “I'll stand over here.”
“Aww, come on.” Izzy bit into the end of the hose. The spigot let out a squeak and water dribbled out. “I know.” Izzy's voice was muffled and rubbery. She looked at Posey and started running.
“Get away from me.” Posey dodged.
“I want you to take it,” Izzy said.
“Only if I get to hose you down," Posey said.
“Okay.” Izzy sat down and her ears turned back.
“Fine—what do you want me to do?” Posey took another glance at the water leaking out of the hose. It was only a trickle.
Izzy dropped it at Posey's hooves. “Make the water unverse.”
“What's unverse?” Sunny stepped forward.
“Well, it's like when water goes from the top of the fountain to the bottom then into the hose instead of the other way around.”
“You mean ‘inverse.’” Posey opened her mouth and bent down. “Do you have anything to wipe the nozzle?”
“She doesn't have germs,” Sunny said.
“It's self-cleaning.” Izzy's horn lit up again. The spigot glowed and began to turn with a squeak.
The hose spat water and started snaking around. Posey hesitated, her hooves trembling with her head drawn back, then bolted away.
“Izzy!” Sunny yipped as icy water hit her fetlocks.
Whether it was intentional or not—you could never tell with Izzy—the spigot handle continued to turn counterclockwise. Faster and faster. So fast that the handle flew off. Thankfully there was an emergency shutoff button.
Except it wasn't an emergency shutoff button.
A heavy mechanical whirring sounded out from below. Seagulls scattered and racoonicorns fled. The hose hissed, swelled, then burst. A pressurized beam of water hammered the nearby fence and it collapsed onto the ground with a thump.
The hose shot upwards, airborne. It rippled and danced in a wild arc across the garden then knocked Mr. Marbles into the dirt before blasting back again.
“Hey!” Hitch's hind legs were soaked by the rocketing exhaust.
Sunny and Posey raced around, zipping back and forth. Izzy giggled maniacally and danced to the ladybug jamboree playing in her head.
You would be surprised to hear that Posey had not gotten wet nor would she get wet, with water at least. The nozzle landed down hard, burying itself in the soil under Posey's hooves as her eyes widened. Pressure built up for only a moment—pop. The garden vomited a blast of carrot bits, roots, and bunnycorn marbles. The wave of sludge ripped Posey off of her hooves and smote her down with a chunky splat.
Hitch reached the switch.
“Oops,” Izzy said.
“Now Izzy,” Hitch said. “Did I not tell you to be careful with the pressure washer?”
“I don't recall, Sheriff,” Izzy said.
“It's for cleaning the fence.” Hitch looked toward the fallen fence. “You practically destroyed it!” Hitch leaned down and ran a cloth over the bunnycorn. “And you gave Mr. Marbles quite the scare too.” It snickered up at Hitch. “No, Mr. Marbles, we're not going to do it again.”
“Sorry, Hitch,” Sunny said.
Posey spat up brown from under a blanket of mud.
“It's so weird that the hose didn't even get me,” Izzy said, “I was trying as hard as I could.”
“Are we having a rave?” Pipp landed on the garden path. “I can get the strobe lights.”
“We're making an unverse fountain!” Izzy said.
“A what?” Pipp said.
“Well, we took a break so Posey could spray me with the hose,” Izzy said. “She missed.”
Pipp put her hoof to her nose as she approached Izzy and saw the mud around her fetlocks. “You must be freezing, come inside the Brighthouse and let me give you a proper pampered glow up.”
Wet suction gurgled behind Pipp. A muddy creature appeared from below and its green eyes stared up at her. “Posey?”
“You must be freezing...” Posey muttered and mocked, “...come inside, get a proper pampered glow up.”
“Aw, Posey, are you okay?” Pipp said. “I didn't see you there. Covered in mud.”
“I am done with you ponies.” Posey's limbs wobbled as she climbed back onto her hooves. She twisted her body, winding up a shake. "Don't talk to me. Don't come to my house. Don't go to my museum..." When she whipped back, her body shook in weighted slow motion with slabs of clotted slop falling to the ground under her. "...Ever... again..."
“Wait,” Sunny mouthed quietly, Posey’s words welling in her eyes.
“Yeah, Posey,” Pipp said, “Izzy's repulsive stench can wait—no offense.” She looked toward Izzy.
“Unpulsive stench,” Izzy said.
“I'll give you the royal treatment.” Pipp raised her hoof and brushed Posey's cheek.
“I've changed my mind.” Posey ripped away. “It wasn’t pegasi or unicorns that ruined Maretime Bay. There are plenty of ponies who know how to mind their own business—and honestly, I've grown to like some of them.
“But there is one pony who never minds her own business.
“A little pleasantry here and there, she'd say. But that meddling. That meddling brings in a tidal wave of pain that leaves the entire town reeling. Especially me.
“Who encouraged Fifi and made her believe that her terrible flying was good enough to deliver a cartload of fruit without dropping it everywhere?
“Who told Dahlia to work on her magic and ended up causing a nationwide sneezedemic?
“Who dragged me around their oh-so-cushy castle to ‘inspire’ me and left me covered in fetid filth?
“Let me tell you, it wasn't Izzy. And I do have many problems with Izzy, yes—I can't stand her. But did she bring me here? No.
“And let me ask you something, Izzy. The last time you chased me across town, why were you doing that?”
Izzy didn't have to think. “To fix the lantern for Su—”
“Exactly,” Posey said, “If there's anything that I've learned through all of this pony unity stuff is that all types of ponies can be awful. And you, Sunny Starscout—the self-proclaimed embodiment of all types of ponies—are every rotten one of them.”
Posey paused for a moment. “I'm sorry, Pipp. Thank you, but I’m going home now.” She turned around. “And Izzy—as much as I hate to admit it—I did like that paint-by-number. Flaws and all.”
Sunny stood silent and looked down at the mud pooling around her hooves.
“Don't listen to her, Sunny,” Hitch said, “It's just Posey being Posey. It was me who installed the pressure washer.”
“I just wanted to encourage her.” Sunny’s voice quivered.
“Two sad ponies.” Zipp arrived on the scene. “What happened? Actually—don't answer that.” She glanced at the spigot handle lying on the ground, the metal monstrosity, and Posey’s full-body beautification treatment. “Pipp, take Posey to the shower—she's not walking home like that. And Sunny, don’t even think about cocooning up in your bed.”
Zipp frequently thought of herself as the main character. Maybe she should have been. Her voice was authoritative, no-nonsense, and comforting. Posey noticed. Suddenly the trot home covered in mud didn't seem so appealing. A reasonable suggestion thought up by somepony else—somepony that wasn't Sunny. Posey wasn't going to admit it, of course. She continued down the path, but as expected, Pipp jumped out in front of her.
“What do you say?” Pipp said.
Posey broke eye contact. “Fine.” She couldn’t keep her lips from turning up into a smile.
Posey, Pipp, and—to Posey’s dismay—Izzy headed to the Brighthouse.
“Thanks, Zipp,” Sunny said. “I really messed up.”
“It's just mud. It'll come out,” Zipp said.
“I know, but she was right to blame me. For everything.”
“Posey's just mean,” Hitch said.
“No,” Sunny said. “Earlier today, we were at Fishermare's. Plum Chum threw away our leftovers—Roe Flow didn't even get to see them,” Sunny said.
“That's outrageous, no way would she do that!” Hitch said, “Roe Flow always gets my leftover fries.”
“You don't get it. They were following the Earth Pony, Pegasus, and Unicorn Unity for Life Act.”
“You didn't write the details,” Zipp said.
“And I did sign off on it,” Hitch said.
“I know, but maybe I shouldn't be meddling in everypony's business.”
Sunny’s plea for sympathy set off a cacophony of conversation between her and her friends that truly set a new precedent for pony friendship. Or maybe it was just doggy bags and platitudes.
* * *
Sunny hesitated next to the Brighthouse’s front door smelling like PB n’ B and Super Citrus. Hitch had promised to start trying new smoothie flavors, but it hadn’t helped—her only ideas at the smoothie cart had been Coconut Uncertainty and Mango Regret.
The Brighthouse grew tired of waiting and drank Sunny in. Posey was by Izzy's side playing with clay and crayons.
“It's time for me to go,” Posey said.
“I just wanted to apologize,” Sunny said.
“Apology accepted—whoo, you did it.” Posey trotted toward the door.
“Come on, Posey,” Izzy said. “Be nice.”
Posey sighed.
“Are you feeling better?” Sunny said.
“A little. Pipp is still the master of pampering.” Posey’s fur had a sheen that could only be acquired from eight courses of shampoo. “And Izzy wasn't that annoying.”
“I even let her use my special Bridlewood Eternity Towel,” Izzy said.
“Your what?” Posey said.
“Every family in Bridlewood has one. It's the most special of special towels. It's passed down from unicorn generation to unicorn generation. Mine carries the essence of all Moonbows within its fibers because it has never, ever been washed. I mean, why does anypony wash the towel after drying their clean selves anyway?”
Posey glared at Sunny, the harbinger of filth.
“Were you two making art?” Sunny walked over to the table they had been sitting at.
“Yes,” Izzy said. “Posey was making an awesome clay-crayon-drawing-sculpture fusion thing.”
“Are you going to enter it tomorrow?” Sunny smiled.
“Of course." Izzy proudly waved down at their creation and adopted her playful gruff voice. "We were all like 'We're not leaving this table until something amazing happens.'"
Posey turned back around. The serenity of the Brighthouse had been skewered through like the pitiful clay lump on the table. “I can't do it.” Posey grimaced. “I can't make something worth showing off tomorrow.”
“No, it's good,” Izzy said as she put her crafting glasses on to reevaluate. Posey's judgment wasn't exactly wrong. It was pretty bad. A bit like crayon drawings stuffed into the crevasses of a latrine.
Sunny sighed. “Can I show you something, Posey?”
“It's late.” Posey’s hoof was already on the door.
“It'll only take a second.” Sunny turned toward the stairs.
“Fine.”
* * *
“Don't you want anything more in life than to be annoying?” Posey said.
“I guess not,” Sunny said. “Even when I was little, what I wanted most was to help everypony. My dad gave me everything I needed otherwise.” Sunny walked over to her shelf where six wood-carved ponies stood proudly. “The only time I ever remember him saying no was when I asked for Princess Celestia.”
“You’ve got plenty.” Posey leaned down to look at the figurines.
“I wanted my whole room to be full of them.” Sunny swept her hoof out in front of her and smiled. The bedroom she shared with her friends was bigger than when she first had that idea. “They're the greatest art in the world, done by the greatest artist who ever lived.”
“They could be better.” Posey picked up one that caught her eye. The paint was worn thin around the edges, but it looked a lot like her with its yellow coat, pink mane, and green eyes.
“Every night my dad would tell me a story about them.”
“What'd he say about her?” Posey placed the look-alike figurine down on Sunny's bed.
“That she was the sweetest, most kindest pony in all of Equestria.”
Posey raised an eyebrow.
Sunny eyed the Fluttershy figurine then turned back to Posey and laughed.
“I was thinking about one of the stories he told me today,” Sunny said. “About a fight between buffaloes and the ponies of a town called Appleloosa.”
“What's a buffalo?” Posey sat down on Sunny's bed, back hooves to her headboard.
“My dad said that nopony really knows for sure what they looked like, but they were scarier than bears and had big sharp horns.”
“The ponies obviously won,” Posey said. “You can’t lose harder than being forgotten forever.”
“Everypony tried so hard to prevent violence. They sang songs, wore costumes, and did silly dances for the Buffalo until they thought they had gotten to know them—thought they understood them, but no matter how hard they tried, they couldn't stop the fighting with words alone.”
Posey flipped around onto her back and held Fluttershy above her. “I guess he didn't make a figure of you.”
Sunny turned to the remaining figurines. Twilight Sparkle. She led with pride and was the activist of her time, always accepted others for who they were, and never turned down a chance to do what was right.
Figure in hoof, Sunny laid down next to Posey. “In the end, they solved the problem with apple pie.”
Posey shook her head, unimpressed.
“The ponies of Appleloosa were amazing. They were pioneers. They could build a town in a month. A whole community full of artists and bakers and seamstresses. When they dropped their hat, a neighbor had already patched it by the time they picked it up. They had so much to give, so much more than meaningless encouragement. And the buffalo recognized it—that those ponies had value.” Sunny lifted up her hoof. “This one is me.” She held up Pinkie Pie.
They lay silent, dolls balanced in their hooves reaching toward the stars.
“When I was little,” Posey said, “I wanted to be like Princess Celestia.”
“You’ve heard of her?” It was Sunny’s turn to raise an eyebrow.
“My mom read me stories.”
“The way my dad described her,” Sunny smiled. “He said that she transcended ponydom. A pony so majestic, her mane was an endless aurora borealis and her coat had a sheen that could warm you up from across the universe. I was so obsessed when I was a filly, even through all my phases. She was perfect.”
“Your dad sounds like a nerd.” Posey tapped her Fluttershy up against Sunny’s Pinkie Pie. “You too.”
“About what happened today…” Sunny took the figure back from Posey.
Posey shrugged.
“I guess what I was trying to say is that I don't have an apple pie to solve our problems.”
“It's okay." Posey turned onto her side and faced away from Sunny. “I didn’t mean what I said.”
“It wasn’t the insults that stung, I just don’t want to ever believe the answer is to stop trying—can I tell you a story?”
“Again?” Posey groaned and covered her face with her forehoof.
“Winter Wishday was coming up and my dad was really busy. He had inspired me so much that year and I wanted to build him something cool, like a real-life version of a relic he had sketched in his journal. I got my whole kit out—cardboard, glue, paints—and got to work.”
Sunny’s foalhood self would have particularized that “something cool,” the “relic,” through dark eyeliner and black lipstick. It had all started months prior as her father’s research project, his interest sparked on a forlorn holiday full of nightmarish tales.
The myths of old Equestria latched onto Sunny and buffalo friendship hid itself under the bed. Her schooldays could thereafter only be assuaged by nights of manticore fangs and shadow ponies. Every day the stories grew tenser, sadder—a mistreated pony lurking and brooding.
After Argyle chased away Sunny's nightmares, she would simply ask for more. And he provided. Each day he sought the next breakthrough. He sifted through tomes and diaries for any inkling of what had been lost. Then progress faltered.
Argyle flipped through page after page until the stress of failure began to infect his own dreams. And one restless night, he succeeded—pulled it from his nightmares and awoke to scribbles on the page. Armor fit for war, dark wings, and a crown of midnight blue; vicious and angry. Alive.
“No matter what I tried,” Sunny said, “I couldn't make it like his drawing. So much cardboard, and so many failed attempts. I got so into it that I was ripping away stuff that I liked. I had to try harder. It had to be perfect. But suddenly it was the day before Winter Wishday and I realized it was too late to finish. It was okay, I thought. I'd just have to wait for his birthday.
“I decided to bake cookies instead. Even after I had given up, I kept comparing my cardboard cutouts to the sketch in his journal. Then I started to smell smoke, looked down, and there was this dark blue fire bursting out of the oven onto everything. Half of his journal was gone before my dad managed to put the fire out.” Sunny’s heart raced as she looked at the journal still resting on her nightstand, almost expecting an accusatory scowl. It wasn't often, but Argyle was the type of pony who could raise his voice.
Winter Wishday came and went that year, the grand garlands and starry lights around the lighthouse mocking Sunny with their cheer.
“I know what you're trying to say,” Posey said. “I just wanted brunch this morning. I'm not good at art and what I make isn't worth showing off. It doesn’t bother me—it’s just how it is.”
“You’re as bad as my dad.” Sunny laughed.
“Don’t be so hard on him,” Posey said, “the figures are good.”
“Losing him was the worst thing that ever happened to me. Winter Wishday the next year was so hard without him.”
Ponies who are related more often find themselves sharing habits over horseshoes. And after somepony leaves for the stars, imitation becomes communion.
The following Wishday, the lighthouse was bare. No decorations had been strung up and there were no presents under the tree because there was no tree to be found. Sunny would have slept in for a decade if it hadn’t been for the knock at the door early that morning. Hitch's mom had stopped by with a gift and assured a sad and groggy Sunny that Hitch wasn't angry with her.
But Sunny was boiling as she made her way through the plains on the outskirts of Maretime Bay. The tree farm was barren except for the cottage billowing smoke and spice. She left bits on the doorstep, then dragged a sapling down the path back to the lighthouse that bore no light.
Under her bed, she dug through broken toys, discarded drawings, and cardboard boxes. Then she found it, the year-old cardboard helmet that lay half-finished. Creases, tape strewn sideways, hardened paint droplets. It almost fit—a little big. What was really so wrong with it? The shoes made her laugh. Stubby tips; intricate and fierce. The chest piece was imbalanced with layers of hardened glue weighting it rightwards—but it stood sturdy. Who needed wings? Long after her eyeliner had washed off, Sunny found herself smiling. She took each piece and packed it back into the box with tissue paper. Wrapped and ribboned, to Dad.
She placed the package under the tree—a companion for her one lone present. But she still needed to break the magical protection that was cast over all Wishday presents. It kept them sealed tighter than a tag that read from Hitch. The Wishing Star.
Sunny had many wishes that year, more wishes than it could ever bring—even if she did manage to find it. She went to the dusty side of the lighthouse and flipped the light. Argyle's room smelled of paraffin wax and sea salt. Just as it always had.
“I was trying to find the star for the tree,” Sunny said. “There were a lot of boxes in my dad's closet but I found one overflowing with tinsel and garland. It was half open and his journal was on top of it.”
The damage Sunny had caused to the journal wasn't permanent. Argyle had repaired the binding, added new pages, and rewritten what had been lost. Most of it anyway. He had left one page blank—a sketch he could never recreate.
Sunny stared down at the journal and shook her head. She didn't need to go back and unwrap the armor to know what it had looked like.
She went to his desk, popped open an inkwell, then returned with a quill in her mouth. He had once told her how he had originally drawn it: Quarrels with friends—abandoning ponies who needed him. Anger. Sadness. Helplessness that overwhelmed for days. Months.
The quill trembled on her tongue. She was ready.
“I lifted the journal up and there she was, sitting in the box underneath. Princess Celestia. Hundreds of them.”
Ink to paper, the sparks didn't scare her. Neither did the smoke, or the wisps of blue flame, or the teardrops that had started to stain the page.
“I picked one up and there was a little chip on the wing. And the next—a scuff on the tail. With each one, I could only hear myself praising this idea of this perfect toy." Sunny looked down, but not alone as she recalled the moment the quill dropped to the floor and true fear entered her life.
She was scared because Nightmare Moon would never be scary again.
“They were all good, Posey. Every single one of them.” Sunny bit her lip.
“You’re really making me miss my parents,” Posey said. “It’s been four years. It feels like they're so far away.”
“I know what you mean. But whenever you take a moment to think, you always feel like they’re still watching over you.”
“Yeah,” Posey said. “I guess so. They live on the other side of town. I really should visit sometime.”
Sunny shook her head. “After all of what happened with my dad—even though I eventually found inspiration and friendship—I still had it in the back of my mind that I wanted to paint one of the Celestias. I even caught myself trying to decide which one was the best. I procrastinated so much—every day, really. I'm sure you can guess what happened—when the lighthouse got destroyed, all of them were crushed.
“All but one.” Sunny opened the drawer by the bed and pulled out the figurine, lovingly chiseled from white oak and flowing with regality. “Even when my choice was made for me, I still never got the courage.” Sunny took a deep breath. “But you know what, Posey? It doesn’t need to be painted.” She placed it next to Twilight. “It’s perfect just the way it is.”
“If you say so,” Posey said. “Can I go now?”
“Okay,” Sunny said. “But promise me that you won’t give up on your dream even after I stop bothering you.”
“Fine.” Posey moved to the door. “But I’m not doing any more tonight. The art show can go on without me. Well, actually it can’t—I have to work tomorrow—but you know what I mean.”
“That’s okay,” Sunny said. “I’ll stop by and say ‘hi.’”
“Please don’t.” Posey closed the door behind her.
* * *
Sunny awoke to a dark expanse lit by a dim red glow. Her body was clammy and cold. The faint shapes of the room were unfamiliar. Her lantern was no longer lit and Izzy’s fairy lights had been shut off, replaced by a string of stars that began to fade and flicker out one by one until only the red glow remained. She was unsure if the shadows around her were still comprised of her friends. Her breathing grew short as she slowly turned her head to the face of her alarm clock, blurred in her foggy vision When her eyes adjusted, it read an impossible number.
She fell through her bed frame, into the darkness.
9:00
The alarm buzzed. Izzy, Zipp, and Pipp were not in their beds. Nor were they in the Brighthouse at all. Texting didn't help.
9:16
Well, maybe a little. Sunny’s body stopped shivering when her phone chimed. Izzy liked emojis. A standard smiley. An amber heart. A solid-gold box.
11:12
She hadn’t received any more texts from Izzy.
It wasn't until the first smoothie had already been washed, squeezed, blended, filled, lidded, and strawed that Pipp texted her.
Working on Izzy's proj. All hooves for the Houvre! See you there!
And here, right? Sunny wanted to say. But she was okay with “ok.”
12:00
“Why does this haymelon taste like strawberry?” The pegasus slurped down more.
“Sorry, Windy,” Sunny said. “I mixed it up with somepony else's. You know how it is. Lots of orders!”
Windy looked behind her and then furrowed her brow. "Well, I don't mind it—It tastes princessy."
2:40
Inspiration struck. The Berry Authority. Blue, straw, rasp, cran, black, boysen, huckle, dew, mul. The leader and inspiration for everyberry.
2:41
And always punctual.
2:42
His whole shtick was rules and being on time. And the rule was that he showed up and got his smoothie on time.
2:46
The text she sent Hitch wasn't like the smoothie that had been carried away by the racoonicorn (Bits? What bits?). It was a lemon blast, hold the sugar.
3:11
Stuck helping Posey.
Posey. There were times when ponies said things to be nice. Saying that she'd stop by to say “hi” was one of them. Sure she was going to do it—practically had to with her friends now entering the show—but she could have gone a month without seeing that mare and have been better off for it.
3:49
“Sunny!” Izzy said, or rather, screeched.
Sunny's eyes shot open and she stumbled backward. Cups and mixers and fruits clattered and splattered.
Pipp landed on the counter with a rush of lavender perfume. “Can you do us a little favor?”
“Yeah,” Izzy said. “We need thirty—no—forty smoothies for the art show.”
“Slow down everypony,” Sunny said. “I missed you all day.”
“Sorry.” Pipp stretched her haunches out. “We had to stay and get it done in time.”
“Yeah,” Izzy said.
“Even Hitch flaked,” Sunny said. “He said he was helping Posey.”
“Oh, he is?” Pipp grit her teeth. “I did not know that.”
“Can you do it?” Izzy said.
“Of course! Sunny smiled at them for a bit, hoof held out. And blinked.
She leaned down behind the counter. Pipp was good for it. Izzy had been light at times, but between the two of them, a discount would let them work it out later on.
Banana puree, peach pulp, and sliced lemons. Juices waterfalled cup by cup as tang and ripeness began to fill the cart and wash over the street.
The tray was quickly lining up with smoothies. Izzy and Pipp turned toward each other. They ripped two up, jammed the straws into their mouths, sucked them down, crinkled them up, then took two more. Casually.
“You two sure are thirsty,” Sunny said. “We should start turning down our thermostats. I know it's cozy but overusing electricity puts a strain on our environment.”
4:06
Pipp's phone dinged. She looked down, then spat up banana froth. "Rufus dropped out—they're already starting the last presentation!"
“Got it!” Sunny’s sweat dripped cool, winter vigor on her smile. “You two take these. I've got the rest.” It was only through the rush of adrenaline that she realized her friends had come back and she was finally ready for her day to begin.
* * *
Sunny skated into the foyer of the museum, smoothie carriage in tow. There were no mistakes to be made from stopping short, only ones to be made from stopping at all.
The doors clicked shut behind Sunny and the chill of winter dissipated into a sweltering heat. The clop of her hooves echoed through the spacious atrium. She slowly approached the crowd of ponies who were all turned toward a familiar face.
“I want to thank Sunny Starscout for sponsoring my presentation today.” Posey's voice rang tinny through the speakers. “Go and get your free smoothie!” Posey pointed toward her.
The paintings on the walls began to shake under a sudden clattering of hooves. There were name tags plastered under each painting, unglued sides curled up on end like separated butterfly wings. Sunny unclasped her carriage and backed away. The crowd swarmed, Hitch’s wild sweat leading the charge.
Sunny's ears rang as Hitch ripped out one of the cups, the needles of his mane blurring as she looked past him to the towering structure that lay behind Posey. It was covered in a tarp that hid its true form.
“Thank hoofness.” Hitch gulped down the smoothie. “Posey ‘borrowed’ my Authority. Like, how do you borrow a drink?”
“Surprise.” Zipp landed in front of them. Marathon sweat joined Hitch's day shift. “Posey snuck into the Brighthouse this morning. She said she was so inspired that she had to make her vision into a reality.”
“I can't believe it.” Sunny dared a quick glance at Posey but was immediately drawn back to the tarp-covered monster.
“I can,” Hitch said, quickly peeking back at the covered structure behind Posey. “Carrying that thing was a job and a half.”
“Shh. She's not supposed to know anything.” Zipp said.
“I don't even know anything,” Hitch shook his head as he looked at the empty smoothie cups and discarded straws that now littered the floor.
“I'm just glad that Posey's not the type to share the glory,” Zipp said. “I don't really want my name on that thing.”
“Where's Izzy and Pipp?” Sunny scanned the crowd, her search baring nothing as the crowd turn to face Posey.
“Oh, right.” Zipp pulled Pipp's phone out of her saddlebag. She raised it high and swept it in front of her. The screen blinked live.
There was a green unicorn with a puffy, curly mane that sat off to the side of the presentation area. Sunny recalled his name as Dapple, Onyx’s usual stage partner. A painting was affixed above him, a recent addition to the museum. It was large and amateur—a still life depicting a dark vase splattered with purple ink. He slid a pair of bongos in from his side and began to strum. The lights dimmed and a spotlight buzzed on, illuminating Posey in its glow.
“For millennia,” Posey began and the drums picked up, “there have been ponies who knew.”
That was the cue. Pipp's hind legs jittered, tensed, then flared to life. She popped through the crowd, her jaw clenched shut with a drawstring bag dangling from her mouth. She glanced at Posey and then at their tarp-covered creation in the shadows. It wasn't that she was nervous—she was never nervous, but it wasn't the type of part she was used to.
She approached Posey, her wings slicing the edge of the spotlight as she circled around, body dimmed by the shadows. She disappeared around the back, slipping under the tarp.
Pipp placed the bag down in the darkness. With a tap, her backup phone lit up. She was glad the Pippsqueeks had stuck around even if sleepy emojis filled the screen. When Posey had proposed the idea, she said yes—of course. And of course, she had to stream it.
She took in a breath, leaned down, then loosened the drawstrings of the bag. She grinned—part tense, part toothy. A performance with a bit of edge. Her heartbeat synced to the rhythm of the drums clamoring down. The tarp felt so thin—exposed. Whispers of ponies passed through as she positioned herself and counted down. Three... Two... Her muscles tensed and constricted. Her breaths were short. Don't freak out.
Again.
Three. Two. And one. Pipp finally felt herself relax—but she was merely the teaser. Ponies in the crowd watched the still tarp with hooves to their ears as the drums grew louder.
“Do you hear that?” Posey swiped her hoof in front of her. “That's the sound of anger, the sound of distrust drowning out what we need to hear.”
Sunny's eyes were fixed above Dapple, lost in the painting. Its frame was exquisite and thick, even heavier than the vase that it depicted. With each blast of the drum, she watched it shake and shimmy forward.
“But it is happening, everypony. Though you can't hear it—it is happening.”
Pipp emerged back from under the tarp, bag dangling from her mouth once again. She mirrored her entrance ritual, leaned into the spotlight, and placed it down on Posey's right. The bag had been drawn taut and was now bursting with cylindrical contour.
“But it’s not too late.”
Izzy circled in, horn glowing. Every fiber of the bag lit up. It levitated off the ground and into her magic grasp.
“For today we will listen.”
Listen. Onyx's voice echoed from the crowd.
For Izzy, putting away her own idea to help a friend was no problem. A friend. Aww, she was happy that Posey was her friend. Posey wasn't so bad. Everypony got upset sometimes. She was determined to help give an honest apology for all of the yelly business. And what better way than to give everypony an endless art show? Unicycled joy from now until the sun exploded.
Be very careful. She only had to be told fifteen and three-quarter times. The bag was unstable in her magic; it swished and bobbed and had a funny smell. Pipp’s smell.
The dull illumination of her horn against their secret creation cast dark shadows under the tarp. She floated the bag downward and—Oh no. Wait. Just a glassy, knocky bump. It was safe. She let her magic grasp fade.
New problem. It was super dark in there! She had forgotten her flashlight—well, nopony had told her to bring a flashlight. And she had left her phone in Posey's trash can.
Oh well. The show must go on.
Izzy giggled as she loosened the bag, but she had to stop! The whole presentation rested on her not laughing. But it was too much—she put her hoof to her mouth. How did Posey come up with something so unbelizzable? Sure, she had seen Posey mad before but it was only today that she realized that Posey was a mad genius.
“It's starting. It's starting,” Posey said. “Quiet.”
The bongos cut. Sunny tilted her head and sifted through the tapering laughter.
Silence. The once-alive painting above Dapple had stilled. Sunny’s chest heaved, desperate for the beat to continue. There was comfort in its rhythm, in knowing the nail still held. But quiet was uncertain. She could see spots in her vision—dark shapes that crawled across the vase as if it was trying to break free of its painted form.
Each pony in the audience had their heads turned, ears twitching away, interested in what could be happening with Izzy under the tarp. Hitch's front hooves moved close together as he tilted his head, clueless.
Sunny’s heart chugged as it sounded out from beneath the tarp—the liquid slosh of smoothie meeting cup, though she knew it wasn’t that. There was a part of her that still clung to faith, that under the tarp was just the fountain—Izzy's silly and creative pride. They had all gotten together and figured it out this morning. She listened as the steady sound of Izzy's smoothie fill-up faltered then ended in one final burst of juice. She tried to convince herself that it had just been the fountain's test run. Unverse power from another dimension. It would blow everypony away. But the honest part of her knew, what lay under the tarp was no longer Izzy's fountain.
Izzy returned, breaking back into the spotlight with her tongue hanging out as the bag levitated beside her.
Posey turned toward Dapple and nodded. He slammed down onto the drums with his hooves and Sunny watched bits of drywall fall from above, peppering his mane. The nail holding the painting had slipped further. It buckled under its weight; creaked then sobbed.
“But to listen is not enough.” Posey reached out and plucked the bag out of Izzy’s magic aura. She recoiled back then let out a raspy whisper as Izzy turned away, “Ew, you got some on the bag!”
Posey took a deep breath. “When a pony spoke, we weren't there to listen. When we listened, we did not act.” Posey placed the bag down in front of her.
“She's really going to do it,” Pipp whispered as she slipped between Sunny and Zipp. She took her phone back, then focused it on Posey.
Sunny watched as Posey loosened the drawstring and unfurled the top. Hitch's nostrils flared beside her. She smelled it too. It ruminated; flowery and sharp. The mouth of the jar had been exposed. There was no lid. Instead, the top was lined with a criss-cross of white wire.
The drumbeat had become deafening.
Posey reached behind her head and unclasped the green bow that held up her ponytail. It hit the ground and the skin around her eyes relaxed. The scowl on her face was gone. Her mane fell behind her shoulders—shampooed, pink, and beautiful.
That pony had done it all. Became an artist. Free verse. Activism. Friends. So much more than she could have ever dreamed even just yesterday, but Sunny could only see a dark vase blurred by tears.
Posey’s hoof slipped under her necklace. She lifted it over her head then let the clover and beads clatter to the floor. Posey turned her attention to her backside, to the bow that strangled the base of her tail. She ripped it off and salty sweat scattered from dock to floor.
Posey kicked the bow into the audience's cheers, her fur glistening in the spotlight. Her body jittered as she turned around, her backside facing the crowd. The drum beat slowed. Posey felt so naked. She was naked.
As Posey lowered her hindquarters over the mouth of the glass and pulled her tail aside, a blend of anxiousness and anticipation prompted something far too lascivious to detail. Natural and involuntary, it had started as a feeling within her chest, warm and buzzing. It spread throughout Posey’s body and transformed into an outward display that left her steeped in embarrassment.
The effects cascaded to the crowd, stallions and mares alike. Pipp held in a breath, amber hearts racing across her screen. A colt struggled to lift his mother’s forehoof off his eyes. Even Hitch had succumbed.
But Sunny had not. Dapple started to beat the drum in a rising rhythm. Back and forth. It started softly but grew faster and faster until the sound started to violently shake the frame above him. He raised both hooves up high and Sunny shouted, "Wait!"
Bang.
On an unrelated note, have you ever taken half-cooked gelatin off the stove and then tried to pour it down the drain only to realize that it had already thickened and you'd need to turn on the faucet?
The drum beat walloped Posey’s bladder—really squeezed it. She sprayed pee, a blast of all-day fermented brew hissing out in front of the crowd. As goosebumps flourished down her back and tickled her neck, air was forced out of her nostrils and her lips parted into a satisfied sigh. Her feral fluids battered the side of the bag with a velvet sizzle, bubbling and foaming as it soaked in and around the fabric. She adjusted her aim. And missed. It hosed the floor, a slick yellow wash over polished marble.
The reek filled the atrium, the scent of ripe estrogen and swollen berries. Sunny choked as she met Posey’s gaze.
Posey’s eyes were plastered dry with a deep smile sent to her muse; tooth to lip, teasing with tongue. Her eyelid twitched as she squatted deeper and made her mark. She looked down to watch her stream clouding into Pipp and Izzy's voided smoothies then lifted her hind leg, body tingling as she revealed all and forced more into the jar; a power washer singing its giggling glassy song. Her eyes rolled back with her jaw agape—The most satisfying piss of her life.
She reached down, slipped off the concealing bag, then raised the jar high. Princess Celestia, anointed and reborn. Particulates from her hours-old coat of paint mixed into the solution while the pink and aquamarine mane warbled within with distorted majesty. The union of urine and paint beaded around the jar’s threads, dribbled down, then baptized Posey’s snout. She let out a grateful whinny and the drum beat picked up once again.
Sunny stood frozen, boiled in sweat.
“Drown!” Posey’s lungs shook. “Drown!”
The atrium had become asphyxiated by melded scent.
“There was once a time when I looked up to the princess—no, the empress. I wanted to be her, rule with an iron hoof with all of ponykind beneath me. Especially the pegasi and unicorns. I wanted their wings clipped and their horns shackled. But it was a dream built by nothing but fear. Fear of myself, of not being good enough, and of being outdone by everypony.”
Zipp and Izzy looked at each other. They trotted around Posey, avoiding the puddles before reaching the covered structure.
“You may think that when Sunny Starscout brought the world together that division had ended and hatred was over. No. It is up to everypony. Everypony must work together to let go of fear.”
Zipp and Pipp tugged at the tarp together and it fell to the floor.
“Today I sang my verses. But there was a time when I had none to give.”
The structure was revealed. Polished, buffered, and clean—Izzy's junk sculpture had been transformed into a lotus tree dotted with pink and yellow flowers around its branches.
Posey raised her hoof. “This is the Fountain of the Unversed.” She turned back to the crowd. “It is not a fountain in the ordinary sense. A friend would say it runs unverse.”
Each branch of the tree varied in thickness and material. Welded metal tubes, plastic plumbing, and even see-through glass twisted in wild paths that reached up to the sturdy platform above. It was a smooth surface covered in cratered indentations that fed into the hollow branches beneath. On each side of the platform were sloped pathways that led up to the top. A colossal print was pasted behind it with rolling hills and posies as far as anypony could see.
“I invite everypony to let go of their trepidation. Let it become your verse.”
Posey took the jar. Her hooves clattered on the holey grates as she approached. She placed it just below the tap that protruded from the bottom of the tree.
“Like a layer of paint on a statue, our distrust coats us. But it can be removed. With everypony’s help, one day the paint shall fade and so will our fear of ourselves.”
The audience stomped their hooves in applause. The lights came back on as the spotlight faded. The crowd erupted into chatter as three Pippsqueaks ran to the entrance of the slope.
Posey made her way over to Sunny and the group. “How was I?”
“Weird—definitely, weird,” Hitch said. “But you do you, Posey. As long as it's legal—actually I'll check up on that.”
“It's not my thing,” Zipp said. “But flying in that backdrop was worth it.”
“Why don't you get in line?” Posey said. “Looks like it's getting pretty crowded up there.”
“Er,” Hitch said.
“Fine.” Zipp nudged Hitch.
“I’m still shaking. Did I really do that?” Posey said.
“You really did it,” Sunny said.
“The Pippsqueaks totally want an interview.” Pipp pulled her phone up as she guided Posey to stand in front of a giant Let There Be Art poster. Izzy jumped into frame, knocking Posey over as she tackled her with glee.
The first offering began from above. Yellow glory hissed down the branches and combined in the trunk. The spout gurgled and fizzed then spat peach water; a river answering the call of the conch. The jar accepted and the figurine’s painted pores were washed in the undertow. Excess spilled over the sides, swallowed by the drain.
The line whittled down. Three dozen anxieties, uneases, and apprehensions had been prepped, processed, and juiced into durian musk that left the princess’s wooden body tingling.
Zipp and Hitch returned their drinks together. When they rejoined the group, Izzy and Pipp smiled at Sunny. Pipp's phone blinked red, pointing directly at her.
Sunny hesitated at the ramp then climbed upward, hooves popping puddles along the way. She reached the platform and stared down below. She turned to the right and Posey looked up at her—Dapple had left his post. The painting held on, a nail mounted to fear.
She positioned herself over an indentation, flicked up her tail, and began to pee.
* * *
No Solicitors. Sunny lay still on the porch. Posey was in there. Ignoring her. Punishing her.
“Sunny?” Posey's voice appeared from behind.
Sunny turned around.
“I was thinking about taking down that sign, but if you're going to bother me every day...” Posey said.
“Sunny's not a bother,” Windy said. “She's the alicorn!”
“Hi, Windy,” Sunny said. “Posey, I need to talk to you. Alone.”
“Windy was telling me all about flight assurance. We're about to settle in for tea and work on the details.”
“No,” Sunny said. “Posey, I need to talk to you.” She glared.
“You should join us. Pegasi need all the help they can get,” Posey said.
“Yeah, come with us,” Windy said.
“I'm not a pegasus, I don’t need insurance.”—Sunny cackled and widened her eyes—“I have wings on occasion but I don't think I'm going to hurt anypony with them.”
“Did you know—” Windy started.
“Or maybe, I will.” Sunny's eyes bore out at the frail pegasus.
“Sunny,” Posey said, “you of all ponies should know that the pegasi who have settled down in Maretime Bay don't have easy access to the new Zephyr Heights flight schools.”
“Let me check my bag.” Sunny flailed her coin purse soundlessly. “Oh. It seems I don't care about the pegasi at this moment in time.” She let the pouch fall to the dirt. Sunny liked the drawstring it had, funny little invention.
Windy backstepped.
“Flight assurance will help everypony stay safe.” Posey said, “I've already decided that I'm going to sponsor Fifi—a big sponsor.” Posey put her hoof to the doorknob. “Come inside, let's have tea.”
Good idea. Really good idea. Sunny would go inside.
Windy looked behind her, then to Posey. She backed up and Posey waved again. She put one hoof in behind the other, inching back like a winding spring until the fear gave way and she shot inside.
“After you, Posey.” Sunny flicked her hoof out and took hold at the bottom of the door.
“Alright, I'll get the tea going.” Posey trotted in.
Sunny closed the door. Gently. Sweetly. What a nice home. There's a bowling ball. And a chisel. Oh, and a Zen garden—with a savory rock in the center. How lovely.
She reached out, tilling clumps through the spiral pattern in the sand. She could hear Windy whispering in the kitchen.
Oh, Windy. Why are you here?
It was morning and the curtains were wide open, sun rays beaming in. They were made of such high-quality fabric and so malleable. A pony could do anything with curtains. Pull them taught. Tie them in a knot. Or just slide them shut, which Sunny eagerly did.
She heard Posey's hoofsteps echoing close around the corner. As Sunny passed into the kitchen, Posey set the teacups down on the table.
“Oh, Sunny—” Posey slipped away, trotting to another room.
Sunny reached the table, settling down next to Windy. Steam billowed out of the three teacups. Boiling hot.
But it was still too far too bright and cheery in Posey’s cozy little house.
She turned toward the kitchen window, admiring the curtains until something else caught her eye. It was propped up on a wooden shelf directly above Windy—a heavy dark vase.
Her temple crackled as she reached up and turned it, revealing its design. Purple splotches and a crescent moon. Her hoof was now covered in taint. Its power slipped under her skin, coursed through her body, and burned at her sides until moonbeams were fogging Windy in her vision. Relief spread over her face as she closed her eyes and pushed.
It hit the table with a little wooden clack.
Posey lifted her hoof off from where she had placed it—the unpainted figurine still flowed with regality. “I made sure Izzy was careful when she made ours. Maybe when I get better at it, we could paint your dad's together?”
