Dancing on a Looking Glassby ObabScribblerChaptersOrigin of a TyrantDoppelgangerBig MommaWonderfulOrigin of a TyrantDisclaimer Despotically not mine A/N: Written for the ‘tell King Sombra’s backstory in under 300 words’ challenge on Equestria Daily. Origin of a Tyrant © Scribbler, November 2012. It is an incontrovertible fact of the universe that everything must have an opposite. How else can anything be defined unless it is compared with something else? Without sadness, how could you ever know you’re happy? Without cold, how would you know what warmth is? Without night-time darkness, how could you appreciate daylight? Without evil, how could you understand goodness? Without hate, how could you recognise love? Or maybe it’s the other way around… The Crystal Empire was a beacon of goodness in the ancient world. Regular ponies travelled from far and wide to visit and gawk at the wonders inside its gleaming walls and spend time with the beautiful crystal ponies. Citizens lived in harmony, taking for granted how lucky they were. It was no more than their due, after all. They were the crystal ponies; ergo they were perfect and their empire could be nothing less. No other empire was as successful, as blissful, or as prosperous. Their power was unsurpassed; their magical advances unmatched. By the time most pony kingdoms were building mud huts, the crystal ponies were enchanting their way to a life of luxury and laziness. As the crystal ponies became complacent in their supremacy and careless about containing their surplus magic, they failed to notice a cloud forming above their glittering city. Maybe they complained about unwanted shade on a sunny day, but they didn’t think any more about it. Maybe they noticed the morning mist cleared slower and slower, but they didn’t suspect anything sinister. That is, until the day the glittering Crystal Empire woke to find its streets filled with that mist, heard the echo of metallic hooves emerging from it and saw its first glimpse of curved, grinning fangs. “Greetings, slaves. I thank you for bringing me life.” DoppelgangerA/N: Requested by Greatodyer when I threw out an appeal for requests on the UK of Equestria message-board. He requested ‘Vinyl and Rarity trying each other's jobs’. Doppelganger © Scribbler, December 2012. Rarity stared at the flashing lights and impressive looking dials. The equipment was quite pretty if you thought about it, though it would be so much better with precious stones to make it sparkle. Maybe some gold fabric along the front, too; ruched of course. Perhaps with lacy edging to soften the harsh lines and angles of the metal beneath. Gold would shimmer beautifully in club lights … She stopped herself. She wasn’t supposed to decorate this thing. Much to her chagrin, she was supposed to look like she knew how to use it. Vinyl hobbled up, ever-present sunglasses masking her expression, though the tightness around her mouth spoke volumes. Her grip on her crutch shifted as she spoke, slurring her words a little around the huge bruise discolouring half her face. “Do you want me to go over it again?” Rarity tossed her mane. “No, thank you. I think I understood after the fifth repetition.” Vinyl wrinkled her nose and gestured with a foreleg strapped between two splints. “Hey, you offered to do this. Don’t get snappy now. Seriously uncool, y’know?” Inwardly Rarity cringed. She had been ecstatic when Vinyl Scratch’s agent contacted her to create something for the star to wear to an awards ceremony in Manehatten. Vinyl had great poise for a pony who spent most of her time standing still and just moving her forelegs a bit. Rarity had been bursting with musical themed ideas and wasted no time whipping up sample outfits for her new client to try on. How could she know that Vinyl was deathly allergic to cats, or that Opal would wander in at exactly the wrong moment, or that the ensuing sneezing fit would send all three of them careening into her work station and cause the whole thing to fall on poor Vinyl? Rarity eyed the deck again and gulped. “I’m fine. Really, I am.” Vinyl took off her glasses. It was such an unprecedented move that Rarity momentarily forget her nerves and the crowds of ponies outside the venue waiting to see a live show. The music was all pre-recorded, but Vinyl’s fans didn’t just come to hear her; they came to SEE her. “Thank you,” Vinyl said earnestly. “I really appreciate you doing this.” “It’s no trouble, honestly.” Rarity tried to toss her mane again, forgetting it was currently too short to toss properly. It bristled a little, but that really wasn’t the same. Make-up and powder on her cutie mark could be removed easily, but this cut and dye job would take a while to grow out. Still, when she had learned about the sold-out show she simply couldn’t bear the idea that her own mistakes would be responsible for spoiling so many ponies’ enjoyment. The offer had slipped out before she could stop herself and there was no way she could go back on her word afterwards. That kind of ungenerousness was simply unthinkable. Vinyl regarded her with an unreadable expression. Her face was actually just as difficult to read with the shades off. Abruptly she held them out, wiggling when Rarity didn’t take them straight away. “Here.” “Excuse me?” “Wear these.” “But they’re yours.” “They’re DJ PON-3’s; and for tonight? That’s you.” She continued to hold out the sunglasses until Rarity accepted and slipped them on. Vinyl gave a small, fierce smile of approval. “Now you’re cooking with gas.” Rarity chanced a look in the shiny metal of the deck. She looked nothing like herself. Then again, that was the point. “DJ PON-3 is in the house,” she murmured. “Goodness gracious, what was I thinking?” Big MommaA/N: Requested by Finalsight, who gave me the prompt 'Scootaloo's mother is Big Mac'. Incidentally, if anyone would like a ficlet, pop on over to this thread and make a request, or PM me and I'll see what I can do. Big Momma © Scribbler, December 2012. Big Macintosh was the one to find her. It wasn’t any great feat of deduction or detective work; he just remembered where Applejack used to hide when she was the same age and self-conscious about her blank flank. Apple Bloom was a filly who preferred her hooves on solid ground, but until she spent time with the Oranges in Manehatten Applejack had lived with her head always a little in the clouds. So while everypony else scoured the orchards, clubhouse and surrounding area, he plodded to the barn and up the ladder to the hayloft. He figured getting off the ground was key when figuring out where a pegasus who couldn’t fly might go to be alone. Sure enough, Scootaloo was curled up in the straw like a small cat. They used to keep cats on the farm until Winona decided she wasn’t about to share her territory with any feline. After that they had to give them all away, since there was no question about Winona not staying. Dad had given Winona to Applejack on one of his rare visits home, like the bundle of needy brown fuzz could make up for a pair of absentee parents. Still, Big Macintosh had memories of waking up on winter mornings when the boiler had broken, his breath steaming even though he was indoors but his body warm because of the small furry kittens curled up on his bedclothes. Sometimes he really missed those cats. Scootaloo’s face was streaked with dried tears. She had clearly cried herself into an exhausted sleep. His first instinct was to wake her, but something made him stop. Even though she was asleep her body language screamed ‘Stay Away From Me’. He didn’t want to wake her if he couldn’t be sure what kind of reaction that would provoke. Big Macintosh didn’t pretend to understand fillies or how friendships between them differed from friendships between colts the same age. He had learned a lot from watching Applejack and now Apple Bloom grow up, but the nuances of female social structure escaped him. What he did understand was the concept of bullying and that you didn’t have to steal lunch money or leave hoofprints on somepony’s rump to be a bully. Scootaloo shivered. It was chilly up here with the window open. He was sure he hadn’t left it that way and assumed she had opened it. That would make sense if she was feeling sensitive about her wings. A bit of sky-time was good for anypony, he reckoned. It made you appreciate the grand scheme of things a bit more when you stopped and took stock of just how small you and your problems were in the universe. Even so, Scootaloo’s trembling body made him want to close the window and cover her with the ratty blanket from the corner. She stirred when he drew the blanket over her. He paused but she didn’t wake. He planned to descend the ladder again and tell everyone that he had found the missing filly safe and sound after she ran off and apparently disappeared after her set-to at school. He had even taken a few careful steps when he heard her sniff dolefully and looked back in time to see a fat tear drip off her eyelashes. He looked between the hayloft door and Scootaloo, hesitated and then went back to nose her out of whatever bad dream was making her cry. “Don’t … go,” she murmured sleepily. Evidently she was so tired sleep clung to her like drying clay. Big Macintosh was about to nose her again, more forcefully this time, when her next words made him freeze. “Momma, Poppa, please … don’t leave me.” It was common knowledge that Scootaloo’s parents weren’t a part of her life. The exact details were hazy, but everypony was acutely aware of it, and also acutely aware that nopony talked about it. Nopony, that is, except a couple of spoilt fillies who thought it was fun to turn someone else’s private pain into entertainment. “I’ll be good …” Scootaloo said to the apparitions her sleeping mind had conjured. “I … promise …” Another tear slid down her face. She shivered again, although now Big Macintosh wasn’t sure whether it was from cold or something else. “ … Momma … Poppa … please don’t go …” Big Macintosh wasn’t sure what to do. Should he fetch Applejack? She was better at dealing with this sort of thing than him. Or maybe Granny Smith was the pony for the job. Ponies talked about her losing her marbles these days, but she has successfully raised three grandkids and constantly picked up the pieces whenever their parents blew into town and then blew out again. Yes, Granny would be the pony for the job – if she could only climb the steps to the hayloft. Applejack it was then; except that she was out looking for Scootaloo and he didn’t know exactly where she had gone – Scootaloo reached blindly in her sleep for a pony who wasn’t there. “Momma?” Big Macintosh hesitated, and then cautiously hunkered down in the straw, touching her outstretched hoof with his nose. She sighed happily. Even more cautiously he encircled her tiny body with his own massive frame. He curled his short tail around her as best he could and hoped that would bring her some peace, if not some actual warmth. Maybe it was stupid, but it was all he could think to do. Leaving her in such a state was unthinkable. He would have regretted every step down the ladder. Gradually Scootaloo relaxed, her breathing becoming even as her sleep became more restful. Big Macintosh stayed where he was, resolving to speak to Cheerilee about the behaviour of some of her students. For now, however, he just stayed put, allowing his calm presence to seep into the atmosphere as thoroughly as Granny Smith’s had so long ago when he and his sisters had needed it too. Wonderful Wonderful I watch her every day. She’s beautiful. She makes me beautiful too, though I’ve never told her how much I appreciate it. I’m plain, you see. Plain and boring. Some might even call me ugly. She, however, sees the potential inside me. She sees the hidden beauty inside all of us. Moreover, she helps it emerge, time and again. I don’t know if any of the others feel the same way I do. If they watch her move around the room, wishing she would lay a hoof on them and tell them they’re special, they’ve never said so. It’s all I long for. My day starts when I see her and I’m happiest just watching her work. She has hooves that can thread the eye of a needle without magic, you know. That’s impressive for a unicorn. She learned how when she worked so many late nights last year that she exhausted her horn before she had finished an order. I wanted to jump to her rescue and finish it all for her, but my hooves can’t do what hers can. Her hooves are nimble things that create art. Mine can’t. I wish I could tell her how much I love her. I wish I could make her understand how she brings me to life every time I’m near her. She found me, you know. Rescued me. Not many ponies who know her could ever guess she would do something like that. Her friends might. They see some of what I see in her. Most, however, only see her as a drama queen who would rather die than touch something as rank and disgusting as I was back then. She literally found me as was being tossed from a building, no longer any use to anypony – or so I thought. I believed I was a washed up has-been but she brought me home with her, fixed me up and gave me a new purpose. I thought I was consigned to the garbage heap but she … she saw the potential in me that even I didn’t see. She carried me under cover of darkness, of course, and hid me away at first, but I didn’t mind. I knew she was the reason I was being given a second chance. I knew she was my saviour. She never told anypony where I came from when she finally introduced me to them. As far as they’re all concerned, I’ve always been the way I am now – clean, scented and ready to help her at a moment’s notice. If she wants to keep to herself how many hours she spent scrubbing at my stains and sewing my stuffing back inside, I’m not going to spoil the illusion for her. She has a reputation to keep up, after all. She’s the best. She’s going places. She’s the pony everypony should know. Mares of her calibre don’t get on their knees and use a toothbrush to work out a grease spot on the undercarriage of an old thing like me. I remember what she said to me when she was finished. She got up, let outa brisk sigh and told me I looked wonderful. I think that was the moment I fell in love with her. No-one had ever told me I was wonderful before. Useful, yes. Necessary, sure. Useless, old and unneeded, most definitely. But wonderful? Never. “You’re going to look absolutely gorgeous in my latest creation,” she trills now, holding it up to me. “I just know you are, darling.” The dress is a taffeta and silk confection in green and blue. It shimmers in the midday sun, truly a beautiful thing, but all I can focus on is her smile. The smile aimed at me. I wish I could tell her how much she means to me. It would help if I had a mouth. Author's Note Written for Prompt #446: “Everyone Loves” over on thirtyminuteponies . tumblr . com I was a twit and forgot until twenty minutes before the deadline, however, so this is more fifteenminuteponies. -_-;;
Origin of a TyrantDisclaimer Despotically not mine A/N: Written for the ‘tell King Sombra’s backstory in under 300 words’ challenge on Equestria Daily. Origin of a Tyrant © Scribbler, November 2012. It is an incontrovertible fact of the universe that everything must have an opposite. How else can anything be defined unless it is compared with something else? Without sadness, how could you ever know you’re happy? Without cold, how would you know what warmth is? Without night-time darkness, how could you appreciate daylight? Without evil, how could you understand goodness? Without hate, how could you recognise love? Or maybe it’s the other way around… The Crystal Empire was a beacon of goodness in the ancient world. Regular ponies travelled from far and wide to visit and gawk at the wonders inside its gleaming walls and spend time with the beautiful crystal ponies. Citizens lived in harmony, taking for granted how lucky they were. It was no more than their due, after all. They were the crystal ponies; ergo they were perfect and their empire could be nothing less. No other empire was as successful, as blissful, or as prosperous. Their power was unsurpassed; their magical advances unmatched. By the time most pony kingdoms were building mud huts, the crystal ponies were enchanting their way to a life of luxury and laziness. As the crystal ponies became complacent in their supremacy and careless about containing their surplus magic, they failed to notice a cloud forming above their glittering city. Maybe they complained about unwanted shade on a sunny day, but they didn’t think any more about it. Maybe they noticed the morning mist cleared slower and slower, but they didn’t suspect anything sinister. That is, until the day the glittering Crystal Empire woke to find its streets filled with that mist, heard the echo of metallic hooves emerging from it and saw its first glimpse of curved, grinning fangs. “Greetings, slaves. I thank you for bringing me life.”
DoppelgangerA/N: Requested by Greatodyer when I threw out an appeal for requests on the UK of Equestria message-board. He requested ‘Vinyl and Rarity trying each other's jobs’. Doppelganger © Scribbler, December 2012. Rarity stared at the flashing lights and impressive looking dials. The equipment was quite pretty if you thought about it, though it would be so much better with precious stones to make it sparkle. Maybe some gold fabric along the front, too; ruched of course. Perhaps with lacy edging to soften the harsh lines and angles of the metal beneath. Gold would shimmer beautifully in club lights … She stopped herself. She wasn’t supposed to decorate this thing. Much to her chagrin, she was supposed to look like she knew how to use it. Vinyl hobbled up, ever-present sunglasses masking her expression, though the tightness around her mouth spoke volumes. Her grip on her crutch shifted as she spoke, slurring her words a little around the huge bruise discolouring half her face. “Do you want me to go over it again?” Rarity tossed her mane. “No, thank you. I think I understood after the fifth repetition.” Vinyl wrinkled her nose and gestured with a foreleg strapped between two splints. “Hey, you offered to do this. Don’t get snappy now. Seriously uncool, y’know?” Inwardly Rarity cringed. She had been ecstatic when Vinyl Scratch’s agent contacted her to create something for the star to wear to an awards ceremony in Manehatten. Vinyl had great poise for a pony who spent most of her time standing still and just moving her forelegs a bit. Rarity had been bursting with musical themed ideas and wasted no time whipping up sample outfits for her new client to try on. How could she know that Vinyl was deathly allergic to cats, or that Opal would wander in at exactly the wrong moment, or that the ensuing sneezing fit would send all three of them careening into her work station and cause the whole thing to fall on poor Vinyl? Rarity eyed the deck again and gulped. “I’m fine. Really, I am.” Vinyl took off her glasses. It was such an unprecedented move that Rarity momentarily forget her nerves and the crowds of ponies outside the venue waiting to see a live show. The music was all pre-recorded, but Vinyl’s fans didn’t just come to hear her; they came to SEE her. “Thank you,” Vinyl said earnestly. “I really appreciate you doing this.” “It’s no trouble, honestly.” Rarity tried to toss her mane again, forgetting it was currently too short to toss properly. It bristled a little, but that really wasn’t the same. Make-up and powder on her cutie mark could be removed easily, but this cut and dye job would take a while to grow out. Still, when she had learned about the sold-out show she simply couldn’t bear the idea that her own mistakes would be responsible for spoiling so many ponies’ enjoyment. The offer had slipped out before she could stop herself and there was no way she could go back on her word afterwards. That kind of ungenerousness was simply unthinkable. Vinyl regarded her with an unreadable expression. Her face was actually just as difficult to read with the shades off. Abruptly she held them out, wiggling when Rarity didn’t take them straight away. “Here.” “Excuse me?” “Wear these.” “But they’re yours.” “They’re DJ PON-3’s; and for tonight? That’s you.” She continued to hold out the sunglasses until Rarity accepted and slipped them on. Vinyl gave a small, fierce smile of approval. “Now you’re cooking with gas.” Rarity chanced a look in the shiny metal of the deck. She looked nothing like herself. Then again, that was the point. “DJ PON-3 is in the house,” she murmured. “Goodness gracious, what was I thinking?”
Big MommaA/N: Requested by Finalsight, who gave me the prompt 'Scootaloo's mother is Big Mac'. Incidentally, if anyone would like a ficlet, pop on over to this thread and make a request, or PM me and I'll see what I can do. Big Momma © Scribbler, December 2012. Big Macintosh was the one to find her. It wasn’t any great feat of deduction or detective work; he just remembered where Applejack used to hide when she was the same age and self-conscious about her blank flank. Apple Bloom was a filly who preferred her hooves on solid ground, but until she spent time with the Oranges in Manehatten Applejack had lived with her head always a little in the clouds. So while everypony else scoured the orchards, clubhouse and surrounding area, he plodded to the barn and up the ladder to the hayloft. He figured getting off the ground was key when figuring out where a pegasus who couldn’t fly might go to be alone. Sure enough, Scootaloo was curled up in the straw like a small cat. They used to keep cats on the farm until Winona decided she wasn’t about to share her territory with any feline. After that they had to give them all away, since there was no question about Winona not staying. Dad had given Winona to Applejack on one of his rare visits home, like the bundle of needy brown fuzz could make up for a pair of absentee parents. Still, Big Macintosh had memories of waking up on winter mornings when the boiler had broken, his breath steaming even though he was indoors but his body warm because of the small furry kittens curled up on his bedclothes. Sometimes he really missed those cats. Scootaloo’s face was streaked with dried tears. She had clearly cried herself into an exhausted sleep. His first instinct was to wake her, but something made him stop. Even though she was asleep her body language screamed ‘Stay Away From Me’. He didn’t want to wake her if he couldn’t be sure what kind of reaction that would provoke. Big Macintosh didn’t pretend to understand fillies or how friendships between them differed from friendships between colts the same age. He had learned a lot from watching Applejack and now Apple Bloom grow up, but the nuances of female social structure escaped him. What he did understand was the concept of bullying and that you didn’t have to steal lunch money or leave hoofprints on somepony’s rump to be a bully. Scootaloo shivered. It was chilly up here with the window open. He was sure he hadn’t left it that way and assumed she had opened it. That would make sense if she was feeling sensitive about her wings. A bit of sky-time was good for anypony, he reckoned. It made you appreciate the grand scheme of things a bit more when you stopped and took stock of just how small you and your problems were in the universe. Even so, Scootaloo’s trembling body made him want to close the window and cover her with the ratty blanket from the corner. She stirred when he drew the blanket over her. He paused but she didn’t wake. He planned to descend the ladder again and tell everyone that he had found the missing filly safe and sound after she ran off and apparently disappeared after her set-to at school. He had even taken a few careful steps when he heard her sniff dolefully and looked back in time to see a fat tear drip off her eyelashes. He looked between the hayloft door and Scootaloo, hesitated and then went back to nose her out of whatever bad dream was making her cry. “Don’t … go,” she murmured sleepily. Evidently she was so tired sleep clung to her like drying clay. Big Macintosh was about to nose her again, more forcefully this time, when her next words made him freeze. “Momma, Poppa, please … don’t leave me.” It was common knowledge that Scootaloo’s parents weren’t a part of her life. The exact details were hazy, but everypony was acutely aware of it, and also acutely aware that nopony talked about it. Nopony, that is, except a couple of spoilt fillies who thought it was fun to turn someone else’s private pain into entertainment. “I’ll be good …” Scootaloo said to the apparitions her sleeping mind had conjured. “I … promise …” Another tear slid down her face. She shivered again, although now Big Macintosh wasn’t sure whether it was from cold or something else. “ … Momma … Poppa … please don’t go …” Big Macintosh wasn’t sure what to do. Should he fetch Applejack? She was better at dealing with this sort of thing than him. Or maybe Granny Smith was the pony for the job. Ponies talked about her losing her marbles these days, but she has successfully raised three grandkids and constantly picked up the pieces whenever their parents blew into town and then blew out again. Yes, Granny would be the pony for the job – if she could only climb the steps to the hayloft. Applejack it was then; except that she was out looking for Scootaloo and he didn’t know exactly where she had gone – Scootaloo reached blindly in her sleep for a pony who wasn’t there. “Momma?” Big Macintosh hesitated, and then cautiously hunkered down in the straw, touching her outstretched hoof with his nose. She sighed happily. Even more cautiously he encircled her tiny body with his own massive frame. He curled his short tail around her as best he could and hoped that would bring her some peace, if not some actual warmth. Maybe it was stupid, but it was all he could think to do. Leaving her in such a state was unthinkable. He would have regretted every step down the ladder. Gradually Scootaloo relaxed, her breathing becoming even as her sleep became more restful. Big Macintosh stayed where he was, resolving to speak to Cheerilee about the behaviour of some of her students. For now, however, he just stayed put, allowing his calm presence to seep into the atmosphere as thoroughly as Granny Smith’s had so long ago when he and his sisters had needed it too.
Wonderful Wonderful I watch her every day. She’s beautiful. She makes me beautiful too, though I’ve never told her how much I appreciate it. I’m plain, you see. Plain and boring. Some might even call me ugly. She, however, sees the potential inside me. She sees the hidden beauty inside all of us. Moreover, she helps it emerge, time and again. I don’t know if any of the others feel the same way I do. If they watch her move around the room, wishing she would lay a hoof on them and tell them they’re special, they’ve never said so. It’s all I long for. My day starts when I see her and I’m happiest just watching her work. She has hooves that can thread the eye of a needle without magic, you know. That’s impressive for a unicorn. She learned how when she worked so many late nights last year that she exhausted her horn before she had finished an order. I wanted to jump to her rescue and finish it all for her, but my hooves can’t do what hers can. Her hooves are nimble things that create art. Mine can’t. I wish I could tell her how much I love her. I wish I could make her understand how she brings me to life every time I’m near her. She found me, you know. Rescued me. Not many ponies who know her could ever guess she would do something like that. Her friends might. They see some of what I see in her. Most, however, only see her as a drama queen who would rather die than touch something as rank and disgusting as I was back then. She literally found me as was being tossed from a building, no longer any use to anypony – or so I thought. I believed I was a washed up has-been but she brought me home with her, fixed me up and gave me a new purpose. I thought I was consigned to the garbage heap but she … she saw the potential in me that even I didn’t see. She carried me under cover of darkness, of course, and hid me away at first, but I didn’t mind. I knew she was the reason I was being given a second chance. I knew she was my saviour. She never told anypony where I came from when she finally introduced me to them. As far as they’re all concerned, I’ve always been the way I am now – clean, scented and ready to help her at a moment’s notice. If she wants to keep to herself how many hours she spent scrubbing at my stains and sewing my stuffing back inside, I’m not going to spoil the illusion for her. She has a reputation to keep up, after all. She’s the best. She’s going places. She’s the pony everypony should know. Mares of her calibre don’t get on their knees and use a toothbrush to work out a grease spot on the undercarriage of an old thing like me. I remember what she said to me when she was finished. She got up, let outa brisk sigh and told me I looked wonderful. I think that was the moment I fell in love with her. No-one had ever told me I was wonderful before. Useful, yes. Necessary, sure. Useless, old and unneeded, most definitely. But wonderful? Never. “You’re going to look absolutely gorgeous in my latest creation,” she trills now, holding it up to me. “I just know you are, darling.” The dress is a taffeta and silk confection in green and blue. It shimmers in the midday sun, truly a beautiful thing, but all I can focus on is her smile. The smile aimed at me. I wish I could tell her how much she means to me. It would help if I had a mouth. Author's Note Written for Prompt #446: “Everyone Loves” over on thirtyminuteponies . tumblr . com I was a twit and forgot until twenty minutes before the deadline, however, so this is more fifteenminuteponies. -_-;;
