Muffins, Sand, and Doubles
Muffins, Sand and Doubles
By Silvertie
"Mummy," Dinky Doo said pleadingly, drumming her hooves impatiently on the dinner table, "I want to go to the Sisterhooves Social!"
"Mummy's told you, muffin," Ditzy Doo replied from her position half-way inside the kitchen oven, voice muffled by the oven mitt in her mouth, "the Social is for sisters - you don't have a sister."
"Can't you pretend to be my sister? Or fib, and say somepony else is my sister?"
"Um, muffin, I don't know anypony who looks like they could be your si-"
*The Black Book*
What? Ditzy almost dropped the tray of muffins she was holding in suprise.
*Black Book*
Odd. Ditzy had been hearing the odd voice in her head off and on, ever since she came to Ponyville - after consulting the local library and doctors in between mail delivery routes and minding Dinky, she'd come to the conclusion that it was just a typical side effect of that huge concussion she got a few years back.
The voice hadn't always made sense - sometimes, it was a mare, others, a stallion; Always, she only caught what seemed like half a conversation.
Today, the voice had piped up again, with a pertinent phrase - she did have a little black book; it had been one of a few things she'd brought back to Ponyville with her after moving back home from Canterlot. Strangely, it had been hidden in her favorite book, The Fifth Board.
Why had it been put there? Had she put it there?
She put the tray of muffins on the bench to cool, and closed the oven.
"But Muuuuuum~," Dinky persisted, throwing an adorable sulk into the mix, "'really wanna go..."
"Look, muffin," Ditzy said, fixing her daughter with half a look (Her other eye, as usual, roved with a will of its own), "Mummy will think about it, okay? Now, you go play while these muffins cool down."
"'kay," grumbled Dinky, giving up the struggle and wandering outside. Mummy was forgetful, and 'I'll think about it' usually turned into a 'Why didn't you ask earlier?' – in other words, she wasn’t going to go.
Being sisterless sucked.
======
"The Black Book! The Black Book!" a mare's voice rang out of the ether.
"Why are you shouting?" responded a male voice with a thick, mixed accent.
"Black Book!" repeated the mare's voice, ignoring the male.
The male sighed. "Bright. Why are you shouting?"
"Because," Bright Eyes responded, "Dinky needs somepony to be her sister for the Sisterhooves Social, and I know a pony that could help - but his name's in the Black Book!"
"Sisterhooves Social?" the male repeated, disbelieving. "It sounds beyond stupid."
“It’s a Ponyville tradition,” explained Bright, “Sisters team up in groups of two and compete in a series of contests.”
“Ah, training combat teams in the guise of family bonding – I see how it works.”
“…no, the contests are things like pie-eating, egg-carrying, mud-pit-not-falling-in, that sort of thing.”
The male sighed. “I retract any positive comments I might have made about it – it’s still really stupid.”
======
Ditzy screwed up her face in determination. She wasn’t going to forget this, and do something else. No. She was going to find the black book, and satisfy the voices in her head.
She wasn’t stupid; she was well aware of the dangers of listening to inner voices, but just this once couldn’t possibly hurt. After all, it was just a book.
The question was - where did she leave it? She turned around, scanning her room with her one good eye. The other one was, as usual, being useless and disobeying her. She knew she put it down somewhere, but couldn’t… quite… remember.
Dinky. Dinky would know – she might be just a foal, but she was a real chip off of somepony’s block – must have gotten it from her father, whoever he was. She always forgot things, and Dinky would know where to look.
“Dinky! Muffin!”
======
Dinky looked up from her sandcastle, and sighed. Mummy was calling, probably to ask her to help look for something. She didn’t really mind, but…
The foal looked at her sand castle – it only had three walls, and half of the central block-house. The masonry was sub-par and the turrets hadn’t even been completed – it wouldn’t survive the afternoon, and she’d need all that time if she wanted to finally get a keep built.
She ran inside, vowing to make this quick. Castle Dinky would get its keep today, on her oath. Sitting inside, at the dinner table, her mummy sat, playing with a muffin, and an identical one sitting opposite her.
Well, Dinky supposed she could spare ten minutes to eat a muffin. If you had no time for muffins, you might as well be dead.
“Yes, mummy?”
“Oh, there you are, muffin. I have a muffin for you, and a small job.”
Oh great, there she goes – the muffin was the bait. Dinky kicked herself mentally, and kept the grin plastered on her face. “What’s that?”
“Mummy’s misplaced that funny little black book of hers,” informed the elder Doo, “But she’s forgotten it somewhere. Do you remember where I left it?”
Dinky wracked her brain – she knew the book in question, it was pretty distinctive. Her mummy had been surprised to find the inside of The Fifth Board hollowed out and used as storage space for such an innocuous item. Dinky had been dying to get into it and crack the code it apparently used – surely it was important, probably a treasure map. But no, muffins, castles and a small case of chaos being unleashed over Equestria had interfered.
Like she always said: If you got no time for muffins, you got no time for life.
Hmm. Where had mummy left the book? Couch? No. Lampshade?
Dinky tilted her head back, and checked – sitting on the wall, the lampshade hung, whole and unfettered with black books. Nope.
Double hmm – it was like those picture books she had, Where’s Waldo Arm? Only, there was no red and white pony to find, just a black book. The answer was before her, she was sure of it. Just like Waldo Arm, the answer appeared before her, and she wondered why she hadn’t spotted it sooner.
“The Narrator’s building up tension!” responded Pinkie Pie from a convenient window, sticking her pink, party-pony nose into things that didn’t concern her.
“You can’t silence the truth!” she shouted back, aggressively, “The Narrator is a dithering hack!”
She was right – the truth couldn’t be silenced. But it could be ignored completely out of hand… or hoof, rather.
“How can you ignore this?!” shouted back Pinkie, waving her hooves about.
The answer was simple; two ponies not exactly known for their ability to split attention were thoroughly engrossed in the black book, which had been discovered in its role as a muffin-plate-not-denting-the-table-mat.
“Ooh…” growled Pinkie, glaring into space where there shouldn’t be any space, “You’ll get yours,” she vowed, drawing a line between her eyes and a non-existant Narrator with a hoof.
The gesture lost a lot in translation – not having claws or fingers made the gesture relatively pointless. Taking on the writer of a story, as part of the story itself, while he’s writing it, makes combat considerably one-sided.
Giving up, Pinkie Pie retreated from the scene in a huff, leaving the Narrator to focus on the Doos and their little black book.
======
Ditzy looked at the squiggles and marks on the page. It was writing, and it was Equestrian, but it made no sense.
“Lantern Hang Shade Quiche?” she read out loud, perplexed.
Next to her, Dinky was glaring at the page like it had been Doom Lord Tyranitar Rex, the monster that destroyed her sandcastle two days ago. (It wasn’t really; books couldn’t be small foals with big shovels, an obsession with perfect frescoes, and a short temper when it came to sandcraft.)
The page had repeating patterns; if you swapped certain letters out, and used every other synonym…
She’d need a bit of paper for this.
======
“Look at her go, I’m honestly impressed. Looks like this world produced something useful after all. I’ve broken more complicated codes, but never this fast and not with so little.”
Bright spluttered. “That’s the highest cipher of Equestrian Intelligence Bureau Encryption! Or it was when I stopped being Head of Security, anyway. It should be virtually unreadable to the average pony!”
“And yet, here we are, watching a foal break it in ten seconds flat, with a crayon and an old coloring-in sheet.”
“She’ll never get the Maginot Connection part of the cipher – and without that, the book’s useless.”
“The one she’s breaking by color-coding every… sixteenth consonant?”
“… Donk,” bemoaned Bright, “who did you fuck to get a foal like this?”
======
Dinky sat back, panting a little. Nothing satisfied like a puzzle solved.
On the back of the old coloring in sheet, a page of writing filled the available space, corrections made to the original black text in blue and red, and liberal interpretations of base-sixteen mathematics noted down in orange.
The results had been output to a second coloring-in page, Captain Puppysmiles’ yellow space-suit proving no visual obstacle to the purple text. Dinky was, ultimately, satisfied – puzzle was broken, she’d used purple (A color she almost never got to use unless she repeatedly sketched motion-art of the town librarian, and she wasn’t going to do that because of the field-day it would cause psychologists) and the muffin had been devoured in her haste.
Back to sandcastles - she excused herself, and like a small pale purple rocket, left the house to finish her sand-castle.
Ditzy just looked at the completed page, numbly. Dinky really was a clever pony, and so nice to her mother…
She read the page. It was a list of addresses, with verbatim margin-notes from the book. Comments like “moves every six months”, and “Check with Fink Rat for exact details”.
In short, a very detailed delivery roster; being a mail-mare, she was well acquainted with the things, and loved them dearly – it was hard to forget what you were doing when you had a checklist in front of you.
But what did it have to do with finding Dinky a substitute sister?
“Well, duh, one of the ponies on that list must be a substitute-sister-finder!” Pinkie Pie chimed in from the window, once again. If she didn’t take care with where she showed up, it was entirely possible that accidents could happen, a la Saw.
“Oh, stick a sock in it,” retorted Pinkie, “Can’t I do my job?”
The validity of such a statement was questionable – what business did Pinkie have in Ditzy Doo’s house?
“Muffin Delivery!” Pinkie extended a hoof through the window, revealing a tidy, plaid-covered basket of warm muffins.
“Oh, thank you, Pinkie!” Ditzy said, cheerfully accepting the muffins, “I’ve been waiting for these.”
She took one out of the basket, and checked a small label – Sugarcube Corner, 1769AP – a premium vintage. Ditzy took a gentle nibble – one might scarf back lesser muffins, but rarity was to be enjoyed… sensually.
======
Rarity looked up from her dress, bothered by something.
“What’s wrong, Rarity?” Fluttershy asked quietly, remaining stock-still as Rarity continued to pin the dress with a haze of glowing pins, despite her distracted state.
“Uh, you wouldn’t understand,” Rarity said, “I just had the feeling that hundreds of minds suddenly thought about something… uncouth… involving myself.”
“Was it… a wet mane?”
“No, it was – wait, Fluttershy – where did you get an idea like that?”
“Oh. Um. It’s nothingpleasedropitandcontinuewiththedresseep-“
======
Back at Ditzy’s house, the muffin-delivery-pony had left, leaving Ditzy to pore over the address list with a vintage muffin cradled in hoof.
Taking a delicate nibble, Ditzy savored the aroma and taste as she pondered Pinkie’s advice, which had been border-line cheating, cutting out a good twelve percent of the story’s expository dialogue.
A pony good at finding lookalikes… she examined the names of the ponies in more detail. Most of the ponies had obviously fake names and pseudonyms. Icy Weiner, Agent Posh Leggings, Captain-Adjutant “Rock-Legs” Sagan… Finder.
Finder? She looked at the entry in more detail. A unicorn that, if the margin notes were to be believed, was exceptional at finding body-doubles and look-alikes. And if he couldn’t find a double, he’d make one with an illusion.
Problem: he lived in Canterlot. Either Ditzy could take Dinky with her, and use Mr. Turkwise’s carriage service again, or find someone to mind Dinky for a little while.
One pony came to mind – had a sort-of-foal of her own, wasn’t an idiot, and Ditzy could broach the topic while discussing the latest issue of Checklists Monthly.
Library time.
======
“Hi, Dinky,” Spike said, by way of greeting, “Twi’ said you’d be hanging out here for a bit, and asked me to see what you’re doing. What are you doing, by the way?”
“Sand castle,” replied the foal unicorn, sculpting the dry medium with tender care, “Try not to breathe, please.”
“Oh, okay.” Spike stepped back a bit, and the baby dragon’s jaw dropped as he realized the scale and scope of the structure in front of him. “That’s… impressive.”
“It is… but it’ll be gone tomorrow,” Dinky said, with regret, “Sand-based fortifications don’t stack well against wind.”
“Well,” Spike said, looking around for Twilight, “I could always breathe a little fire on it, if you really want. Did you know sand turns to glass when you burn it lots?”
“Really?!” Dinky’s eyes lit up, and possibilities for glass-based structures whizzed through her head. Forget castles; with glass framework, she could do so much more. Talk Spike into heating up some basalt, and maybe some more iron-rich dirt, and…
“Yeah, sure,” Spike said, missing the plans unfolding in the eyes of the unicorn before him, “But you don’t tell Twilight I was playing with fire, okay? She’ll skin us both alive if she finds out.”
Dinky drew a hoof across her mouth, zipping it closed and dropping the key into a handy hole, burying it. She didn’t need to speak to create architectural art.
======
Ditzy looked at the door in front of her, and double-checked the address. Yup – this was Finder’s house, in Canterlot. Rain, hail or shine – you couldn’t beat the Royal Equestrian Mail Delivery Service.
A small, sturdy apartment in a more affluent region of Canterlot. It was a nice enough neighborhood, but the door itself looked very sturdy, and even had a small metal-covered slit – Finder must be really tall, to have a mail slot that high up.
Ditzy checked her saddle-bags – as advised by the black book, a photo of Dinky Doo, and three thousand bits in unmarked, used coins. With a confident rap, she banged on the door with a hoof.
Just like delivering the mail, she told herself, just like delivering the mail.
“Who’s there?” A voice called out from inside, “Celestia-damn you, answer me!”
“Uh, Ditzy Doo?” the mail-mare replied, uncertainly.
“Ditzy Doo… stay right there.” With a loud FLACK, a small metal shutter was slid aside in the metal slit, revealing a very not-tall set of eyes, which widened in surprise. “Well, buck my turkey and call me a hat, if it isn’t one of my favorite customers – come in, come in.”
With a loud CLUNK, a cross-bar was removed, and the door swung open, revealing a rather dark house – not being one to refuse invitations, Ditzy stepped in, cheerfully admiring the décor.
Ditzy was not good at recognizing the line between “artistic décor” and “genuine mess”. The house had all its windows closed, lights were few and far between, and the floor itself, while not completely coated in old wrappers and doughnut boxes, only had free space where it looked like ponies walked frequently.
The door closed gently behind her, plunging her into half-light, and she looked at who had closed the door – a coal-grey unicorn with a vibrant-green mane stood there, smiling at her.
“It’s been too long… Ditzy Doo? Is that your cover name? Are you undercover or something?”
“Uh, n-“ Ditzy began, as she sat down on a mostly empty chair.
“Ah, never mind,” dismissed Finder cheerfully, rambling on like a freight train with no brakes into an open-plan kitchen, “You want a muffin? I know you like muffins; just got a batch from Fleur, remember her, right? Here, chocolate chip – no vintage, sadly, but they’re still good.”
Ditzy accepted the proffered food, and took a bite – she fired said bite out as carefully as she could at the nearest pile of rubbish, tongue hanging out in disgust. Finder frowned, and after taking a quick sniff of his own, retched.
“Ah, perhaps they’re a little off… sometimes I lose track of time in here,” admitted Finder, before rounding on Ditzy, “But not you – I know I haven’t seen you for a couple of years. What’s happened? Word was, that you died or something. Certainly stopped being a guard.”
“Uh, I live in Ponyville now, and I-“
“Ah, ah,” Finder cut Ditzy off, “Say no more, I know the rest. You can’t tell me because it’s a top-secret mission, yadda yadda – must be some seriously deep cover for the mission to take a couple of years. But you’re here now, so I’m guessing you wanna talk shop – I hear your bags, they go jingle-jangle as you canter merrily along.”
“That’s right,” Ditzy said, relieved for a break in Finder’s rant, jiggling her bags a little, “You find body doubles and stuff, right?”
“Eeyup,” Finder replied, flopping down into a handy hoof-chair, “That’s still my bread and butter. Who needs a double?”
“I, uh, don’t need a double; I need a look-alike, someone to pretend they’re related.”
“Ah, I get you. Playing the long-lost-relative card, right? Who’s the target?”
Ditzy handed over Dinky’s picture, and Finder took it with a magical glow, rubbing his chin.
“Bit young, isn’t she?”
“She’s my daughter.”
“Ah, I get it – part of the cover, you need another…”
“Daughter – she needs a sister for the Sisterhooves Social in Ponyville.”
“Hmm, a social event…” Finder picked up a short check-list and began crossing out names. “Any combat or anything expected?”
“Oh, no,” Ditzy said, mortified, “No fighting, certainly not. Although… there will probably be mud.”
“Aaaand they’re all gone, and she won’t have anything to do with Ponyville after she got run out of there, and… yes, she might… he can’t, he’s busy dealing with… no.” Finder muttered to himself, nodding and frowning. “Yes, I think it could be done. Doesn’t have to look exactly like the filly, right?”
“Not really, it just has to be believable.”
“Great. I think we’re all set – all I need is my fee, and I can get started.”
“Oh, that.” Ditzy reached around to her saddle-bags and fished out the bits. Celestia alone knew why she received them out of the blue – every week, right after her pay for being a mail-mare arrived, she got another bag of bits, with no notes or anything. Not terribly sure what to do with them, and uncomfortable with having what might be somepony else’s bits, she just put them in a box under her bed.
This sack was just six week’s worth of the bits; whoever they belonged to, she was sure they wouldn’t miss it. In any case, she didn’t know what she was going to do with next week’s bag – the under-bed space was pretty much packed out, she’d had to use a cupboard last week.
Finder took the bag, and gave it a quick search. “Aw, yes. You know how I like my money, Miss Doo. I wish everypony paid like you did – I’ll get started. When did you want the lookalike to show up?”
“Oh, a few weeks from now – I think the social happens on the 28th.”
“Right, 28th… expect a house-guest on the 27th, she probably won’t be much bother; she’ll just get to know the mark and the town, and she’ll be all over it.”
“Is that it?”
“That’s it!” Finder declared, “Although, seeing as you’re here… I don’t suppose you’d be keen for some side-work in Cloudsdale? Not hard, nopony will know it’s you, it won’t take long, I just need somepony to carry a message…”
Ditzy thought about that – her main concern was that she’d be lumping Twilight Sparkle with Dinky for too long. But if it wouldn’t take that long…
“What is it?”
======
“Whew…” Dinky wiped her brow with the back of her hoof as she sat down at the dinner table for lunch break – building construction was hard work when it wasn’t just sand. A slight error in calculating pony-power.
“You okay, Dinky?” Spike asked, concerned. He had it relatively easy – all he had to do was blow fire where indicated, long and hard enough to fuse the sand into glass.
“Yes, just a little pooped,” assured Dinky, nodding as she took a bite of a lunch-muffin, “Building buildings on your own is hard, I might need to find some help.”
The door to Ditzy’s house slammed open with a CRASH, to reveal three foals standing there, proudly.
“Did somebody say, help?” Sweetie Belle stated.
“’cause we’re totally awesome at helping,” Scootaloo added.
“She’s a pretty big job,” Applebloom remarked, referring to the ongoing “sand castle”, “y’all look like you need some help.”
“Besides,” Sweetie Belle said, “we could get our cutie marks for this!”
Dinky was flabbergasted, and Spike was concerned. The Cutie Mark Crusaders – a blessing and a curse in equal measures.
Dinky regained her composure, and smiled. “Sure, girls, if you don’t mind a little heavy lifting and payment in muffins.”
The CMC looked at each other, drawing deep breaths, and Spike put his claws in his ears.
“CUTIE MARK CRUSADER CONTRACTORS, HOORAY!”
======
Cloudsdale; the Pegasus capital of Equestria, for the sole reason that it was entirely built on, and mostly made out of clouds – a material that only Pegasi could walk on, normally. It then made sense that if you saw a Unicorn or an Earth Pony in Cloudsdale, it was a special day indeed.
Of course, being made of cloud meant that Ditzy’s usual wobbly descent was made a lot less painful – in Ponyville, there would be solid trees, impassable terrain and windows to obstruct her. Here, she simply had to not want to hit the clouds, and she passed right through. The ground cloud, however, she couldn’t do anything about, not if she wanted to stay in Cloudsdale. Besides, it was bad form to just fly through the ground at will.
With a soft *whump*, she hit the cloud, and after an impressive forward flip, landed right-way up – you could say a lot about Ditzy’s flying ability, but there was no arguing that she had gotten quite good at recovering from flubbed landings.
She got up, and straightened out her coat, looking about – the concourse had stopped briefly to watch her landing, but now that the show was over, everypony kept on about their business.
One pony in particular was doing their best to remain inconspicuous as possible, sitting with their back to a wall, a large-print edition of the Equestria Daily newspaper in front of their face.
It’s been said before, it’ll be said again; Unicorns in Cloudsdale can’t really do inconspicuous.
The newspaper, aglow with magical focus, lowered slightly, to reveal the face of a pale green unicorn with spectacles and a clearly fake moustache.
“Eagles fly south for the winter,” he said to Ditzy, without preamble.
======
“Oh bugger, it’s the pass-phrase,” Bright observed.
“He’s not a very good contact, is he? He seems like he’s been asking every pony which looks roughly like you the same pass-phrase.”
“Yeah, and I’m quite sure Ditzy… I… wasn’t really listening when Finder went over this bit. Or I’ve forgotten.”
“One thing I’ve noticed,” remarked the male, “You seem to have good fortune. Things work out, which is a godsend in what used to be my line of work.”
======
“Well, of course – it’s cold,” replied Ditzy, without hesitating.
“…uh… Eagles fly south for the winter,” repeated the Unicorn, confused.
“Because it’s cold,” persisted Ditzy – this Unicorn was strange.
======
“I knew your memory was shot, but surely this would jog something?”
“Blame yourself; you’re sitting on most of her- my short-term memory.”
======
“Eagles. Fly. South. For. The. Winter,” spelt out the Unicorn.
The combination of words finally sparked something in the mail-mare’s head, and she joined two-and-two together.
“Oh. OH! Uh,” Ditzy held up a hoof, in a gesture of ‘Hold on a tick, I’m trying to remember the correct response because my memory is not what it used to be’. “Eagles fly south… uh… Lizards shed skin in moonlight!”
The Unicorn breathed a sigh of relief. “Wow, your cover is impressive – Finder’s outdone himself, and found me a real method actor. Agent Long Walks, good to meet you.”
“Pleased to meet you, too!” Ditzy held out a hoof, and Walks shook it.
“Yeah, okay – so you know what you’re doing, or did Finder just send you up here?”
“Uh, the last one.”
“Right, follow me – back here.” Walks waved a hoof, and lured Ditzy into a fluffy alley-way between two buildings, where he folded up his newspaper, and put it on the ground. Lacking the enchantments to remain on the clouds like its owner, the paper fell through, leaving a temporary hole through which the two could watch the newspaper fall to earth.
“Uh…” Ditzy began, but Walks held up a hoof.
“It’s alright – it happens a lot to me. Listen, we’re busting open a crime ring – but we need someone who isn’t with the Equestrian Intelligence Bureau to fill in for one of our moles. He… uh, hit a snag.”
“What kind of snag? Can’t he just un-snag himself?”
“Uh, it’s a more permanent snag – Short Pier has, regrettably, had a rather harsh encounter with the ground, he’s going to be out of action for a while. Which would normally be fine, only he was working multiple cases, and now this one, which is almost done, is about to go down the gurgler.”
“Oh.”
“So – you need to go to a meeting with this pony – keep him occupied, make small talk, stall; just keep him in the bar, until the Cloudsdale PD can get their hooves into gear and surround the place.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it – uh, if it gets rough, don’t be afraid to rough him up a little in return – as somepony who isn’t EIB, we can just say you were an innocent bystander, yeah? Act casual, we’ll lie and smooth things over and stuff.”
“What do I talk to him about?”
“Anything, everything – except the weather. Don’t talk weather with him; he’ll suspect you’re onto him and his weather-altering protection racket, and he’ll do to you what he did to Agent Beach.”
“What did he do to Agent Beach?”
“Well… uh, he took a violin, see, and – ooh, no time for this, he’s here!” Walks pointed over Ditzy’s shoulder, and at the building opposite.
Proudly displaying the words “Club Cloud Nine” in big block cloud-letters, there was little question to anypony about what the building was about. Standing in the doorway, mid-way past the bouncer, was a red Pegasus with a blue mane.
“Officer Lukewarm Fuzz,” breathed Walks, “Bribed and working for the Family – he’s the one Short Pier was supposed to meet up with – go to it, I’ll call it in.”
With that, he telekinetically pushed Ditzy out of the alleyway, and after reasserting herself after being so rudely pushed, Ditzy cantered up the steps, confidence bubbling in her mind. If Walks was confident she could do this, she was.
======
Diamond Edge was enjoying life as a Bouncer. For once, his size was an advantage (Unlike every other job Pegasi tended to find employment in) and, let’s face it, he got to eye up a lot of nice flank, and it was his job.
To his mind, the only better job would be working at Wingboner Magazine.
In his head, he chalked up another notch on the ‘Job Satisfaction’ track, as a particularly fine, grey mare wandered up the steps towards him, making for the door.
Outside his head, he kept up his staunch face, and stuck out a hoof, barring the entrance; she looked at him, and he shuddered – one eye was focused properly, the other wandered about on its own. He regained his composure, and shook his head.
“Sorry, ‘luv. Members or Invite only.”
“But…” spluttered the mare, “I have a meeting or something with Officer Fuzz,” she explained. Edge didn’t buy the name-drop.
“No exceptions,” Edge replied, noting that the mare seemed a bit too… derpy. She was either a mother, mentally disabled, or both – not ideal clientele, no matter how smoking her flank may or may not have been.
“Just this once?”
“No. Exceptions.”
Like lightning, the mare’s off-eye spun around, and fixed him in the eye – he couldn’t help but look straight at it, and as soon as he did…
LET US PASS, OR THERE WILL BE BLOOD – YOURS FIRST.
“Pretty please? With muffins on top?” spoke the mare, tilting her head in an approximation of a cute manner.
Edge was shaken to his core – he’d heard one voice, and felt another. What was up with this mare? He couldn’t break eye contact with the weird eye, either – what was going on?!
I HOPE YOU’RE NOT THINKING OF LETTING US PASS – I HAVEN’T KILLED IN SO LONG, I’M THINKING I MIGHT HAVE FORGOTTEN HOW.
“O-okay, you can pass, ma’am. S-stay safe.”
“Hooray! Thank you!”
======
Walks patted his pocket, and turned white – he pulled the item out, and looked at it.
Club Cloud Nine Membership Card
#28,423
Ah, perhaps he should have given this to that ma- oh, no, wait – would you look at that, she managed to talk her way past the bouncer, and – boy is he shaken.
That mare had some serious chops to intimidate a bouncer like that, that was for sure. He made a note to give Finder a tip.
======
“What the hell was that?” Bright demanded.
“A little… encouragement… on my part.”
“I didn’t know you could do that? How can you do that?”
“I can see the world through this one eye, and eye contact is contact enough for that little trick.”
“…you tell me next time you want to use that, alright? Or I start making efforts to convince myself that I should wear an eye-patch.”
There was a sense of ‘Go on’ in the ether.
“…it was pretty cool, I guess.”
======
Club Cloud Nine heaved with heavy bass and rippling techno beats in the semi-darkness – corruptions and perversions of everything from Jazz to Dubtrot thumped through the air, and over the packed dance-floor – despite being only five in the afternoon, Cloudsdale’s arrangement of night and evening shifts meant that there was always some ponies out partying for a few hours before they snatched some sleep and got back to work.
The Club itself was an engineering marvel – completely soundproof from the outside, and perpetual darkness – superdense clouds and thunder-buffers, all in one building.
Of course, all this was so much white noise to Ditzy, who, apart from grinning as she recognized some components of the current song, made her way to the bar. She was a mare on a mission, and – ooh, pretty drinks!
Sixteen bits later, she was entertaining a vibrant drink which looked not unlike Ponyville’s head of the weather team – six colors of the rainbow, all in one slim tumbler. The drink was practically drinking itself, dwindling into thinner and thinner layers as Ditzy watched it go, a shimmering haze above the drink. Very neat.
Oh, right – Mare, mission, meeting, right. She looked around, and rapidly spotted the stallion she was supposed to stall, sitting in a very plush booth. She made her way over, and plonked herself down next to the red stallion, blowing air out of the plush seating.
“This is a private booth,” he grunted.
“Mister Fuzz? I’m…” Ditzy almost forgot what her name was supposed to be for a moment – that would have been a right mess, alright – but continued. “I’m Short Pier.”
“You’re Short Pier?”
“Yup!”
“Short Pier was a Stallion, last I checked. And blue.”
“I’m in disguise, uh… the EIB’s onto me.”
“Damnit!” Fuzz slammed a hoof onto the table, causing his and Ditzy’s drink to jump a little – a small puff of rainbow mist floated out of her drink, causing her to clop her hooves in appreciation. “Looks like I have to go, then, step up the pace of our final plan.”
“Uh, you can’t!” Ditzy blurted out, and Fuzz looked at her.
“Why?”
“Um… you haven’t finished your drink!”
“Leave it – it’s nothing.”
“There’s a fight outside!”
“Doesn’t worry me.”
“That Bouncer is really aggressive today!”
“I can take him – I’m an officer of the CDPD, he’s just a bouncer.”
Ditzy was running out of excuses – she couldn’t mess this up, Walks and Finder had so much faith in her…
“There’s a plot to kill you!”
This got Fuzz’s attention.
“Yeah… uh…” Ditzy cast her mind back to the thrillers she’d read – stories about ponies with hoods and cloaks stabbing each other and stuff. “There’s an… assassin, and he’s… waiting for you outside, so you totally shouldn’t leave just yet.”
Ditzy prayed to Celestia that her story would be brought by Fuzz.
======
Celestia was ears-deep in, let’s be honest, boring discussion about the budget – yes, she had several un-filtered lines of credit constantly draining bits from the treasury, but if Luna didn’t have a problem with it, then that was that – she was the Princess, and only her sister could gainsay her.
Even so immersed in discussion about “critical mass” and “Economic failure in six”, her ears twitched as yet another prayer reached her ears. One of the ‘Perks’ of being a god – you knew when someone was really in trouble.
She ignored it, as usual, and let her sub-conscious handle the prayer. If it was important enough, she’d see it. Otherwise, she’d unknowingly shift some bits around, or pull some strings in reply.
This was probably exactly why said lines of credit were running at almost full capacity.
Primary – it’s Teritary here, with a prayer, from one Bright Eyes/Ditzy Doo. I can’t quite separate the /, it’s bugging me.
Send it through, then; the old captain was still kicking, and despite the reported issues with her new identity as a mail-mare, presumably had enough bits to survive on, what with her pension and all.
Dear Princess Celestia,
Please make it so that Officer Lukewarm Fuzz buys my horribly transparent story.
Yours,
Captain Bright Eyes (Ret.)
“It’s the least I can do, Captain,” she whispered, and her horn lit up briefly, before she returned to the matter of the budget with Penny Pinch.
======
“Alright,” Fuzz said, nodding in agreement with the horribly transparent lie, “How do you suppose we get past the assassin outside?”
Bright was kind of at a loss – she hadn’t really expected that to work; I mean, really – it was such a transparent lie, she could have seen through it. Dinky could probably bust it wide open.
Unfortunately, Ditzy was in charge, here, not Bright, or Dinky. And Ditzy, while she had her good days and bad days, still had a track record of forgetting things while she was doing them, at best.
“There’s an assassin outside?!”
“…That’s what you just said.”
“I know, I’m as surprised as you are!”
“I… what?” Fuzz sat down, and examined his drink in closer detail. “Did this get spiked or something?”
“I see no dragons.”
Fuzz screwed up his eyes, and examined Ditzy carefully. She looked familiar, like he should be worried that she was here, and involved in this whole scenario… but he couldn’t quite put his hoof on it…
In any case, the pony was actually quite different – the one he was thinking of only had one eye, and was a captain of the royal guard, at least. This one looked more like a house-mare; or, given the much-used state of the saddlebags she toted, a mail-mare.
Awkward silence filled the space between them, despite the heavy music, and one of them felt obliged to break it.
“So, how about that weather we’ve been having, huh?”
Everyone within earshot who was aware of Fuzz’s side-work shut up in surprise – given how thickly Fuzz liked to surround himself with flunkies, this made their entire corner of the club so quiet, the sound of someone dropping their glass was totally audible.
Has it been mentioned that Ditzy had a short memory span?
He motioned to the nearest flunky, and after a mutter in his ear, the flunky made for the back exit, bearing the message of “Get the boys down here”.
“So, shall we just wait here for my associates to arrive, then?” Fuzz said pleasantly, as he turned back to his companion, who was… huffing the fumes from her drink?
======
“Hey, Tie. Check out the mare in the booth with Fuzz.”
“Oh, really, now, Swirl, I’ve – oh, pony, she’s huffin’ those fumes from the Tequila Rainboom drink, does she have any idea what she’s doing?”
They watched, bartender and regular, as the grey mare inhaled a Technicolor haze of fumes. The Rainboom was intended to be consumed orally, not inhaled nasally, or injected anywhere; if you did, the effects took hold way too fast, and –
“Shall I get the mop and bucket, Silver? I know where it is.”
“No, no, Strawberry – you just sit there and finish your drink.”
======
THUD
The grey mare keeled over, face-first, sending an empty glass chamber filled with red, orange, green and other colored fumes rolling. Fuzz looked at her, and saw a small trickle of blood seep out of her ears.
He leaned closer, and poked her with a hoof. No response, apart from a new leak of blood from her nose.
Huh, dead – saved him the trouble; and above all, it was most definitely not his fault – not like the other three moles, which had been not his fault in an entirely different and lethal manner.
Dead ponies didn’t speak, and this one wouldn’t be able to talk about what it had presumably seen – time to get a new hangout, probably re-grease some hooves in the PD, that sort of thing.
This was what the Crime Scene Investigators presumed to be the logic behind the average-sized house-brick embedded a full half of its length in the booth wall.
======
Get up, damn it.
No movement.
Ugh, I can’t believe it – bumped off in a cloud-club. What possessed me to snort those fumes? I could tell they were practically capable of stripping paint, just by lookingat them!
A red hoof prodded her face, and a trickling sensation built up on her nose.
Great – I died like some junkie who OD’d on whatever foals are doing these days.
The red pony, Lukewarm Fuzz – he made to leave, and the trickling got more irritating.
Without thinking, Bright lifted a hoof, and wiped it away, examining her hoof – red, blood, bleh.
Click.
Bright sat up. She was in control!
Her eye narrowed, focused on Fuzz, making his escape, oblivious to the surprise of his flunkies, who hadn’t the heart to tell him the change in events. The other eye, for once, followed her lead and focused on Fuzz as well.
She was in control.
======
“Wow, look at her go; she’s got cajones to do what she’s doing, I’ll give her that,” Strawberry remarked, watching the mare plant a firm hoof on the larger stallion’s shoulder in a very malicious manner.
“Second thoughts,” Silver replied, watching the flunkies and Fuzz finally react to the mare’s presence; “Perhaps I will need that mop and bucket after all.”
“I’ll get it,” repeated Strawberry, vaulting the counter and rummaging in the cupboard while Silver served another customer.
Meanwhile, a pony that looked like Ditzy Doo served up corrective measures, Captain-Bright-Eyes-style.
======
Outside Club Cloud Nine, Diamond Edge didn’t like the look of all the Pegasi trying to be inconspicuous and loitering on the sidewalk – they all looked like they had a purpose to them, which meant they were, every one of them, dangerous.
And none of them were lookers – that was the most suck part.
One particular pony stepped forward, a Unicorn. Diamond Edge didn’t even know Unicorns could be in Cloudsdale. Still, rules were rules; if he let the wrong people in, Mr. Tie would have his “guts for garters”, apparently – whatever those things were.
Given a potential beat-down (ha!) and having his intestinal tract reduced to something which apparently a lot of his favorite models in Wingboner wore, he chose the (extremely unlikely) beat-down.
“’Old up, this ‘ere’s a private club – yew got a membership or an invite?”
Agent Walks rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, and flashed a badge at the bouncer – now was really not the time. They’d intercepted a messenger not a few moments before, and things were about to go south, like the eagles did – fast.
“Don’t look like no membership or invite to me, guv,” Edge replied, missing the implication.
Walks choked back the rage before it even began – that was the key to remaining in total control, or one part of it, anyway. The other part of the key was to have a way of making someone your bitch in the fastest possible way.
He warmed up the shock spell.
======
Ditzy caught her breath, and got back on all fours - what was she doing, again? And – wow, her hooves hurt, like she’d been walking on Dinky’s Legos or something.
A strangled choke escaped something underhoof, and she lifted it to reveal that red pony she was supposed to talk to and – oh no, she’d managed to mess it up, hadn’t she?
The ceiling fan spun gently, a testament to modern cloud engineering that it supported the weight of three unconscious flunkies with no trouble. The dance-floor, once packed, was now empty, the occupants all taking convenient toilet breaks at the same time.
The bar was empty, save for a cream-colored Pegasus arguing hotly with the bartender over a pile of bits on the counter; and the DJ was still valiantly trying to spin phat beats with an unconscious pony on his turntable, and numerous more flunkies embedded in his amps.
Her funny-colored drink was gone, (somepony must have drunk it at some point) and – look at all those nice police-ponies running into the club and gee whiz, hooves behind the head would probably be a good idea right now, right?
======
Agent Walks levitated the notebook in front of him. “So, you’re telling me you have no idea how this happened?”
“Nope!” chirped back Ditzy, cheerfully. Some nice ponies had sat her down on a chair, and attached a helmet to her with flashing lights on.
“She’s tellin’ the truth, sir,” reported a Pegasus on the other end of the console, holding up a string of graph paper which, given how erratic it was, indicated she was either a habitual liar, or there was some feedback from the last few ponies that used the machine.
Either way, it was consistent, so she really was probably telling the truth.
“So… despite the twenty seven eye-witnesses and victims who were, I quote, “brutalized in hoof-to-hoof combat by a grey mare”” Walks recapped as he referred to his notebook, “and Officer Lukewarm Fuzz who told us he’d do anything if we stopped “That crazy grey broad from whaling on him”, she really didn’t beat up or do anything to anypony?”
“’S gotta be collaboration,” another Pegasus said, “They’re all in the line for being accused of laundry-lists of crimes, anyway – the bartender, and every other patron at the club didn’t see anything for a number of reasons from “I was on the toilet” to “Taps needed polishing, wasn’t paying attention”.”
“Works for me,” Walks replied cheerfully, “You’re free to go, Miss Doo – and thanks for your help today.”
======
Ditzy Doo banked in for her final approach to Ponyville as the sun set, taking care to avoid lamp-posts looming up on her blind-side this time.
With more finesse than usual, she touched down right outside her front gate – a nice change. She checked her own mailbox (It was weird delivering to your own house, so other ponies did that for her when she had mail) and wandered up the driveway, satisfied with her work that day – Dinky had a “sister” for the Sisterhooves Social, and she even found the time to go clubbing!
The doors to her house slid open with a soft woosh, and – woosh? She looked up, alerted. What she’d taken to be her house, she’d managed to mistake with some sort of Manehattan office building… no, wait, there was her portraits, on the wall! And a picture that Dinky drew!
What was going on?
“Oh, hi, Mrs. Doo!” Spike’s voice rang out from behind a small desk – on the side of the door, and wearing a small hat which was tipped to her, Ditzy saw the baby dragon sitting behind a scale-sized desk.
“Uh, hi. What’s going on?”
“I’m a building security guard!” Spike said, proudly, “I’m head of security, which is the Crusaders – they’re patrolling floors two through sixteen right now.”
“Two through six- where’s Dinky!?” spluttered Ditzy.
“Penthouse level, you can get there with the elevator,” Spike informed, pointing across the polished marble atrium to a small rock set of doors in the wall. With a soft *ding*, they ground apart to reveal a wooden box, and a small unicorn trotting proudly out of the doors… until they saw who was waiting for them at front desk.
“Oh, uh, hi, mummy…”
“Muffin… what’s this?” Ditzy waved a hoof at the multi-story building.
“Uh… sandcastle?”
Ditzy narrowed her eyes, and Dinky swallowed. Something told her that this building wouldn’t survive nearly as long as her regular sandcastles usually did.
======
Night fell on Ponyville properly, leaving the city lit only by the street-lamps, lit candles in houses, and the megalithic Doo Tower which stood alone in basalt and glass, as the tallest building outside of Manehattan.
The Book of Equestrian Records, as quickly as they managed to get data about the monument before it vanished overnight, failed to identify the architect in time; the next day, everypony asked denied any knowledge of such a building ever existing around a mouthful of muffin, and so a wonder of Equestria was lost, for all time.
Ponies belong to Hasbro, as usual.
Author hot-fax: forepicwin@gmail.com
Four hundred muffins below the lake
Four Hundred muffins below the lake
By Silvertie
“Mummy?” Dinky Doo asked, as her mother tucked her into bed.
“Yes, muffin?” replied Ditzy, cheerfully.
“How did you get your cutie mark? Mrs. Sparkle tells anypony who asks about hers, and gets really enthusiastic-“
“You shouldn’t keep teaming up with other foals to ask her the story, muffin – that’s mean.”
“-yes, mummy - and Mrs. Dash tells us anyway, even if we don’t ask. How did you get yours?”
“One moment, muffin,” Ditzy got up, and moving quick, left the room. She came back in a very short period of time (A record, given how easily she forgot things) with a large square of…
“Bubble-wrap?”
“That’s right, muffin. I’m really good at popping bubble-wrap, I discovered it when I worked for my uncle’s shipping company.”
Dinky felt a bit cheated. “That’s it?”
“’That’s it?’ is that all you can say about your mummy’s skill at popping bubble-wrap?”
To emphasize the point, Ditzy held a hoof up to the light, comparing it to the size of Dinky’s head – then, with a practiced motion, threw the wrap down on the ground, and started jabbing at the small plastic bubbles with a hoof.
At first, she started slow, but then began to pick up speed – Dinky realized what her mummy meant when she said “skill”; hitting a small target with hooves was hard enough, but doing it as quickly as her mummy was really was impressive.
The grey mail-mare’s hoof darted back and forth across the sheet, carefully picking out bubbles as best as she could with her one controllable eye. The other just stared at the bubble-wrap and Dinky intermittently.
Finally, Ditzy sat back, finished; she picked up the bubble-wrap, and presented it to Dinky, who examined it in the better light of her lantern.
It was a portrait of her – given the medium, it was almost perfect. Hardly a bubble was out of place.
“Now, that,” declared Ditzy, “is ‘it’, muffin. Now go to sleep – big day ahead of you, tomorrow.”
“’night, mummy.”
“Goodnight, muffin.”
The door closed with a gentle thump, and Dinky puffed out her lantern and went to sleep.
======
“Cutie marks are unique talents, correct, Bright?” a male voice asked in darkness.
“That’s right – you’ve been listening, huh?” responded the mare’s voice from the same void.
“Sort of – I did research before I came here. But the impression I get is that a cutie mark is your super-special, unique talent that practically defines you.”
“You’re not wrong. Twilight Sparkle’s mark of magic is literally that – she’s the greatest mage of our time.”
“So what’s the bloody deal with bubble-wrap popping? You’re good, but you’re not thatgood.”
There was silence for a moment, and then Bright sighed in defeat; “You’re right – my cutie mark of bubbles isn’t bubble-wrap. But Ditzy Doo believes it is – she must, or there would be massive holes in her past, which would drive her insane.”
“Well, I’ll ask the easy one first – why are you so good at bubble-wrap portraits?”
“Ever been a Royal Guard?”
“No. I kill Royal Guard, remember? Assassin?”
“Well, you know I was – your little assault on the Princess was the first for like twelve years. I got bored on sentry duty sometimes, and, well…”
“I like it when guards are bored – they distract themselves, I don’t have to waste time and kill them from afar.”
“Yes, well, Celestia must have… ah hem, found out about my habit and made it part of Ditzy’s ‘past’.”
“Okay, now I have to ask the hard question: if you didn’t get your mark for bubble-wrap, what didyou get it for, then? Waterboarding?”
“No, that’s abhorrent,” Bright retorted, “No, it was for… it involved lots of water.”
An expectant silence filled the void.
“A pony with even half a sense of compassion would stop there.”
“Ass-ass-innn,” repeated the Assassin’s soul.
“Fine. I’ll tell you a story, then. A story of a foal, her father, and the water…”
======
“Ohmygoshohmygosh, I can’t believe it!” a small, light-grey Pegasus foal bounced around her long-suffering pale-purple father, who was busy checking off points on a list. “I get to go underwater! Everypony’s going to be soooo jealous!”
“Hey, now, Bright,” her father said, “This is important – I have to inspect the Submersible Chariot for safety, so other ponies can use it safely. Could you please tone it down just a bit?”
“Okay!” Bright Eyes said cheerfully, continuing to bounce in silence.
The pair were standing at the edge of a dock, at the corner of a vast lake. Bright’s father, a unicorn, was dressed in a fluorescent-orange vest and hard-hat, horn aglow as he prodded and stress-tested various things of the big yellow metal structure in the water before them. Around them, ponies of all kinds wearing identical vests and hard-hats were setting up pipes and putting away tools as they prepared for the submersible’s maiden journey.
“Hey, Scalpel!” a charcoal-grey engineer-pony hailed Bright’s father with a waved hoof, “You done with those preliminary checks yet? We’re all done setting up the monitoring gear!”
“You don’t rush safety checks,” warned Scalpel Edge – Bright Eyes’ father was aptly named, given his talent: very little got past Scalpel, an inherited surgeon’s eye for detail, combined with a specialization in physics making him one of Canterlot’s top safety inspectors.
Over the years, Scalpel Edge’s signature on a safety warrant had become a hallmark for quality – if he didn’t sign it, it wasn’t completely safe.
“Come on, daddy!” Bright egged, galloping on the spot.
“Patience, Bright,” Scalpel reiterated, “Remember: Patience is a virtue. You can’t rush things.”
“Yes daddy,” sighed Bright, flapping her wings in mild irritation. It was an old lesson that her father had repeated to her so much and so often… pfft. She loved her daddy, but he was just old – small children had to go fast.
“And… done. The submarine meets all the requirements,” declared Scalpel, signing off on the warrant of fitness and handing it to a nearby engineer.
“Excellent – I’m sure Celestia will approve the Submersible Chariot if your signature’s the one on the safety warrant,” the engineer said with confidence.
“I should hope so – I’m going to be riding the thing on its maiden voyage along with my daughter.”
“Yeah,” the engineer rubbed the back of his mane awkwardly, “about that… you do realize that space is limited in the submersible chariot? Two ponies can fit in, at most.”
“You assured me that it wouldn’t be hard to pilot, Lanyard.”
“Oh, and it is,” Lanyard assured, “Even an Earth or Pegasus pony should have no trouble. But if something goes wrong… a leak, system failure…”
“Nothing will go wrong – for the dive we’ve planned, the submersible will work,” Scalpel repeated, “And it will not fail. I trust in your team to work properly, and an official test is required to officially mark this vehicle ‘safe’.”
“Yeah, but… your daughter?”
“What better way to endorse my safety report than with a collaborative note from my very own daughter? It’s perfectly safe.”
Lanyard sighed, taking off his hard-hat and rubbing his head. “Alright, Scalpel – but we’re putting together a dive team as well. I don’t want a failing of the Submersible to account for the death of a friend, you hear me?”
Scalpel raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have confidence in your own design?”
The engineer shook his head. “No. I have plenty of confidence, but this is a first test. It’s good enough for myself, and my team, but I’m uneasy when I’m putting the life of a friend on the line, let alone his daughter.”
“Nothing’ll go wrong, Lanyard,” reassured Scalpel, “I’m sure of it. Now, let’s prepare this thing for launch.”
======
The Submersible Chariot. Hundreds of thousands of bits had gone into its development – a self-pulling chariot that could take a pony to the depths of the ocean itself… provided it held up in its tests.
The submarine world was not one known to ponykind – being quadrupeds, they were ill-equipped for swimming, let alone diving to the deepest parts of Equestria. The diving suit enabled a degree of exploration, but a pony could only go as far as the air hose could stretch – not far enough. Add in that the suit had to be heavy enough to always hold the pony down so they could walk, and it was no surprise that either exhaustion or hose-length always limited a foray into the water.
Forged from light-weight yellow steel, and with a front done made of reinforced glass framed with magical lanterns, the Chariot was a metal pill that could travel all the way down, and back up, with its own magical air-purification systems that couldn’t be carried by a pony in a diving suit. On the sides, two long and slender pill-shapes rested – the ballast tanks, providing stability. Harnessed to the front by steel rods, magically-powered propellers awaited; ready to pull the pill-shaped chariot wherever the pilot wished.
It was Lanyard’s dream, made real. It was a world of possibility, held back only by the results of the first real test – diving to the bottom of Trottingham Lake.
As the final preparations were made, countless boats set sail on the lake from the nearby town of Trottingham; the town was an inland town, but still managed to boast the most nautically-minded ponies in all of Equestria - small wonder that all the nautical innovation of the last seven hundred years had happened in, on or around Trottingham Lake.
As Lanyard and Scalpel made the last checks, Bright Eyes looked from the top of the submersible at the ships and boats gathering on the lake, short wings flapping gently in excitement.
“Daddy, there’s boats everywhere!”
“That’s because they’re all here to watch you and me test Lanyard’s Submersible, pumpkin.”
“I’m not a pumpkin!”
“Ohh,” Lanyard said, looking up, “I dunno… you’re looking a bit orange. Do you have issues on Nightmare Night?”
Bright just stuck her tongue out at Lanyard, and he chuckled, returning to the operation manual with Scalpel.
Equestria’s first submarine ride - and she was going to be one of the first ever to ride it! Bright vibrated excitedly, a high pitched EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE escaping from her like steam from a kettle.
Today was like the best day ever.
======
The metal yellow pill puttered out into the center of the lake, flanked by two small tugboats covered in engineer-ponies making notes or congratulating each other on a job well done.
Inside the submersible, the hatch in the roof had been sealed tight, and Bright watched the world from a unique view – at the top half of the big window that was the front, she could see the top-half of the propellers, and the world above the surface of the water. And at the bottom, the underwater world – a green-blue colored void, with the occasional fish darting by.
“You okay, Bright? Nervous?”
“No way, daddy,” Bright denied, “This is easy-peasy! It’ll be the best ride ever!”
“Better than a piggy-back ride from me?”
Bright seemed torn. “We-ll… don’t tell mister Lanyard, but not quite.”
Scalpel laughed. “Nice to see your old sire’s still number one.”
The Submersible reached earshot of the boats surrounding the dive site, and cheering reached Bright’s ears.
“Why are they cheering so loud?” She asked.
“It’s the first ever Submersible Chariot,” Scalpel said, “And if this succeeds, it opens up possibilities! The ocean floor becomes our new playground, advances in underwater technology become feasible… this is a defining moment for Equestria, Bright – trust me. We’re going down in history for this, remember that.”
“History?” Bright’s mind drifted back to the horrible, boring tomes that lived in the Ponyville library. “Ew. Don’t like history. Prefer WonderMare books.”
“Fair enough.”
A small box on the wall of the submarine rattled, and a voice escaped the grill.
“Scalpel Edge, this is Lanyard. You hear me?”
“I hear you,” Scalpel responded.
“Great, the wireless can works.” Another innovation from the mind of Lanyard, the wireless can used Unicorn magic to simulate a piece of string. (Which had also had the effect of reducing the cost of the Submersible’s communication system to the cost of two cans of beans and a box of tissues.)
“Anything else, Lanyard?”
“Nope – Dive when you’re ready, come back up in ten minutes, okay? We do need to prove that this thing works, after all.”
“Ten minutes sounds good.”
“Aw, only ten minutes?” Bright pouted.
“It’s just the first trip. Once we know it works, I’m sure we can take it down for a longer time, right, Lanyard?”
“Sure – I see that somepony’s organized for one of Cheese Cake’s cakes to be delivered, it looks ridiculous on that little schooner. Take your time; none of the boys’ll want the Submersible any time soon.”
“Thanks, Lanyard.”
“No, thank youfor giving my dream the mark of approval it needs, Scalpel - holler if you need help, we’ll get a team down there pronto.”
There was a clunk, and the wireless can went silent.
“Can we go yet, daddy?” Bright nagged.
“Sure thing, Bright – let’s go!”
Scalpel flicked a lever, and the entire pod began to sink, bubbles blowing everywhere to the tune of an enthusiastically cheering crowd. With another flick of a lever, the propellers angled downwards, and pulled the vessel into the green depths of the lake.
======
“I’m bored,” whined the pegasus foal, flapping her wings in exasperation.
“It’s only been two minutes, my dear.”
“But nothing’s happening!”
“Trottingham Lake is deep, Bright – that’s why nopony’s ever seen the bottom of it before. Should take us four minutes to get there and back, giving us a couple of minutes to look about.”
“But it’s so quiet down here!”
“That’s because it’s just us, Bright – we’re already deeper than anypony has ever gone before.”
“Huraurrrrrr,” responded the foal, sighing. “Wait, what’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“That big rock cliff thing ahead of us.”
“Oh, ponyfeathers!” Scalpel quickly wrenched back on the inclination lever, and the submersible stopped diving down, pulling up just in time to clear the lip of the hole and the surface around it.
“What is it?” Bright asked, curious.
“It’s a hole, Bright,” Scalpel said, “But… the lake should be deeper than this… unless the plumb line went right down this hole…”
The hole was not just a hole – it was more like a vertical tunnel – it was probably wide enough for six or seven Submersible Chariots to travel down, side by side, with plenty of room to maneuver.
“Can we go in? Can we? Can we?” Bright put her hooves on her father’s shoulder and began to shake him in her efforts to persuade.
“You don’t need to shake me – of course. I want to know why there’s a giant hole in the bottom of Trottingham Lake.”
The little submersible revved up its propellers, and banked around, cruising down into the hole.
======
“This is a big hole,” breathed Bright, “This is so. Cool.”
“It’ll be something to tell your classmates about, huh?” Scalpel chuckled, his eyes belying his alert state. The tunnel had gone straight down for a time, and then begun to curve to the side in a gradual J-shape. According to a little set of numbers on the wall, they were at just over four hundred and fifty Lanyards below the surface of the lake.
Who named a measurement after themselves? Well, apparently Lanyard did.
“What’s a Lanyard?” Bright suddenly asked.
“Well, a Lanyard is a thing you use to tie things to your neck or hoof, and-“
“No, the thing on the wall. Four-five-zero Lanyards.”
“Oh, that – it’s just a measurement that Lanyard invented to measure how deep things are underwater. I think it’s the distance between his head and his flank when he’s standing up straight.”
“He’s using himself as a measuring thing?”
“Yeah, I said it was pretty silly when he invented it, but look at us – four hundred and fifty times his length, below the surface.”
The two sat in silence, watching the walls of the tunnel flow past, the lanterns illuminating protruding chunks of rock and casting shadows. The water was still and undisturbed by anything, not even any fish – just small motes of dust and waterborne vegetation, spotlighted briefly before fading away once more to the darkness.
“So, daddy,” Bright started again, “What digs tunnels like this, anyway?”
Scalpel choked a little. He hadn’t thought about that – he’d thought the tunnel was natural.
“What… what makes you sure something dug this?”
“Well,” Bright said, “It’s like an earthworm’s tunnel, only bigger. So would that be a giant, underwater earthworm that did this?”
Scalpel looked at the tunnel walls – he knew what an earthworm tunnel should look like, but this… it was no earthworm tunnel.
“Um, that’s a good guess,” he said, encouragingly. “But can you think of anything with lots of arms like-“
He fell silent as the Submersible Chariot suddenly ran out of tunnel, and entered a gargantuan chamber.
“Whoaoaoaoaoa,” Bright gawped, looking out at the vast expanse. A dragon’s hoard… or three… was piled on the floor of the cavern, spreading out almost further than her keen eyes could see.
“What in the wide world of Equestria…” breathed Scalpel, in awe. There had to be trillions of bits’ worth of treasure down here, just sitting here at the bottom of Trottingham Lake.
“Octopus.”
“What?” Scalpel looked at his daughter, who was pointing out the front of the Chariot. “What is it?”
“Octopus, that’s a thing that has a lot of arms, right?”
“Uh, yeah,” Scalpel said, recalling the recent discovery of the freakish creatures in the ocean, “But what does an octopus have to do with this?”
Bright just pointed, going slightly pale. Scalpel finally turned to look, and saw it.
Twirling menacingly in the ether, a titanically huge creature with eight limbs covered in small cups eyed them, a beak on the underside snapping open and shut silently.
“Ohhh no,” Scalpel said, “That’s not good, not good at all, not good…”
He grabbed levers, and threw them, pushing the little craft into motion with little grace and a lot of haste.
“What’s wrong, daddy?” Bright asked, concerned.
“That thing is what’s wrong. It probably created the tunnel over the years, by wearing away at the rock as it squeezed through.”
“It didn’t look that big.”
“It was far away.”
“Eep.” Bright sunk down into her seat, heart pounding.
The small craft raced along, leaving streams of bubbles in its wake. Scalpel pushed the engines to the safety limits, anxious about the creature pursuing them.
It wasn’t part of the safety checks he’d performed, but at this depth, the creature could quite easily crush them into a small lump of steel the size of a large rock. It was a sobering thought.
With a rush of pressure, suddenly, the craft accelerated, being pushed by an unseen force.
“Daddy! What’s going on?!” Bright squealed, afraid.
“The chase is on, Bright.”
======
With a whoosh of bubbles, the submersible was propelled from the mouth of the tunnel like a small yellow bullet, a minnow fleeing before the sheer mass of the shark pursuing it.
“Faster!” Bright urged.
“As fast as we can go, sweetheart,” Scalpel grunted, trying to keep the submersible on-course. “Hold your breath for a bit – I’m inflating the ballast.”
With a flick of a hoof, he threw the ballast lever in the opposite direction – with a jolt, and a whooshing noise, the air was rapidly pumped out of the cabin and into the emptying ballast tanks.
“Aaaaaaaaaa!” Bright squealed, as the pair grimaced at the thinness of the air in the cabin for a few moments before the air-pump replaced the drained oxygen. As the air was duplicated, the submersible accelerated even more, pulled upwards by the buoyancy of the air contained within.
For a moment, the two relaxed – how hard was it to catch something underwater being pulled up by a large quantity of air contained within?
The numbers on the Lanyard-meter ticked past rapidly – three hundred, two hundred, one hundred.
A tentacle lashed out alongside them, dwarfing them, and with a quick motion, grabbed. Suction cups that adorned the tentacle affixed themselves to the hull, and Bright and Scalpel screamed and shouted in surprise as they were thrown off their seats by the sudden deaccelration.
The Lanyard-meter read just fifty three. Fifty three lanyards below the surface.
======
Lanyard the pony engineer looked at his stopwatch with concern. A co-worker noticed, and sidled up alongside the concerned friend.
“What’s up, Lanyard?”
“I said ten minutes – Scalpel knows how important that is, and he should have timed himself. It’s been eleven minutes.”
“So, he’s a minute late. That’s not a big deal, is it?”
“For Scalpel, it is.”
As Lanyard spoke, the surface of the lake suddenly began to froth and bubble. Had he spoken too soon? Was his worrying premature after all?
The crowd began to roar, anticipating the rise of the submarine. The bubbles slowed, and… nothing.
The cheering petered out, as ponies looked at the settling surface of the lake with concern. Hushed muttering could be heard, and Lanyard’s gut began to churn again.
It wasn’t the muttering, or the fact that his career as a nautical engineer was probably over. No, when the dismembered engine floated to the surface, caught on one of the tanks of ballast…
It was the fact that he’d just killed his best friend and his friend’s daughter with his incompetence.
“GET THE DIVE TEAMS! GET MY FRIEND OUT!”
======
Scalpel felt like swearing – it was all he could do at this point. The submarine was sinking once again, this time being pulled by the gargantuan tentacle encircling their little craft.
Bright jumped as the walls buckled once more with a wrenching of steel, and several leaks were sprung. Scalpel put a reassuring hoof on her shoulder, but it had little effect.
“Daddy, I’m scared.”
“Hush, now,” Scalpel said, hugging his daughter, “That mean old thing can’t crush this vehicle, I checked it. It’d have to be capable of destroying a big old ship to crush our little Chariot.”
The walls buckled once again, springing much faster leaks. Cracks frosted the window at the front of the cockpit, to punctuate Scalpel’s statement; all the while, the Lanyard-counter increased even more.
“Daddy… I think it can destroy a big old ship.”
“Uh, hah hah… yeah…” Scalpel got up, and scanned about. He knew the submersible inside out – its strengths, its weaknesses. There had to be a way… the main hatch? No, the water pressure was far too strong compared to the air inside, he had to…
“Bright, dear, would you stand here, please?”
Bright Eyes sniffed, and walked over to stand where indicated, next to her father, who held her close.
“We’re getting out of here,” he stated, bluntly, “But you’re going to have to hold your breath.”
“How long?”
“As long as it takes, you hear me, Bright? You hold your breath no matter what. Don’t breathe in until you’re seeing sunlight on the surface, okay? If you don’t think you can hold it in any more, let it out slowly, like blowing bubbles.”
“You mean like how mummy doesn’t want me blowing bubbles in my drink when we go to Pony Joe’s?” Bright asked, encouraged.
“Exactly – a bit slower, though.”
Bright sucked in a deep breath, but Scalpel held up a hoof. “Not yet. Wait until we have almost no air left in here – I have to let the water in first.”
“No!” Bright’s attitude to the whole plan flip-flopped.
“Bright. Look at me.” Scalpel looked at his daughter, and met her golden eyes. “You’ll. Be. Okay. Trust me.”
Bright just nodded, and grimaced, eyes shut. Scalpel looked to the cockpit, and saw a trickle of water entering through a crack.
All we need to do is make that a bit bigger…
His horn lit up with magic, and a chunk of the glass window glowed as he wrenched on it with all his magical might.
With a splintering, cracking noise, the glass collapsed inwards, forming a hole the size of Bright herself, through which water rushed in a torrent. The lanterns, not designed for exposure to water, extinguished, leaving a faint glow of light from Scalpel’s horn to illuminate what remained of the vessel as it buckled and shrunk some more.
Bright Eyes clung to her father tighter, wings furled in anxiety. Scalpel held his daughter, praying to Celestia. He would pay any price to fix his horrible mistake. He shouldn’t have gone deeper. He should have protected her.
He was a horrible father.
======
Lanyard twisted hooves anxiously as a pair of stoic earth ponies put on diving gear – given the very real chance that they might be carrying things to the surface, they were forgoing the traditional weighted shoes, sticking to the air-helmets and inflatable vests so they could rise again.
The helmets were simple affairs – made of metal, and featuring large windows on the front and sides, they were built sturdy – not like the big glass cockpit for the Submersible Chariot.
Lanyard was dying inside. Celestia herself would not be impressed with his irresponsibility – he’d be lucky to be banished at this rate. It would be a blessing, to avoid having to tell Scalpel’s wife…
No. That was even more irresponsible. No matter what, he would tell Scalpel’s family what had happened himself, and face the consequences.
He owed it to Scalpel.
======
The water rose rapidly – with all the leaks and holes, the hull was now a particularly inefficient sieve in places, and the remaining air pocket dwindled rapidly.
The two ponies, levitated by Scalpel’s magic, were pressed against the ceiling. The still-functioning Lanyard-meter read one hundred and thirty eight.
“Bright, dear?”
“Yes, daddy?”
“I’m going to open the hatch for you, okay – after that, you swim up as fast as you can – I’ll be right behind you, pushing you, alright?”
“Yes, daddy.” Bright nodded, determined. Scalpel saw a fire in her eyes, a do-or-die determination – she really did take after her mother, in the end.
Radiant Sunrise – what had she seen in him? He was just a safety inspector – hardly a glamorous job, and a unicorn to boot. She was the head of the Ponyville weather team, and the region coordinator – she controlled the weather as far as Manehattan and all around the Everfree.
She had the whole world to pick from and she’d picked him…
Bright had to live. Not for him, for her – Radiant would probably die if she found out her husband and daughter had both perished in a freak accident.
He chuckled. Come to think of it, Lanyard would probably follow not long after – that guy was so determined to do the honorable thing, he’d probably tell her the news himself. And then die of shame when his wife died, which would cause his own family to die of grief, and…
Bright definitely had to live – or else there’d be a wave of deaths on his hooves. Heh. Wave, water time to make puns.
“Daddy? Now?” Bright’s face was pressed right up to the roof, and she was breathing through the corner of her mouth.
“Now, Bright.” Scalpel sucked in a breath of his own, cheeks ballooning out, and Bright imitated him.
The water filled the submarine quickly. Under the water, the muted clicking of the ever-increasing Lanyard-meter filled the space, as Scalpel applied his magic to the hatch, praying it was unobstructed.
Celestia had listened – the tentacle didn’t block the hatch from swinging ponderously open, nor did it impede Bright as she struggled for the surface. Scalpel took one last look around at the Submersible Chariot – it was good. Just not good enough to withstand being attacked by a tentacle monster from the deep, apparently.
As he exited, he saw the Lanyard-meter, functions finally halted by water. One-six-four. One Lanyard was about one-point-eight metres, which meant they had roughly three hundred and twenty eight meters to swim up.
No time like the present. With a flex of a hoof, he pushed away from the doomed vessel, and watched it go, tentacle wrapped greedily around the polished yellow prototype, disregarding it’s escaping passengers. He saluted the vehicle, and pressed onwards, swimming hard.
He focused his magic on his daughter, not far above – using his telekinesis, he lifted her up, taking her weight as his own and struggling onwards.
======
Two ponies underwater. One smaller, and supported by the glow of magic. The larger one, swimming as well as he could, but struggling.
Ponies are not marine creatures by nature. Sea-ponies were thought to be a missing link in that regard. Four hooves does not a good swimmer make, as the philosopher Strong Yodel had once said.
The design that had allowed them to travel the depths of the underwater world for no more than ten minutes lay crumpled and destroyed in the grip of a leviathan underwater, deeper than they. The splashes of ponies descending to meet them, far and away, beyond helping.
And yet, the reaper sat, idle, on a rock at the bottom of the lake. Many ponies had perished here in the past – witch trials, accidents, ‘Accidents’. They were all the same to him.
But this case… he looked at the hourglasses in his bony hooves. One filled with a pale purple sand, the other with a light grey sand, falling even here, underwater. The light-grey sand had a feel of importance to it.
Death sighed, and put away the hourglasses into his voluminous, flowing barding, which persisted in remaining dry as he, and rose, effortlessly defying the immense pressure of the water.
The next few minutes… he patted the light purple hourglass, satisfied. When it came to fighting Death, it was all about Pizazz, that was all he’d say about it.
======
Scalpel’s lungs burned, his chest bucked.
He needed air. But the surface was still a good one hundred and fifty meters away, by his guess. He saw the splashes of divers descending to fetch them, and smiled.
Lanyard – the clod-hopper had been right to get them ready; some safety inspector he was.
He let the last bubbles of air escape his mouth, and grimaced.
Forgive me, Bright, Radiant.
With one last telekinetic shove, he pushed Bright far into the water above him, the very effort stealing what strength he had left.
Water entered his lungs as his body sought out air, and found none, and Scalpel’s world faded to black.
======
Bright soared through the water – swimming was easy! It felt like she was flying!
All of a sudden, swimming suddenly became hard. She struggled a bit, and the truth hit her. She hadn’t been swimming well, she’d been carried by…
Daddy. The pale-purple unicorn that was half of her entire world, now sinking ever deeper. She stopped for a moment, recalling the words.
You swim up as fast as you can - I’ll be right behind you, pushing you, alright?
The foal’s face hardened. Daddy was always giving her rides. Carrying her, helping her, being her Daddy.
It was time to be a Daughter.
======
Deadweight and Driftwood sunk through the water, a practiced motion.
What wasn’t practiced was trying to find two ponies in the biggest lake in Equestria. Two ponies who might not even be alive. They saw the bubbles trailing up from something in the depths below them, and travelled lower still.
They saw the tentacle, submarine in its grip, and blanched. Deadweight made to give chase, only for Driftwood to put a hoof on his shoulder, pointing at two small glowing dots.
Safety Inspector Edge and his daughter – alive! They swam closer with haste, mindful of their air-hoses. The day could still be saved.
The Safety Inspector’s pace slowed, and the glow faded. Driftwood and Deadweight looked at each other, faces telling the whole story through their helmets. The foal stayed alive, though – they could see some movement, frantic kicking.
Then, the foal turned around. Driftwood and Deadweight doubled their pace, venting air to decrease their buoyancy. What was she doing?!
The question was answered – with her teeth, the foal clamped down on the inspector’s vest, and strained. Driftwood and Deadweight’s hearts went out to her – it was admirable, but doomed to fail. She was one foal, trying to lift an adult… underwater, no less. Not even Thin Crust would give odds on that.
======
Bright strained, and struggled, to no avail. What could she do? She wasn’t feeling an urge to take a breath right now, but that would change, she was sure.
Her father had always said to consider the possibilities – what did she have? What could she do?
She had one unconscious daddy, sinking. He was heavy, but they were underwater, so he wasn’t as heavy as he usually was.
She had wings – used for flight above ground, but even then, she didn’t really have much. She still couldn’t fly on her own, she needed her wings to grow out a bit more first.
She could do… nothing! She wanted to stamp her hooves and have a tantrum – it just wasn’t fair!
Fair. Fair! What else wasn’t fair?
“Mummy, why can’t I fly?” Bright protested, flapping her wings to emphasize the point.
“Your wings aren’t big enough, sweetheart,” Radiant Sunrise said, placating, “It takes time. I didn’t fly until I was a lot older than you. Some ponies fly early, others fly later.”
“It’s not fair!” fumed Bright, stamping her hooves.
“Now, Bright – you know the rule, no tanties.”
“Sorry, mummy.”
“It’s alright. You know, being without flight for so long taught your mummy a few tricks – I can’t do this anymore, but can you flap your wings really fast?”
Bright did as instructed, getting a rapid motion of wingbeats from her little wings. “What good is this?”
“Well,” Radiant said, a knowing smile creasing the pale red Pegasus’ face, “You can’t fly like that, but you can move around a lot better – try it. Run, jump, ride a scooter while doing it. Until you can fly, that’s going to have to do. And trust me,” she confided, leaning in close, “There’s times when I wish I could still do that – can’t do it with big-pony wings, sweetheart. Do it now, while you still can.”
Do it now while you still can, her mummy had said.
Bright Eyes unfurled her little wings. She’d grown a bit since then, but she could probably still do it. She worked her wing muscles desperately, teeth clenched around her daddy’s vest.
With more flaps, they became easier, as the water was worked into a pattern dictated by her wings, and their descent was halted.
Bright Eyes’ heart soared, and she gained hope, the first pangs of needing to take a breath starting to hit her. She let some bubbles out of her mouth, like her daddy had said, and she felt a bit better.
They began to rise, a steady stream of bubbles being produced by the furious beating of her wings. She was doing it! The little foal grinned around the vest and the little bubbles of air escaping her mouth. She was such a clever pony.
The pace quickened – as she picked up momentum, the water posed less and less resistance to the foal, until she had a steady rythym going, and the water was growing brighter with every wingbeat.
Two ponies in helmets and vests waited for her – she kept going, the two ponies realizing she wasn’t stopping and racing to keep up.
She had to breathe, and letting bubbles out simply wasn’t cutting it any more – she needed air.
Don’t breathe in until you’re seeing sunlight on the surface.
Bright kept her urge to breathe in check, blowing more useless bubbles out of her mouth in frustration. She wanted to breathe. But daddy had told her what to do, and she was going to do it.
Daddy was a Safety Inspector, after all – he knew what was safe.
She looked up, and realized the surface was a lot closer than it had looked a few seconds ago.
She could do this. She had his.
======
Lanyard watched the lake surface despondently, eyes red. Bubbles came to the surface, popping, and he sighed. Hopes of salvaging this horrible accident were fading before his very eyes.
The air hoses for the divers shifted, as the ponies made movements that seemed like they were coming back up.
Already? Did they save them?
Suddenly, a new stream of bubbles began to hit the surface, creating a gentle froth, and-
WHOOSH
Like a small grey missile, a foal breached the surface of the water, mouth momentarily wide open, an orange vest’s back falling out of it as she sucked in a breath of air in a torrential rush of wind.
The crowd went wild, cheering. Small dinghys were deployed, rowing towards the foal, ready to help.
Lanyard looked at the object that had fallen out of the foal’s mouth, sinking rapidly – no wait, it was rising again.
With a rush of water, the two divers that he’d sent down there, came up, supporting…
“SCALPEL!” Lanyard shouted, excited, stamping a hoof in thanks to Celestia herself – she must have been listening.
“He’s not breathing!” one of the divers shouted, flipping open the front window of his helmet, as he dragged the bedraggled Safety Inspector over to an approaching boat. The other diver swam over to the foal, Bright Eyes, and held her as she caught her breath and grinned in triumph at seeing the sun again.
“I know CPR!” offered another pony, leaping off the boat and rapidly paddling over to the boat where the diver and the boat’s owner were laying down Scalpel Edge.
Lanyard crossed his hooves in concern.
======
Sun! Praise the sun! And that air! Couldn’t you just drink it in like lemonade?
Bright Eyes sucked in another breath of that good stuff, only vaguely aware of somepony swimming up to her, and holding her up so her head remained above water.
“He’s not breathing!” shouted somepony.
“I know CPR!” responded another, and Bright turned her head to see her father’s body being laid out on a boat. She struggled to make her way over there, to muffled cursing from beside her.
Holding her up, a pony in a helmet swore quietly as his new charge did her best to escape his grip, and flipped open his helmet’s window.
“Consarnit, girl! Sit still!”
“But, daddy!”
“He’ll be fine! Driftwood and those other two ponies got him, he’ll be fine!”
Bright looked at the diver, and he grinned reassuringly, causing her to look back at her father as the pair began to slowly move towards the boat.
She heard the diver mutter to himself, quietly.
“He’ll be fine.”
======
Driftwood looked on at the scene before him. The pony who knew CPR was doing his thing, but nothing was happening.
Deadweight was approaching, bringing the foal – not good. If she got here, in time to hear the verdict…
Celestia was probably working overtime today on the prayer front, but he sent a silent one up, anyway.
They’d need all the help they could get today.
======
The reaper of souls, the reclaimer of all, the great equalizer, sat there on the boat, watching the ponies struggle to return Scalpel Edge to the world of the living, hourglass in hoof.
If he just tipped his hoof to the side, the ‘glass would fall, and shatter, casting judgment upon the pony – but if he tipped it the other way, however…
Cheating Death was all about Pizazz. And that foal, Bright eyes – Scalpel Edge’s daughter. She’d moved heaven and hell to save her father, an impressive display of strength from one so young.
So much Pizazz. Death reaffirmed his perpetual, skeletal grin, and tipped his hoof to the side.
With a show like that, what was a few extra years? Death could wait, he’d get his pony eventually, when the time was right.
======
The CPR pony thumped away on Scalpel’s chest, muttering to himself.
“Don’t you die on me, you bastard… don’t you die… come back, damnit!”
Scalpel just responded by choking and spitting up a mouthful of water, followed by coughing and wheezing.
“Thank Celestia!” the diver proclaimed, holding up two hooves in praise momentarily before moving to help a new boarder.
Scalpel wheezed, and looked about – he wasn’t in the water any more, he was on a deck, soaked to the bone. He was alive.
But where was Bright?
“Bright! Bright!” he shouted, weakly.
“She’s right here, Mister Edge,” somepony said, and the clippity-clop of hooves filled the air, before the exhausted Scalpel was hit by a small winged weight.
“Oof! Bright?”
“Daddy!” Bright Eyes’ eyes were watering, and she hugged her father tightly, who returned the gesture. The crowds d’awwed.
Nopony saw their tears of relief against their matted coats.
======
FOAL SAVES FATHERMayhem at Submersible Chariot testing in Trottingham LakeReported by Gold BowIn the most recent major nautical disaster to grace Equestria since the TORtanic, the maiden voyage of Sir Lanyard’s (34) Submersible Chariot met with disaster today, suffering a catastrophic systems failiure more than one hundred Lanyards beneath the surface.The Nautical Engineer was pleased to report, however, that there was no loss of life on the parts of the two test pilots, one Safety Inspector Scalpel Edge (35) and his daughter, Bright Eyes (7).Immediately following their escape of the sinking Submersible, one recovery diver by the name of Deadweight (28) reported seeing an “amazing sight”.“It was amazing, she (Bright Eyes) was above her father when he ran out of air and stopped moving,” recounted the diver, “Then she turned around and swam back down to save her father – I kind of wish I had a foal to do that for me.”This was collaborated by his partner, Driftwood (28), who added, “It was simply amazing – she pulled her father to the surface over one hundred and fifty meters, all on her own – we tried to help, but she literally just swam past us before we could react. It was all her, and everypony needs to know it.”Despite ingesting a significant amount of water, Scalpel Edge was successfully resuscitated and is recovering with no ill effects. The inspector and his daughter are recovering at Ponyville hospital.Despite the pair and their family not pressing any charges against Lanyard Nautical Engineering Co. an investigation is underway, and preliminary results will be forthcoming within the next few days.What happens to Lanyard Nautical? Celestia speaks, Pg 2The “Trottingham Lake Terror” confirmed to exist? Pg 4
======
“Look at that, front page,” Scalpel remarked, passing the newspaper to Bright, in the bed next to him, who took it.
“Equestria Daily,” she read the title of the paper, “Daddy, don’t you normally read the Canterlot Times?”
“Yes, but this is the first newspaper to run the story. We’re framing this, you know – it’s not every day a daughter saves her old sire.”
“Oh, daddy,” Bright said, waving a hoof even as she blushed, “I’m never going to forget this day. Ever.”
A soft knock on the door echoed through the room, and Scalpel grinned. “Come on in, Lanyard.”
The door opened, and the sheepish engineer walked in, bearing a bouquet of flowers, white roses and violets.
“Hi, Scalpel. Feeling better?”
“Oh, Lanyard, I’m fine – stop beating yourself up over the whole thing.”
“But it was my fault!” protested the pony, putting the flowers in a convenient vase before pulling up a chair and sinking down.
“Nopony could have guessed that a freshwater Kraken lived at the bottom of Trottingham Lake, Lanyard. And right up until then, the Submersible Chariot functioned just fine.”
“Really?”
“Really,” confirmed Bright, “It was super fun!”
“But it almost got you killed!” re-iterated Lanyard.
“Yeah, but look what I got!” Bright pulled down the sheets, exposing her flank, and –
“Hey, you got your cutie mark!” Lanyard said, his doldrums broken by the pleasant surprise.
“Yeah! It’s for holding my breath!” Bright said, proudly.
“You know she held her breath the whole way?” Scalpel said, equally proud, “I ran out of breath, but she managed to hold it until she got to the surface, Lanyard – that was over three hundred and fifty meters, swum on one breath.”
“And I never would have gotten my cutie mark if you hadn’t let me ride the Chariot,” Bright finished, “So, thank you, mister Lanyard!”
“No, you do-“ Lanyard was cut off as the foal latched onto his neck and gave him a heartfelt hug of gratitude. He sighed, and accepted the hug, returning it awkwardly as he tried to keep his balance.
“So, Lanny – what’cha doing now?” Scalpel asked, amused. “Going to rebuild the Submersible?”
“No,” Lanyard said, “I’m finished, one way or another. Kraken or no Kraken, fatalities or no, this was a disaster, and it’s all going to wind up on my shoulders. Sponsors all backed out, Celestia’s probably not too pleased…”
“Silly billy,” Bright admonished, “Stop worrying about it!”
“But I can’t!”
“I’ll hold my breath!”
“Oh, alright – what do you want me to do, Bright?”
“Come to my Cute-ceañera on Friday!”
Lanyard blushed. “Me? Come to your party?”
“Of course! You’re still a Knight of Equestria – this’ll give me another leg-up on Heartstrings! She only got a silly Wonderbolt to show up, and he was retired!”
“What she means to say,” interjected Scalpel, “Is that she’d really appreciate it if you went to her party which she’s spending with family and close friends.”
“Well, when you put it like that,” Lanyard said, chuckling, “I guess I can’t say no, can I?”
The room was filled with gentle laughter as another day passed by, minute by minute, the sun slowly setting over Trottingham Lake.
As the sun set, a single ray of light refracted off the water, and for a brief moment, in the very depths of the lake, past all the dredges, in a deep hole, what remained of the Submersible Chariot gleamed, just once more, before being tugged back into the darkness forever more.
======
“There,”Bright finished, “That’s how I got my cutie mark. Holding my breath while carrying my drowning father to safety, while underwater.”
There was no response from the darkness, just a sniff.
“Are… are you crying?”
A sniffle. “No. Not crying at all, just… had a bit of a runny nose for a moment, there.”
“You were crying – is the big, bad Assassin starting to get soft?”
“It’s perfectly acceptable for hardened killers to cry manly tears,” retorted the Assassin.
“Sure it is. I’m going to remember this, you know.”
======
Ditzy Doo walked back to the kitchen… and tripped over something.
“Mummy, are you alright?”
“I’m fine, muffin,” Ditzy assured, face in the carpet, “back to sleep.”
“’kay,” Dinky responded, before falling silent once more.
Ditzy got up, and looked at what she’d managed to trip over. A box of stuff that she’d been meaning to unpack for ages, now – it had been what, two years? And still not unpacked?
Ridiculous – now was the time. She would unpack that box, and all would be well. Also, she’d stop tripping over it every night.
She reached into the box, and pulled out a picture frame of an old, pale-purple Unicorn stallion. Daddy, Celestia rest his soul. She put it aside, to hang up at some point. She reached in again, and found a picture of a pale-red, elderly Pegasus mare. Mummy. That went on the pile as well.
The third picture… wasn’t a picture at all. It was a frame, but instead of a photo, it had a newspaper page in it.
“Foal saves father,” Ditzy read with her good eye, “Huh. Why have I got this?”
She put it aside in a second pile, and her eye roved over the article, and the picture that went with it. The caption read, ‘Lanyard Nautical pictured alongside Submersible Chariot’, and had a picture of eight ponies in black and white.
All of them were stallions wearing vests and hard-hats, except a filly in the front row, which was wearing no vest or helmet, and was mid-blink.
They looked happy, and Ditzy felt a glow of warmth from looking at the picture. Perhaps that was why she’d kept it – it was a nice photo, everypony was happy.
The article got merged into the pile, and she continued to sort old keepsakes into the night.
