How The Spy Stole Hearth's Warming
‘Twas the Eve of Hearth’s Warming,
And all through the town,
All the ponies were scurrying,
Not one with a frown.
Nopony had reason for gloom,
Though their hooves were all numb,
For they knew that Hearth’s Warming
Had finally come.
This day was one the ponies
Were all taught to love.
It’s what powers the flaming heart
That protects them from above.
When friendship and love
Seize control of the day.
If only to keep
The Windigos at bay.
But, as I have your attention,
There’s a point I must stress:
Why didn’t they come back during all the bouts of chaos last season? Surely they must’ve come back during the final scene of “A Canterlot Wedding – Part 1”. That was basically a carcass for those beasts.
But, for now, I digress.
The point: Hearth’s Warming was a time
That the ponies loved a lot.
But the Spy, who lived in the dragon’s old lair,
Did not.
He hated the season,
That cranky BLU Spy.
No one knows the reason,
And I ain’t telling you why.
He glared at the town
That his cave home surveyed.
Nothing they can do for the holiday
For his heart to be swayed.
This time of laughter and singing
Was a period of Hell.
“And worst of all,” he snarled,
“It’s the brainchild of the mother of Mare-Do-Well.”
How I wish to be closer,
He spoke in his head,
So I can play Sniper
And shoot them all dead.
As he chuckled and chuckled
At his imaginary plot,
His mind was struck down
With another thought.
Instead of those who celebrate
This time of jubilation,
He could deliver another blow
With as much devastation.
He said, as he regarded
The town up ahead,
“If I can’t take any lives,
I’ll take the holiday instead!”
He emitted a loud laugh,
Full of sadistic glee.
“Do you hear something, Rainbow Dash?” Twilight asked her cyan friend.
“Beats me.”
The Spy chose a time he knew
All the town was abed.
And soon, he emerged
From his rocky shed.
Bringing only body bags
He smuggled from Teufort,
“Watch out, ponies,” he whispered.
“Hearth’s Warming will be mort.”
Donning his cloak,
He started his trek,
Knowing to keep
His timing in check.
He knew stealing a holiday
Was a gross endeavor;
His time was short
And his cover won’t last forever.
But as he made his descent,
His confidence was sublime.
“It takes ponies minutes to go up the mountain.
I’ll be down in no time!”
Once again, he underestimated
The mountain’s true power.
By the time he reached the town,
It was the witching hour.
As he turned off his cloak
To let it recharge,
He looked at the town,
On whose gate he would barge.
He stared at the homes
And he let out of scoff.
“Just a big, stupid,
Christmas rip-off.”
Now’s no time to stall,
So he moved oh so slick.
There’s a holiday to steal,
And he had to be quick.
He looked around Ponyville,
Knowing not where to start,
Until he saw an oak tree
That looked more like a work of art.
“This will be the first heist.”
The old cranky Spy hissed,
As he came through the door,
Body bags in his fist.
He knew they weren’t locked;
Thieves in town were quite rare.
Thus, he began to rob
The town library mare.
He took all the stockings,
Both full to the brim.
He took all the pine
With a smile so grim.
He took all the bows,
And the treats so delicious.
He took all the presents.
He even took Owlicious.
All things of the season,
‘Neath a sky of black,
The Spy but swooped up
And put right in his sack.
But when he saw the town feast
With which Twilight was entrusted,
He heard footsteps on stairs.
Surely, he had been busted.
He called on his cloak
To aid him once more.
He prayed it would hold
As the footsteps came fore.
He knew he could take her,
But he can’t take the chance,
For the unicorn proved much tougher
Than appears at first glance.
But it was not the unicorn
He expected to see,
But her assistant, Spike,
Looking quite drowsy.
He wasn’t concerned
About this passerby,
Until he saw Spike
Stare dead at the Spy.
He realized in horror
He still had the bag
All snug in his palm.
His plan hit a snag.
He moved not an inch,
Knowing his hopes were all gone.
But as he stood there,
The dragon released a yawn.
Spike’s fingers met bridge
As he shook his head.
“I gotta stop eating sugar plums
Right before bed.”
He returned to the stairs
From whence he came.
The Spy was relieved,
Deprived of such shame.
He let this small setback
Affect him the least,
And returned to his work,
Stealing the whole feast.
He quickly snuck out,
And he moved just as fast,
For it was Hearth’s Warming,
Ponyville’s last.
He repeated his crime
Throughout the whole city,
Sans a hint of remorse,
Sans a hint of pity.
He gobbled everything
And filled each bag to the top.
Until Sweet Apple Acres
Was his final stop.
The fireplace roared
As the Spy stepped in.
The tree seemed
The perfect place to begin.
He gazed on the base
And observed each gift.
He picked them all up
And began to sift.
Granny Smith got some yarn
And needles to fiddle.
Applejack got some wood
And a knife to whittle.
Big Mac got a dress
For the annual ball.
Its size suggested it was for
His Smarty Pants doll.
And Apple Bloom’s gift
Took The Spy aback.
For inside was an egg shell
Of Granny Smith-green Gak.
“Oh, please.” Said the Spy
As he threw it in the fire.
A sight only the Pyro
Could truly admire.
He spoke not a word.
He returned to his work,
And did with this house
as the others with a smirk.
His speed was fierce,
His heart filled with glee,
Though he did steal an apple
From the family tree.
And the last thing he took
Before he ended his pursuit
Was a sleigh on which
He could easily carry his loot.
He smiled, satisfied;
His work was done
Only five minutes before
Celestia raised her sun.
Half way up the mountain,
He saw the town below,
And marveled at his craft
As it began to snow.
As he looked over his cave,
His booty scattered about,
He knew he was victorious.
“Was there ever any doubt?”
But then, a strange sound
Was caught in his ear.
He stepped outside
To better hear.
From the town square
Came a wonderful ringing,
For in the town square,
All the ponies were singing.
The Spy watched the ponies
Singing with delight,
And said to himself
“This just can’t be right!
It came without ribbons!
It came without lights!
It came without gifts
Or any of that trite!”
He thought and thought
Until, before long,
He finally got the message
Of the ponies’ song.
The holiday below
Was about making amends.
It was about peace and harmony.
It was about making friends.
Maybe one can find
The calm in the storm.
Maybe one can change.
And make the hearth warm.
As he looked over them all,
In good fortune and luck,
He thought and said
“Ah, who gives a fuck?”
For several hours after,
The Spy danced around,
Not an ounce of shame
And regret to be found.
Instead, he was proud
Of his grand feat.
He’d knew that they’d never
Look here for their treats.
He congratulated himself
On such a good job,
But when he turned around,
There stood an angry mob.
The reason that robberies
Almost never occurred
Was that robbery itself
Is an almost unholy word.
Even this time was not
Exception to the rule.
And the time has come
To get rid of the fool.
As they all stared him down,
The Spy felt scared.
And the last thing he said before he high-tailed it was:
“Ah, merde.”
Happy holidays, everyone!
