Prologue: Of Long Times Past
‘Pet Peeves’
by TheApexSovereign
Prologue: Of Times Long Past
Our journey begins in a time long passed—an age before any of us were born under Celestia’s wings, the like of which you and I will never see in our lifetimes.
In an era long before Harmony and, heh, Chaos, there was the Void—the Grey Millennium. Centuries prior to the three pony rulers uniting their kingdoms under one flag and dubbing our great pasture “Equestria”, before unicorns and pegasi could even form complete sentences, the earth was barren, cold; magma ceaselessly spewed into the heavens from chasms that split the land apart. Both the sun and the moon were but faded spheres in a forlorn sky. Time in itself was but a myth. Our earliest ancestors lived in misery the likes that could be comparable only to old King Sombra’s rule, but even then his people had some semblance of hope. Our progenitors didn’t believe in such fantasies.
Amongst the misery of existence, only one kingdom was powerful and depraved enough to take the reins and rule this desolate land:
Tambelon. The Nightmare Castle. The Citadel of Shadow.
Seated at the throne of this twisted kingdom was the wrathful ram of the Southern Lands: Grogar, the Necromancer.
Not bound by the self-governed laws of morality, Lord Grogar made it his life’s work to learn all that the world had to offer, so that he could lead the primevals out of the Grey Millennium and into what he proclaimed to be a superior future (a future he would shape himself, of course). Those who loved what they now call “a fairytale” often debated over whether Grogar’s vision was worse than another hundred years of the Grey Millennium.
Over the course of his life, old power-hungry Lord Grogar grew from butting heads with his brothers to becoming history’s most feared and respected sorcerer. There was never any rest for Grogar, as he believed sleep to be a waste of time, a paltry exercise. He felt that kings and queens should never be relaxed. Not when they had a throne to rule.
The entirety of Grogar’s life can be surmised as simply being one big lesson; just as he was in the final stages of mastering control over crystal, he moved on to self-duplication, and then spirit conjuring and immortality and shadow bending, hexes and curses and, of course, necromancy. Grogar the Necromancer was especially famous for his will over the dead, as his name would imply. It took years of his immortal life and a trek through Tartarus to learn its secrets. There was never a corpse too rotted or too bare that Grogar couldn’t enthrall with just a little bit of the anger pumping his prune of a heart that such a black magic called for. Thousands of ibex have gone completely mad trying to walk in their ancestor’s hoofsteps, and a staggering few have had little success. The price one must pay to even have a lick of dark magic is great: they must isolate themselves and lead a lonely existence, unless their companion is content or stupid enough to become akin to Lord Grogar’s faithful punching bag, Bray. And even then, if they fail to keep the fire of their hearts in check or flop in finding a Bray for periodic release, the darkness can sap at their very essence until they’re but a sickly old prune.
This, coupled with morality, is one of the thousand-and-one reasons why our Great Princess Celestia has made black magic illegal in Equestria. Though, perhaps that gravelly beast, Sombra, had a hoof in that as well.
But it’s no use in denying that there is influence in power; we’re attracted to it, like a moth to a flame, or refuge from a storm. And as Grogar’s power grew, so did his followers. At the apex of his reign, nearly half the continent was flailing about the Red-Eyed Goat that was Tambelon’s banner like a horde of brainwashed drones.
Oh, wait . . .
Yet they held no love for the ram; only fear. Grogar knew that of course and he relished in it. For four-hundred years Grogar trekked the globe, leaving Tambelon’s flag at every turn and in the hands and claws and maws of every ally he made. There was nothing that could stop the Iron Ram, it would seem. In fact, the only thing that could stop him was himself.
And that’s just what happened.
Grogar was many things, but never was he patient. He was the type of ram that would fulfill his end of the bargain long after the fact, and only if smiting you into dust after your usefulness had met its end failed. Many who loved having a brain in their skull were happy with giving Grogar time to pay his debts. In fact, they gave him all the time in the world! And that’s just how life went in the Grey Millennium: Grogar would make an alliance and wait for his cohorts to die of old age and then reanimate their bones to make them his thrall.
Only one alliance—Grogar’s first, in fact—broke away from the circle. And if there was one race—an entire species, not just one individual—that is more impatient, more angry, and just as everlasting and vilified as old Lord Grogar, that would hooves-down be the dragons.
It was sort of a beautiful match, if you ask me. Both desired power, both were willing to abandon what little creed they had to gain it, and yet neither had respect nor fear for the other.
The dragons grew weary of the centuries it took Lord Grogar to live up to his promises. It was always ‘Where is that mountain of riches you promised us, Sheep Lord?’ this and ‘We grow weary of waiting for that Everlasting Rest you promised us, Sheep Lord’ that. And every time, Lord Grogar assured them that he would pay his debts once the Grey Millennium has passed.
But the dragons weren’t pleased with that answer. They loathed the “Sheep Lord” that was commanding them, the Great Wyrms of Old, to sit and wait for another age to pass. But a dragon’s greed is something that is easily manipulated if you are as charismatic as Grogar was. His lauding of the promised “golden mountain” that every dragon in the realm could use as a site for this “Everlasting Rest” was something that the great wyrms so very desired.
But Grogar’s ambition inevitably came to a glorious end when his faithful apprentice, an ibex named Mortuus Magus, spoke one rumor too many that old Lord Grogar had never planned to make an ascension from the Grey Millennium, and it was just a farce to make the desperate masses bend.
Rumor or not, centuries had passed and not a soul knew if that was the truth. But regardless, the deed was done, and the wrathful drakes were outraged. Without warning, the Wyrms of Old fell upon Tambelon in droves of thousands, their numbers blotting the grey sky like a flock of ravens.
Within an hour’s time, Tambelon had been completely razed. Nothing remained but a smoldering ruin and the charred bones of the millions of undead that had been within Grogar’s thrall were finally put to rest. Lord Grogar the Necromancer was slain, as were his followers living at Tambelon. Only a few hundred drakes were felled in the battle, but that mattered little to them. The allies Grogar put so much effort into (or lack thereof) broke away, never to make contact again, until the Alicorn Sisters would reunite them under their flag a time later.
History seems to have forgotten all of the great progress Grogar made (or rather forced) in both the cultural and magical aspects of our current day society. Why, I’d say we’d all still be throwing rocks in the air and calling it levitation if it weren’t for him! Even today the Olden Ram’s memory holds a presence in Caprinae, where it was believed to be the place where Tambelon rose its walls. Within its craggy borders there are those like the shadow-skulking ibex who revere the Dread Lord like a martyr, even going as far as calling him the grandfather of sorcery. Mothers tell their fillies the story of Grogar the Tyrannical as a bedtime read, made to frighten the little tykes so they wouldn’t get out of bed, lest the Ram of Shadows grab them from down under and take them to become his thrall. And I know of detached herds of buffalo who see old Grogar as a wicked spirit that is destined to return from ashes with Tambelon in tow and reclaim his birthright.
But this is all just an old pony’s tale, am I right? I mean, there’s just so many plot holes and inconsistencies throughout, dull characterization and prose so purple it turned blue. But hey, I could be wrong! Maybe this all really did happen. Perhaps the buffalo are right, and Lord Grogar will emerge from the shadows and raise Tambelon from the ashes to blot out the sun like the legends proclaim. After all . . .
“. . . I was never good at making up stories.” Discord’s raucous cackle echoed throughout the dreamlike realm, seemingly for infinity. It very well could have, he thought, considering there were no walls for the sound to bounce off of.
It was just blank—a hall that had neither an end nor a beginning, and so purely white that it hurt Discord’s eyes if he threatened to look for so long. This place always felt like winter, he thought, its chilled air carrying the scent of an evening snowfall. A simple blue scarf pinged around Discord’s neck as goose flesh rose underneath his pelt. He drifted through the realm at a deliberate pace, enjoying the sights as he looked up and around and right below him at the countless mirrors hovering in quiet; the only sound Discord heard was his own breathing and the beating of his wings.
“Could they even be called mirrors?” Discord asked no one in particular. The oval glass appeared to belong in a mirror, but a gaseous border enclosed it, like a cloud but whiter than the whiteness around them. 'Tacky', is the word I believe sweet Rarity would use. Wisps licked out at the nothingness around them, like a mist, always reaching out to each other but never moving from the space they filled. Those nearby that Discord slithered past reached out for him, attracted by the physical presence that seldom crossed this realm. More than once he saw new mirrors springing out of thin air, even right in front of him in a few cases. Even while glancing about Discord was constantly spotting mirrors near and far melting into nothingness, in reference to their owner’s life.
Discord wadded through mirrors with twiddling fingers and a devious smirk dancing on his lip. None of them held anything of particular interest, though the common pony could be lost in this realm for the rest of their lives if they had such a strong curiosity of the unknown. Cutie marks and birthdays, saving a life or making one, it was all these mirrors held but an actual reflection.
“The Fates have been busy,” Discord remarked, the emptiness ahead parroting his remark with his own voice. The immortal chaos god, like Princess Celestia and Princess Luna, had no use for something in the likes of mirrors that told of a pony’s Destiny. ‘Why need them at all?’ he’d ask himself. ‘Just let birds and bees be free.’
But sadly for Discord, that was how the formless Fates and Princess Celestia ensured peace and order. It was as it has been for thousands of years. ‘No room for Chaos here,’ Discord thought with a grunt.
“Still, I could do a lot of naughty naughty things in here,” he tittered, passing by the mirror of a shaman buffalo who seemingly found a cure for his tribe’s ailments. It took just a single thought for dozens of scenarios to play out in his maniacal brain. However, it wasn’t good judgement and morality that kept the Chaos god in check, rather it was Celestia’s promise to blast him back to the Void if she discovered he had tempered with anypony’s Destiny.
Discord pressed on, glancing at the dozens of mirrors he passed by, near and far, literally keeping an eye out for one in particular. Minutes passed until the chaos god finally found his target. He drifted towards it, drinking in the image of the lilac alicorn hunched over a desk, soundlessly reading aloud from a tome as the young drake on her left scribbled down notes on a roll of parchment that far exceeded the length of his stubby legs. Her right was flanked by an owl that slept on a perch with its beak buried in its fluff.
“Oh Princess Twilight,” Discord sighed, “you’d saved Equestria more times than I care to remember, became the second pony to ever be made into an alicorn princess, and yet you’ve still got just a dull little mirror. Call me a diva, but I’d expect something extravagant, something that’d fit the name of—eh?” A flash of the image on a nearby mirror stopped Discord.
He turned and found it displaying the glowering image of a mountain stained with magma running down its side, pooling at the bottom before another discharge spewed from its smoldering top.
Discord’s mouth hung open as his brain, normally so quick on the dime, actually struggled to find the words to speak. All he could do was proclaim the mirror was Fluttershy’s, and for a moment, a pang ran through his shriveled heart before dispersing immediately. Just a second ago it showed her making a complex salad-sundae for her greedy rabbit, Angel Bunny.
And with equal suddenness a mirror a way’s away from Fluttershy’s flickered to the same image, and then another to its left. The mountain was black against the pale sky in its background, flaring angrily and for the briefest of moments. Discord could have sworn he saw the discharge of magma look like a claw, or a horn. “Applejack? Rainbow Dash? Wha—?”
The ruddy flash flicked at Discord’s right flank. Twilight’s mirror, showing the image of this obscure “Destiny” the Fates had cooked up for the Elements of Harmony to tackle. Rarity and Pinkie Pie’s, though he couldn’t spot them at the moment, were without a doubt showing the same exact image.
Discord felt coals smoldering in his belly as the mirrors flickered to the image of a strip of boiled leather bedazzled with some rusty old bells, lain across a pile of gold. A white hoof reached down to pick them up.
“No,” he muttered. “There’s no way that this was a coincidence. I was just thinking about that! It doesn't make any . . .” Oh, the irony.
The chaos god quieted himself when the mirrors flashed once more, and displayed an image that set the coals in his belly ablaze. Smiling, Discord made a tsking noise. “You six . . . I truly think you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”
On the top of a hill stood a tree; a mockwood, to be precise. Nay, it’s not a tree that contains some sort of untapped power, nor is it very comely, with its bark brown as any mud you’d find in Equestria and the fog of five-pointed leaves up above that were green by day and turned black under moonlight. But every Tuesday afternoon, it became the most important place in Equestria—not by pony, gryphon or zebra or dragon—but to the pets of six very important ponies. And for three years now for one day a week until the sun hid behind Canterlot, the pets would engage in stuffing themselves with the ripest of fruits, nap in the plushest bed of grass they could find and play games ranging from those simple in design such as fetch, to more elaborate creations that many wouldn’t assume the supposedly simple-minded creatures could organize. Every week was different; one Tuesday would involve the pets battling the wicked sabercat, Opalescence, while the next would entail a tree-wide war over possession of a twig they’d imagine was the key to Equestria.
Angel Bunny was the only one who excused himself from his companions’ horseplay. Never out of contempt, no, but he never saw the fun or pleasure in being mottled green by the day’s end and then having his owner force him into a bath. And not once does he regret this decision, as he never felt he was missing anything. Sleep and stuffing his face with blue sweetberries while their pony masters cooed over his comely image held more of an appeal than getting lapped across the face by Winona. Plus there were days when Gummy would exclude himself from the game if it got too rough, which happened more days than he’d like to admit, and he’d take his rest beside Angel.
This was one of those days: the sun was playing hide-and-seek with the rolling clouds, the ponies as always were keeping to their own devices and the bulk of the pets were engaged in a climb up the mockwood’s broad bole to defeat the baneful sorcerer Dark Lord Tank. Angel and his silent companion had been sunbathing for a better part of the afternoon, with the rabbit leaning on Gummy’s rigid back every now and then when the sun was given a chance to warm it.
He was staring off southways, into Ponyville. From an hour’s walk away, the quiet little hamlet appeared as nothing more than a cluster of huts with straw-roofs flanked by a thick green orchard. There was once a time where that was true, but nowadays many proclaim it as the most important place in Equestria. And why wouldn’t they? It’s where the Elements of Harmony live after all. When that thought crossed his mind, Angel looked up from his wedge of watermelon and spat little black seeds at the lumpy silhouette. His little legs peddaled in the air as he laughed his squeaky laugh. Beneath him, a smirk surfaced at the corner of Gummy’s lip, as was his usual way of displaying a titter. He always found seed-spitting amusing, though Angel never understood nor cared to learn why.
This was all Angel Bunny could do for entertainment, as the mockwood and Ponyville were the only places worthy of attention in this grassy desert. He looked to his right, towards the west where the rich green hills rolled on for miles and miles with not an end in sight. That’s at least what Angel believed, since he never went that far from Ponyville. He knew behind him up north that it would be the same, but with that garish blight on the broad skyline named Canterlot looking back at him with its army of pallid mountaintops. To his left stood the Everfree Forest, where none ruled but nature itself. To north and south the wood went on as far as Angel could see—an endless labyrinth of roots and limbs armored by half a dozen shades of dark green. He sometimes wished Fluttershy lived a safer distance from it—when the wind blew, he always heard the ceaseless groan of branches older than Celestia herself. Even from afar the Everfree looked wild and untamable.
Angel pulled his eyes away from the dark wood before more unsavoury thoughts polluted his mind. His mouth, full of melon, spat another burst of seeds at Ponyville. He caught Gummy chirrup beneath him, just as their friends were heard hooting and hollering behind them after tumbling off the mockwood’s limbs.
There were many reasons to smile at that moment—Angel could have smiled at humoring his best friend, or at the laughter of his friends, or to being blessed to lead such an easy life full of long summers and overripe sweetberries.
He settled for all three, then smacked himself twice as soon as the moment’s heat died down and he realized he was grinning like a fool.
Author's Note
Sorry this took forever, guys. Editor Hell. Thank you for being so patient.
-Apex
Chapter One: The Waking Nightmare of a Dream Come True (pt. 1)
‘Pet Peeves’
by: TheApexSovereign
Chapter One: The Waking Nightmare of a Dream Come True (pt. 1)
The sun melted behind the Everfree Mountains of which Canterlot Castle’s foundations were built upon, casting the sky in a mystical orange splendor and dazzling it with hundreds upon hundreds of stars twinkling in the sky like little diamonds. The sense of life and purpose that permeated Ponyville gradually subsided as its residents turned in for a good night’s rest. The only prominent source of liveliness radiated from the little, cupcake-shaped tower at the apex of Sugarcube Corner, near the center of town.
“Whee! Come on, Gummy!” Pinkie giggled as she hopped into her darkened bedroom; the alligator remained with its jaws clamped at the end of her poofy tail, flopping to and fro accordingly with her spry bounces.
When Pinkie lit the candy cane-patterned lamp on her nightstand, Gummy released his grip and landed on the floor with a sludgy “thunk.”
“C’mon,” she chirped, “let’s go brush our teeth, Gummy!”
With no more recognition than a blank stare, he followed Pinkie Pie into the bathroom. Upon entering, she immediately assaulted the baby alligator with a thread of dental floss on the upper row of gums; Gummy made a little chirrup in delirium with every stroke of floss gently gliding across at his sensitive gums.
After discarding the piece of dental floss, Pinkie swiped her hoof across the floor and snatched Gummy up off the ground. She planted an affectionate kiss on his long, flat snout and nuzzled him against her cheek. “Oh, Gummy,” she whispered in bliss, “you’re the bestest-best alligator-pet a pony could ever have.”
The corners of Gummy’s mouth lifted ever so slightly.
Pinkie Pie set him aside and began brushing her own teeth: with a cupcake in hoof, she smiled wide and scrubbed it down with the treat’s icy-blue frosting. Her lips caked blue, Pinkie poured herself a glass of ginger ale, took a big sip and gargled. She spat the foamy mixture of soda and frosting into the sink and grinned at the mirror; her glowing, white smile beamed back.
Pinkie turned and looked down at Gummy; he gave her the usual, voided stare. “What?” she asked. Following Gummy’s wall-eyed gaze, Pinkie was led to the cupcake deprived of its frosting sitting on the floor by her hoof.
“Oh, that?” she giggled, scooping it up into her giant maw like a python and swallowing it whole. “That’s just from a catering order that was never picked up! So now we’ve got lots and lots of free cupcakes!”
The tiny slits of black in Gummy’s eyes parted, even more so than usual.
“No need to worry, Gummy my man, your Momma Pinkie’s gotcha covered!” Pinkie Pie reached behind her back and pulled out another cupcake with pale-blue frosting; she set it atop Gummy’s head. “C’mon, Gummy! Eat up-up-up!”
The alligator stood perfectly still, like a statue; not a twinge of movement was to be found in his posture, and Pinkie Pie is very observant.
Her discouraged frown quickly brightened up, as her upbeat attitude always enforced. “Oh, I see!” she gushed. “You don’t want your pretty, pretty gums getting all yucky-mucky from eating a cupcake, especially after flossing!” Gummy blinked, unsynchronized. “Say no more! I’ll just let you keep that as a midnight snack in case you get the munchies! How’s that sound?”
The gaze of his left eye shifted from the cupcake on the floor, to Pinkie Pie, to the cobwebs growing in the corner of the bathroom.
“Great!” Pinkie began springing her way out the door, only stopping to scratch Gummy’s rigid back. “I’ll let you go to bed when you’re ready. G’night, Gummy!”
He remained still for what felt like an hour, unmoving, until he heard the rustling of blankets behind him, across the bedroom, and light produced by the lamp abruptly cutting off with a defining “click.”
Even after that, Gummy himself remained in the bathroom for several moments, but felt it was safe enough to stretch his legs and flex his claws.
Safe from Pinkie Pie and her misguided (but well-meant) attempts at being fun, at least.
Finally, after sitting in the darkness for a good ten minutes, Gummy did something he rarely ever did: he frowned. Though, this wasn’t like his routine, vacant expression many have grown accustomed to; no, this was a frown formed by the contempt and disgust for the sugary, inedible treat sitting on top of his head. Gummy cocked it to the side, allowing the cupcake to fall off and land on its’ topping, remaining that way thanks to the thick concentration of frosting glueing it into the pink, frilly carpet. Just as Gummy waddled his way out of the bathroom, a cruel swat of his tail knocked the cupcake over with a considerable dent in its’ side.
Despite crawling through total darkness, Gummy’s blessed night-vision allowed him to navigate the room as if it were daytime. To his left, in the corner on a princess-sized bed, he found a sleeping Pinkie Pie wrapped up in her blanket like a cocoon, giggling every now and then as she snored.
Skittering around some balloons, and butting one aside with his snout, Gummy arrived at his own corner of Pinkie’s bedroom: The Pond. He felt a smile coming on in realizing that Pinkie Pie was thoughtful enough to turn the jet pumps and water heater on. Mixing with the cool springtime air pouring in through the window, a thick layer of frosty smoke shrouded the little jacuzzi, managing to obscure the plastic rocks walling the back and artificial foliage encircling it.
Without a second thought, Gummy belly-flopped into the Pond, creating a splash so small that many wouldn’t even consider it as one. His snout and eyes being the only things seen amongst the lukewarm churning water, and the jet pump on the pool’s floor massaging his underbelly, Gummy effortlessly slipped into a lazy, crosseyed slumber.
Golden Oaks Library came into view as a foreboding shadow against the dazzling azure heavens of dusk, peppered with a ceaseless profusion of pale, white stars. Though not completely darkened, the elusive sun painted a fine line of gold along the border of the western horizon, which just so happened to be established behind said treehouse.
A dark shadow tore through the scenery, making way for the library as if it were its home; the silhouette landed on the second floor windowsill and rapped at the glass.
“Hoo,” it said.
The window opened and out emerged a pleasantly surprised baby dragon. “Owlowiscious!” Spike proclaimed, extending his arm for the bird to hop on. “How was the Pony Pet Playdate?”
“Hoo!” said Owlowiscious, performing a small hop onto Spike’s forearm and wrapping his talons around it; the dragon’s scales were naturally thick, so it didn’t affect him in the slightest as his companion’s claws dug in to secure their hold.
Spike put his arm down and shut the window; Owlowiscious fluttered up to the tallest fin on the dragon’s head and perched himself on top. “So, I take it that you had a good time?” he asked; Owlowiscious nodded. “Where’s Twilight?”
“Hoo.” Owlowiscious pointed to the front door, down at the first floor of the library.
As if on cue, there was a knocking on the other side. “Spike?” called Princess Twilight, as the door opened on its own with a flash of her horn. “Spike? I’m home! Is Owlowiscious here?”
“Yup!” Spike ran to the top of the staircase and gestured to the owl balanced on his fin. He raised a single claw and gently scratched the bird under his chin.
Twilight kicked the door shut behind her, wings folding tightly at her sides. “Sorry it took me a bit to get here, guys. I was just seeing Rainbow, Applejack, and Rarity off,” she explained, tiredly propping her hooves on the circular table decorated with the bust of a stallion. “We were just having the most interesting conversations today.”
“Conversations?” echoed Spike, no longer scratching his owl friend’s neck and started making a descent down the stairs. “You guys were having conversations at a Pony Pet Playdate?”
Confused, Twilight met Spike at the bottom of the stairs. “Of course,” she said. “We always do. Why? Is there something wrong with that?”
As if his mistress's ignorance truly bothered him, Owlowiscious narrowed his eyes and turned his head round so that it wasn't facing her.
“Well,” began Spike, rubbing the back of his neck, “just sayin’, if I were a pet, I’d rather spend the Playdate actually, y’know, playing with you guys. What did the pets do, exactly?”
Twilight performed a single beat of her wings, achieving a tall leap over Spike and her pet owl and landing at the top of the stairs; Owlowiscious turned his head once more. “Well...” she explained, biting her tongue as she entered the bedroom area, “...I guess they kinda just kept to themselves, chatted a little. They seemed to just enjoy each other’s company, nowadays. Rarity claims the pets are just getting old. Rainbow scoffed at the idea, of course.” Spike, who was following her up the stairs, stopped in his tracks for a spell and shook his head.
“Don’t worry, Spike,” she assured him with a certifying wink. “We still spend time with our pets at home, don’t we, Owlowiscious?”
“Hoot,” he chirped rather dully. The insincerity of Owlowiscious’ distinctive tweet was lost not only on Twilight, but Spike as well. Realizing this, he rolled his eyes.
Spike admitted with uncertainty, “Uh, well, I guess you’re right, Twilight.”
She trotted into the bathroom and removed a slogged washcloth from a bucket full of cold water. Owlowiscious had flown ahead and was hovering beside her with a bottle of soap clutched in between his talons.
"Thanks Owlowiscious," said Twilight, looking up to the silhouette with a smile.
After scrubbing her face, she exited the bathroom. Twilight brushed past Spike, who hoisted himself up on her back as she walked by. Unbeknownst to him, Owlowiscious stayed in the bathroom with his bushy brows furrowed.
He watched with beady black eyes as Twilight, while tucking herself in, told Spike, “We’re going to the Crystal Fair tomorrow, so it’ll be an early start in the morning.”
Disgruntled with this unfavorable news, Spike nodded before piling into his basket next to Twilight’s bed. “Good night, Spike.”
“G’night, Twi."
With that, Twilight’s horn sheathed itself in a winding rosy glow; smiling, she had to nod only once and every light in the library went dark, save for the magically-powered one of her horn illuminating the entire bedroom, which was promptly dispersed. She didn’t even say goodnight to Owlowiscious, as exhaustion and a burdened mind got the better of her.
The horned owl simply shook his head, not in resent, but disappointment, as if he expected more from his mistress. Owlowiscious took flight, exiting the bathroom and making a winding descent to the first floor.
For the first time ever, with today’s thought-provoking Pony Pet Playdate still lingering heavily in his mind, Owlowiscious wasn’t at all prepared for the long night shift ahead. The only thing that motivated him were thoughts of sleeping all day tomorrow, like he naturally should be, with not a crazy adventure or vengeful adversary in sight to muck it up.
At one point during the night, while Owlowiscious dusted the bookshelves with a feather duster clutched in his talons, he failed to notice the pale glow emitting from the Elements of Harmony’s display case in the corner of the main archives. They were like flickering lights, altering into every varied shade of the rainbow until each gemstone was rendered a deathlike black; a cruel, sinister laugh danced around the air, rattling off into an unnatural echo and then silence.
At the exact same time that happened, Owlowiscious dropped out of the air like dead weight. Alive, but out cold.
Angel Bunny loved sleeping. He could safely say that it was one of his favorite pastimes, coming to a close second or third with picnics and running. But if there’s one thing he loved more than all of those things combined, it would definitely have to be sleeping in. Living with Fluttershy, the quietest pony (let alone sleeper) in all of Equestria, this was an activity Angel practiced regularly.
So to most, it would be understandable that he’d be less than pleased when someone, whether it'd be pony or animal alike, tries waking him up on one such morning.
Angel felt a light prodding at his elbow. Assuming it was one of the other local rabbits, he groggily swatted it away. “Go ‘way,” he murmured, burying his face into the lime green sofa. The poking and prodding ensued once again. “I said ‘go away,’ ya little rodent.” Despite his efforts at intimidating the meddler, the jabbing continued with added vigor. Whoever this was, they needed to speak with Angel whether he wanted to or not. Of course, he did not. Trying to blot out the incessant nudging, Angel peered over the white fur of his forelegs and looked out the window; from his spot on the couch, he got a perfect view of the nine-thirty time displayed on the Ponyville Clocktower.
Taking in the whole outside picture, Angel discovered that there was a dark sky hanging over Ponyville today, threatening to rain on it with heavy black thunderclouds.
‘I love sleeping in on rainy days,’ Angel thought. ‘Every chump from here to Canterlot knows that. So whoever’s waking me up at this hour had better have a good reason.’
Still looking at the wasted morning outside, Angel hissed through gritted teeth, “Whadda you want, troglodyte? Am I gonna have to get Flutters over here?”
The unseen intruder released a series of chirps and squeaks.
“Wha?” Angel’s ears twitched; confused, he batted them a little. Slowly turning, wincing as his cramped, stiff neck popped and cracked, he asked, “Sorry, can you repeat that? And perhaps speak a lil’... more...” Angel’s voice trailed off, as he was met with a most unexpected sight: the living room was smaller.
At least to him it was. Eyes darting around the room, everything looked a little bit smaller to him, as if he’d grown overnight. ‘But that’d be crazy!’ he assured himself.
Looking down at his own person, Angel erupted into a girlish shriek at the top of his lungs. In fact, he did grow over night, but he was no longer a rabbit; he was a pony, or more specifically, a colt. Angel placed his forehooves in front of his face, gazing upon them in jaw-dropped horror. He ran them along his soft, pudgy belly and gagged a little, stopping to ogle at the buttercream lock of wavy hair protruding from his hindquarters and falling over the edge of the couch.
‘My tail...’ he thought, his vision blurring with tears, ‘...my beautiful, fluffy tail.’
That’s when an all new terror dawned on him: “Where’re my ears?” he whispered, voice quaked with trepidation.
Angel frantically waved his forelegs in the air, attempting to feel around for his prized possessions; all he felt were short, velvety points on either side of his head. “My ears!” he sobbed. “My beautiful ears!”
In his fit of rage, Angel felt a little pair of wings flutter at his sides in hyperactive sequence. “Great,” he muttered, slowly curling up into a ball, “I’m a pegasus, too... Flutters!” No response. “Fluttershy! Fluttershy, I’m a pony! Fulfill your duty and help your bunny brother in his time of need!”
At that, Angel felt the unseen foe who woke him up pursuing its efforts once again by nudging a paw against his flank. “What do you want?” he bitterly mumbled.
Realizing that the intruder wouldn’t show himself, Angel sat up with furrowed brows and bared teeth. “Look, I dunno what sick game you’re playin’, but I’m sure as sugar that this is some sort of sick revenge for all those times I picked on...” Angel’s eyes widened to such a size that they covered most of his face, “...Fluttershy!?”
Before Angel sat another rabbit. Its fur was tinted an unnatural yellow, as was a tuft of pink hair falling from between her ears down the left half of her face and concealing one of two little turquoise beads for eyes. It had to have been Fluttershy; there was no doubt in Angel’s mind that it was. The little rabbit, who seemed a lot smaller than Angel originally was when he was one, twiddled her paws in an insecure, almost embarrassed manner.
Angel was at a complete loss for words: “I... but... you... you’re a rabbit!” he wildly gestured to Fluttershy. “And I’m a pony!” With gleeful amazement, Angel maneuvered his body in a variety of bends and twists to ensure that he saw every inch of it. “I need a mirror! Flutters, get me a mirror!”
Fluttershy squeaked in defiance, jumping up and down in an urgent, riled fashion.
“Oh, that’s right,” breathed Angel, nodding slowly. “You can’t even do that anymore, can ya?” To that, Fluttershy winced back, attempting to hide behind her paws and hair. “Yeah, you’re just a weak and defenseless bunny rabbit now, aren’t ya?”
She took another step back, tears threatening to spill out of her eyes; a cruel smirk was splayed across Angel’s lips. “And now...” he hissed, “...I’m gonna do something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time.”
Angel leaned over across the sofa and opened the drawer of a little side table next to it; the drawer itself had a little sticky note that said, “Angel Bunny’s! Do not touch!” Inside was a plethora of fresh, golden carrots, most of which were picked just yesterday by Fluttershy herself.
Angel took one such carrot and handed it to his master. “Eat it,” he said with a grin. Fluttershy gave an appreciative smile and graciously took the carrot in her paws, as if she’s been asking for that all along. Struggling to lift it, as it was almost as big as her, she laid the carrot across her lap and ate a small morsel from the base.
“I’m free!” Angel cheered, shooting his hooves up into the air; Fluttershy shuddered a little as she daintily nibbled her meal. “Look at you!” he laughed in disbelief, jabbing his former owner in the chest and knocking her down. “No longer do I have to play charades with you when I want a drink of water, or if your own life is just so busy and hectic that you can’t even keep track of one measly luncheon! Haha! Freedom!”
Twenty minutes later and Fluttershy was still working at her carrot with only five bites taken. “Well,” Angel began, scratching the back of his neck, “I would tell you to ‘eat slowly’ every ten seconds, but you’ve, uh, kinda got that covered already.” With bored, tired eyes, he watched Fluttershy take a few more bites of her carrot before putting it down, unfinished.
“Ha!” Angel laughed, whipping a hoof in front of Fluttershy’s cringing face. “You didn’t finish! You can’t play or anything until you finish!” To that, Fluttershy looked up at Angel with bright, blue eyes and a glowing little smile; she nodded, accepting her “punishment,” and laid back against the sofa with paws on her belly.
“You don’t wanna play?” asked Angel, a single brow raised; Fluttershy, still smiling, shook her head. Angel knew what she was doing: she was playing the “I’m perfectly fine with your company” card.
“Well, I won’t give you the satisfaction!” he sneered, sliding off from the couch and ignoring the puzzled look on the rabbit’s face. “You know what I’m gonna do?” His mistress shrugged. “I’m gonna go down to... to...” Angel searched the floor, thinking of an answer, “...to Sweet Apple Acres! Yeah! And I’m gonna see the look on Winona’s stupid face when she sees that I’m a bonafide full-grown pony!”
Angel trotted out the door, ignoring the flurries of shrills and cries coming from Fluttershy. “And there’s nothing you can do to stop me!” he added with his hoof on the knob. With wide, fear-stricken eyes, Fluttershy hopped down from the couch and made a beeline for the open door.
Just as she thought she would make it out, Angel slammed the door shut. Fluttershy ran right into it, face first. She rubbed her little pink nose, trying to quell the thick pain pulsating throughout her face. Despite being trapped in her own cottage, Fluttershy could hear everything outside: from Angel’s cynical laughter tearing through the tranquil tenor of her gardens, followed by the crushing of her favorite patch of wild daisies, which she knew Angel hated.
With a big, goofy smile, Angel jovially trotted down the scenic green path along the Everfree Forest, taking his time in getting to Sweet Apple Acres. Looking up, he found the morning sun breaking through the dark sky and beaming its rays onto the rolling hills outskirting Ponyville.
“Guess it won’t be a cloudy day after all,” he told himself, nonchalantly. In fact, it seemed that the clouds already did their work overnight, as the grass all around him was covered with a blanket of refreshing dew, and the dirt path he tramped over was damp and packed like wet sand.
When Angel passed by the Ponyville Schoolhouse, a building that marked the border of the town itself, the voice of an angry mare ripped through the tranquility like a gunshot and nearly gave him a heart attack: “You, young stallion, what do you think you’re doing out here!?”
Angel froze in his tracks and swiftly turned to face the speaker: an earth pony whose coat was cerise in color and her mane a pale rose; her greyish-green eyes blazed with severity. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked again.
Glancing at the landscape around him, and the little village in the distance, Angel responded, “Uh... walking, I guess.”
‘Crud!’ he thought. ‘Does she recognize me?’
“You should be in school!” said the pony, gesturing at the building behind her. Eyes widened, Angel took a few steps back as the earth mare took a few towards him.
“No,” he said sharply, “I don’t go here! I don’t go to this school!”
“Likely story,” the mare sneered with a roll of her eyes. “Every young filly and colt should be in school at this hour. Whether you’re new here or not, that’s the rule in Equestria. In this day and age? I’m honestly shocked to find somepony playing hooky. Education is the most important tool a pony can utilize, after all.”
With the speed of a cobra, the earth pony whipped out her foreleg and wrapped it tightly around Angel’s torso. “Lemme go!” he cried, waving his stubby legs around in defiance. “I mean it! I’ve got friends in high places!”
Cheerilee ignored the colt’s pleas when locking the gate behind her and crossing the schoolyard.
“I know this guy, Harry, and he’s a bear! A bear! You really wanna go there? Schoolteacher versus a bear: who’ll win?” Cheerilee rolled her eyes and gave a dismissive grunt. “Yeah, that’s what I thought!”
Before entering the school itself, Cheerilee glared down at Angel with a stern gaze. "We'll just wait and see what your parents have to say when I write a letter telling them that their colt has been skipping class, let alone without an adult. Just seems fishy, don't you agree?"
To that, Angel simply laughed. "Ha! Good luck with that!"
Cheerilee sighed and pushed the door open with her shoulder. “Class,” she announced to the herd of chattering young ponies, “we have a new student here with us today!”
