Gotta Shave, Gotta Wear Pants

by Fiddlebottoms

Are we having fun yet?

In fayrefayne Equestria, where the talking equines do dwell, an event of certain cosmic and heretofore spoken as academic attainment has begun. As go most events in this strange age of creation and accretion, this one started with a minor coincidence. Three ponies awoke to simultaneous revelations of minor or otherwise insignificant phrasing.

“Gotta shave,” realized Big Macintosh, sprawled out in a ditch, as was his keeping.

“Gotta wear pants,” declared Rarity, delicately wrapped in silk covers, as was her keeping.

“Eqesruta,” solemned Twilight, her face pressed into the folds of a dictionary, as was her waking.

If it were still winter, a sled would start downhill at this very moment. It was not, so the sled remained rusting at the top of the hill in despair disrepair. It was still foreshadowing, just not the kind one would want.

---

Big Macintosh Apple could taste a fair bit of blood on his lips. His first time shaving had, predictably, left his muzzle in a rather wretched repair. That he had shaved with a blunt rock made his injuries perhaps remarkable or perhaps predictable, depending on one’s glossary of cliches.

With greater shame and trepidation than the pony had ever felt before, he ventured into the house of his ancestors, witnessing as if with new eyes the uncivilized way in which he had lived.

The family, vile in their familiarity, were gathered around a breakfast tray. Their mouths masticated with hideous aplomb, devouring those goods which came from the earth. Apples mashed apples between enormous yellowing teeth, sucking on the teat of existence as if there were such a thing as a right to any of it. Ignorant of their shame, they horrified his wide-spreading eyes.

Strangely, his look of horror was mimicked by their own expressions as they each turned toward him.

Smith Apple Granny was the first to break the silence, “Why ain’t ye got any hair on yer face?”

Mr. Apple, because that was now his name, turned to her in quiet censure, “Civilization, Mee-Ma, Civilization.”

His younger sisters, Applejack Apple, and Apple Blooming Onion Apple, while we’re just stuffing ponies’ names with contents of our produce carts, nearly spat at the ugly slur.

In horror, the red workhorse retreated from their expressions, venturing toward the more urbanized areas of the Tribe of Horse.

---

Elsewhere ...

The head of this tribe, the self-described Mayor of Ponyville, was at this moment attempting to calm the self-described genius, Twilight Sparkle Not Apple.

“It’s just, I think, because I’m the mayor and all,” said Mayor Mare, tugging her fetlocks in nervous agitation, “I should probably know what you’re doing here.”

The unicorn didn’t even turn to respond, instead retaining her interest exclusively upon the construction sprawling before her. “Right, right, of course,” she muttered, setting the blades of a turbine into their proper place. A huge drum filled with little swords, just waiting the pressure of liquid air to turn them. It was a beautiful Eqesruta.

“It doesn’t feel very much like being the mayor when other ponies are doing things in town and I don’t know what they’re doing.”

“Sure, sure, Eqesruta.” Twilight had no mind for the middling executive. The sprawling pipework spread overhead as a huge iron tree. Each twisting branch wrapped back into and around itself, replicating the impossible geometry of a train crash in flight.

“So, I’m, um, I’m not trying to tell you not to do this thing. Not telling you that at all.” The supreme executive authority of Ponyville shuffled her hooves as she apologized for her office and its responsibility.

“Good, good, of course,” Twilight still had absolutely nothing to say to anyone. Stick another bit here and turn it just so. The dry steam coming out of the superheater toward the ... something?

“Eqesruta,” Twilight spat bitterly in her perplexitude.

The Mayor was quite daunted, but pressed on anyway, gritting her teeth and forcing out the words of social censure. “I’m just trying to figure out what, exactly, this thing is, and wanted to know, um, wanted to know, you see, how much longer you intended to use my office for it.”

Twilight turned suddenly, as if confused by the revelation that she occupied a specific space and time.

They were in an office, indeed. The Mayor’s desk was there, crushed under the main boiler. The detached mind through its violet eyes espied the shelves shoved against the walls until they slanted and cracked, spilling folios onto the straining floor. Spider web striations stretched through the few surviving windows, although most had been completely removed to make room for exhaust pipes which were already spewing steam.

“That’s odd,” the unicorn whispered to herself.

“Yes, it is very odd that you’re here, destroying my office with this, uh, construction-”

Completely ignoring the idiot, democratic institution, Twilight craned her head out the window, wondering at the steam outpouring from the spewing vent. It twisted lightly in the breeze as it swept over townhall into the clouds.

“I didn’t even light the Eqesruta yet, how is there steam?”

“I believe the steam is from my papers, which are currently burning." Teeth gnashing and eyes flashing emotional symptoms, the mayor of Ponyville suffered spectacularly. She was very rarely asked to do her job. Almost never. Why did today have to be such a day? If it had been yesterday, it would already be done and she'd have nothing to do but congratulate herself.

“Oh,” Twilight paused and tapped a hoof against her chin, “well, do you mind not doing that until after I’m ready?”

“I’m not doing anything!” Mayor Mare screamed, now feverishly pawing at her mane in melodramatic agony and writhing wormlike upon the floor. “I’ve never done anything, you’re making this all up.”

“Ah, that explains some Eqesrutas.” It did not.

“What?”

“Eqesruta,” Twilight said with a nod. Heedless of hazards and proper tag out procedures, the unicorn returned to her grand, purposeless labor.

The fires continued to devour all evidence of the papers and who may have put them there. It was quite a show-ah.

Author's Note:

Comments

[Inferno demon Dash]

What? He has fur, why does he need to shave? I....I...buck it, I'm here for the RariMac so I can deal

[Machival]

Bloody Vomit Bukkake? That's an even weirder song title than chainsaw guts fuck.

[Baby Boo]

Odd, but quite Equesruta.

[Twifight Sparkill]

I had something to say, but my dog ate it.

Then fucked it. Then buried it unceremoniously beneath the dying petunias. Then fucked the petunias.

It's funny, seeing as I don't own a dog.

LEVITY.

[Regidar]

a song after my own penis right there at the end

[Pontology]

The first part of this story, up until Twilight was introduced, had me laughing. Physical laughter is for me extremely rare. Your humor is inimitable.