My Little Pony: Lernin' 'Bout Frends

by FenDingo

Episode 3: The GalaGate Scandal [Part 2: Dejectedly, but Lightly!]

Author's Note:

Warning: This story contains immature, yet somehow still 'adult', humour. Don't read it. There is also strong language involved [as a crutch for lack of jokes]. Don't read it.

If it's getting hard to read, please write any complaints in a stamped letter, addressing it to: 'The Internet at Large', and stick it right up your bumhole.

Most of all: have fun!.. [well, have a read in any case... they say reading's good for you... reading this probably isn't.]

Cheers! : )

“Twilight!” affected Rarity at the gate to the town park, “What a contrive-cidence meeting you here!”

“Yeah,” said Twilight, “must be Density. What're ya doin' with Spike?” Rarity blinked at Twilight. Rarity blinked at Spike. Rarity blinked at Twilight. Rarity asked:

“What'wr ya doin' with Luna?”

“Luna? Surely I told you we were going on a date?” rhetoricalled Twilight.

“A date? Like the fruit?” asked Rarity.

“What fruit?” asked Twilight.

“The one where two people who think they like each other do something fun together for the purpose of bonding,” explained Rarity, invalidating the conversation thus far.

“Umm, that's a date,” Twilight once more took up arms against a sea of 'almost-correct-but-not-quite'-semantic-distinctions-in-a-'so-near-yet-so-far'-configuration-a-bit-like-a-Rubik's-Cube-completed-but-for-that-one-last-centre-edge-piece-which-is-still-bastard-flipped-and-won't-play-nice-like-the-other-pieces and against those hyphenated-phrases-that-go-on-way-too-long-and-of-which-there-is-only-one-example-I'm-sure-about-and-I'm-the-one-who-just-wrote-it-,-y'know-,-for-shits-and-giggles.

“But, I thought a date was...” Rarity trailed off, now unsure of what both types of 'date' were and fast heading towards being unsure of what the purple pony's name was.

“Anyway,” continued Twilight, putting in an effort towards the general goal of staying on-plot, “You never answered my question: What did you want in the first place, and why is Spike with you?”

“Well, Tywin,” [“Twilight”, supplied Twilight], Rarity: “Twilight... err, I forgot where I was going with this...”

Spike spoke up, “I was being a model!” Twilight waited for an answer.

“Spike was being a model,” said Rarity. Twilight 'Ahh'-ed in cognition.

“So, you're making a new line of clothing?” she asked.

“Of course. I mean, Spike's outfit will need to match perfectly if we're to look our best for... err... such a great Tuesday eveternoon... if you'd buy that...” Rarity tried not to look suspicious. Twilight wasn't helping by throwing suspicious glances at her.

“So, you're making us nice dresses... for shits and giggles? S'that what you're saying?” s'what Twilight said.

Rarity giggled nervously, “Say, let's walk.” And walk they did. To Rarity's house. She asked questions about Twilight's date along the way.

“So, Twilight...” sheepishlied Rarity, “Does this mean you're... you know... a Thespian?”

Twilight theatrically rolled her eyes, adopting her best Shakesponian intonation:

“Methinks thou meanest 'Lesbian' my droog.”

“A Lesbian? Pray tell what's wrong with dudes?” said Rarity.

“Five chicks a guy; mine eye doth wander so,” continued Twi.

“I find it all a little creepy though,

Yet if it's what thee wants I shan't be rude,” concluded Rare, yet Twi was not done yet:

“Say thee it's creepy, little pony dear,

Say I your tiny brain is filled with fear,

Use well thy head of huge diameter,

Or I'll Iambic your Pentameters!” schooled Twilight Sparkle.

“Bitch, you wouldn't!” shouted Rarity [too loud], breaking meter. By this time, they had arrived at the door to Rarity's pad. On opening the door, Twilight was greeted by an unusual sight: Rarity's furniture had all been pushed to the edge of the room and in its centre stood a small clothes rack holding 3 clothings which stood beside a long mirror. Rarity pushed past Twilight and Spike and started rummaging through the piled boxes and underneath the assorted couches and futons, speaking to herself something along the lines of 'I know I left them here somewhere...'.

Twilight looked worriedly at Spike before speaking up, “Rarity? If you're looking for those dresses you prepared..? They're not the ones, y'know, on the rack?”

Rarity looked over at them, “The rack?”

“Yeah. The one standing in the middle? By itself?” she hazarded.

“The one standing..?” Rarity looked around slowly before fixing on the central clothes rack, “Oh! There they are. Thank you, dear. I knew I put them somewhere stupid.”

“Rarity, why did you push all your crap against the walls? What the hell were you doing?” said Twilight.

“I... well, there's this spell's been... floating around the internet... of recent. I was trying it out. It didn't really work...” Rarity elucidated, “It was supposed to consume the spirits of half the offerings against the wall in order to summon three Eldritch Enochian Armour-Plated Eveningwear. It involved angles, triggernomiktree and clackulus and stuff so I just sort of guessed, for the most part. In the end, I had to make the dresses by hand... hoof [I said hoof [you all heard hoof]].”

Twilight was exceptionally a bit concerned; Rarity had tried to use math. She briefly wondered what it meant for an inanimate object to lose its 'spirit' but decided to stick to more important matters, “Rarity, what the hell are you doing trying math?! It's the most addictive and the most dangerous of all our worldly [and slightly camp] majicks. Math is the language of the Fallen Archangel Hoofifer- holder of the title of World's Clunkiest yet Most Believable Portmanteau. To misuse it is to unleash chaos into our little horse-themed universe!”

“Oh dear...” Rarity tried turning white. She was already white, so she tried tanning. Rarity turned slightly olive-brown, “I... I'm so sorry, Twi... I didn't know. I wouldn't've attempted anything had I known; especially not with how much I've been drinking this afternoon. Tell you the truth, I'm slightly wasted.” Rarity was swaying heavily on the spot. Twilight was completely and extremely barely alarmed- she turned slightly olive-brown.

“Of all the stupid things you've ever done in, like, the week I've actually known you for, this has to be the most stupid thing I've ever seen you do. And as soon as I've finished taking advantage of you, we're going to have a serious talk about mixing alcohol and math.” she said sternly.

Fluttershy was hovering gently towards Rarity's house. She was after talking to Twilight about some tickets and knew she would find her at Rarity's house because she whatever. She got to the front door and decided to just go in instead of knocking; such was the nature of her Thug Life. Upon opening the door, she was greeted by the sight of a slightly out-of-breath but pleased-looking pair of ponies and one diminutive dragon who looked like he had a number of questions to ask about what he'd just witnessed. She decided not to ask unless one of them didn't tell her what was going on. They didn't say anything.

“Umm, what happened here, guys?” proposed Fluttershy. Spike went on to explain what had just occurred. He got five and a half words in before Twilight took it upon herself to talk over him: “Well, Fluttershy, Rarity, Spike's would-be Modeller, thought it would be a good idea to dabble in the lesser-known art of Numeromancy... wasted. I know for damn sure she won't have done the spell even halfway properly, so now I'm left trying to figure out what fresh hell she's unleashed.”

“That, and Twilight did some stuff to me 'n junk,” supplied Rarity, lispingly. Spike nodded and pointed a thumb casually at his white horse-friend in the universal sign of 'yeah, what she said'.

Fluttershy looked satisfied to fill in the blanks in the story in her mind on a paper under the title 'Twirity's Drunken Escapades'. Needles-to-hay, it wasn't very good; finding a correctly-spelt word was like trying to find a needless in a saystack. By the time she'd finished her fan-fic [in all of twenty seconds- the average amount of time taken to write an awful fan-fic] she'd remembered the other thing she'd wanted to ask Twilight:

“I remembered the other thing she'd wanted to ask Twilight,” verbatimmed Fluttershy, apparently having abandoned the job of thinking up her own lines, “I wanted to find you to ask about some of the stuff back at my house; it... I might sound crazy, but when I was ironing my Dark-Elf Cosplay War Costume, well... the iron sorta... I dunno, just sorta felt a bit dead in my hooves... err, whaddaya s'pose..?”

Twilight looked at Confused fluttershyly before saying, “What? So the iron stopped working? Did the cable go loose or something?”

“Err, no, it was working just fine,” continued Fluttershy, “it's just that... it felt different... deflated. Like it was just going through the motions.”

Twilight had a flash of inspiration [she'd forgotten to take her medication], “Rarity! That's what happened to your spell! It required the spirits of a number of inanimate objects to work. You must have used the wrong co-ordinates; it ended up targeting Fluttershy's shit instead of yours!”

“My god,” melodrama-ed Rarity, “I've managed to turn Fluttershy's possessions and effects into a bigger pile of soulless shite than Justin Bieber's discography! I'm really sorry, Fluttershy. I promise I'll replace anything that was damaged.” A promise made in a drunken stupor that would, of course, go unrealised. And, speaking of things that go unrealised: Spike [our survey says... *ding* 40 points!]. Family Feud. Family Fortunes for our British audience [me included]- because 'Feud' just ain't family-friendly enough for us!

“That's ok, Rarity,” said Fluttershy. She then remembered the other thing she'd come to see Twilight about, “Oh, Twilight, I meant to ask you... I heard that you'd been sent a couple of tickets for the Gala... I was just, sorta, wondering if it was true? It's just because, well, I know your brother, Heavymetal Chestplate Sparkle, will be there and I wrote a romantic story about him and I want him to see it but I need to give it to him in person so I can see his reaction and judge how much of a chance I have, realistically speaking.”

“Well, Fluttershy, I never tell a lie, and I can tell you that I honestly know nothing about these tickets,” said Twilight.

“Wait a minute,” said Rarity, “So I'm not allowed to do magic I know nothing about but you're allowed to give away a spare ticket to the Gala you know nothing about? You're such a hippopot...” - “-crit,” jumped in Twilight, “Hypocrite. A hippopotamus is an animal.” - “You're such a hypocrite,” continued Rarity, briefly, “And so quick to 'correct' others, too! I feel sorry for Spike for having to live with you!”

“Well, you know,” said Twilight, with a little pride [the emotion, not the group of lions], “That may have been my fastest ever grammar 'n usage correction- I don't think I've ever gotten it within one syllable before! I deserve a medal or something. Either way, the lesson is to always 'be prepared'.” Twilight subtly referenced the pride thing. Y'hear that, Fluttershy? Subtlety. That's the sound of subtlety.

“So you do have tickets to the Gala,” said Fluttershy, “That's great news. It means I didn't clean Twilight's entire house for nothing!”

“Fluttershy!” Spoke Rarity, “Twilight's right here. You said that to her. That series of mouth noises just straight-up hit Twilight's eardrums and produced the facial expression you are looking at right now which is somewhere between fatigue and incredulity.”

“I'm sorry, Rarity,” said Fluttershy, “But I'm actually drunker than you are right now.”

Twilight said, “Ok, so is everyone here drunk? Is that a thing? I had a few with Luna on the park... Spike?” Spike hiccuped meaningfully, “Cool,” continued Twilight, “Well, there you go, then. We all know Applejack will have had her mid-afternoon vodka [at the very least], and alcohol would actually make Rainbow Dash act more sober. We're all pretty much incapacitated.”

“So... what now?” asked Spike.

Twilight looked at her friends [she thought it would be rude to address the wall] and said, “Well, I suppose the only thing we really need to wrap up is this issue with the tickets. I'm sure the whole process would be a lot easier if we all just sat down and talked about it. Y'know; over another drink.”

“I'm all out of wine,” said Rarity, a little too fast, “Maybe we should go see Applejack? I'm sure she'll have something.”

“That would be really nice,” said Fluttershy, “We could just sit around on the ol' porch; rocking-chair, gin, tonic, cigars...”

Rarity continued, “Moonshine, shotguns; big ol' Confedequine flag waving gently in the breeze...”

Twilight decided to put an end to the increasingly offensive joke-nostalgia by walking out of the room and heading towards the Apple Ranch which, for the purpose of convenience, found itself located directly behind Rarity's house. Applejack, Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie happened to already be there because Twilight knocked on the door to the Apple Ranch and waited for an answer, looking over her shoulder at Rarity, Fluttershy and Spike before they heard a voice come from inside: “Come in!” It sounded like Applejack.

After a brief explanation, the seven friends found themselves on Applejack's front porch, each nursing a cold beer and a fine Dominican Cigar [Applejack didn't have the money for Cubans].

Spike had what looked like a small birdhouse on his lap. The ponies were sitting pensively in their rocking-chairs, each with a slip of paper and a ballpoint pen. They had decided to cast a vote to decide who got the spare ticket. They were, of course, not allowed to vote for themselves. In fact, they weren't even allowed to vote for each other. They had to each choose their favourite background character to offer the ticket to. Nobody was happy about this, but at least they would all be as unhappy as each other, thought Twilight on the matter.

“Twilight,” Rainbow Dash spoke up, “I think I know who I'm choosing but I don't really know her name...”

“Just describe her, then,” slurred Twilight. She'd had a little too much gin but it had cheered her up a bit. Rainbow Dash nodded and, after a few seconds of scribbling, folded her paper and went to put it in Spike's birdhouse. The other ponies followed suit as they made their final choices.

“Ok, Spike,” began Applejack, “I think it's about time you opened the box so we can finally put this whole mess behind us.”

“Wait,” Pinkie Pie spoke up, “What if we've all chosen different characters?” Everyone looked towards Twilight, waiting for an answer.

“It,” Twilight deliberated, “is not a very good system.” She didn't look set to be offering anything else any time soon so the other ponies shrugged and looked towards Spike to get the ball rolling. The ball refused to roll because there was no actual way into the solid pinewood birdhouse. Applejack took it off him and put it on the floor. She stepped off the porch and came back a moment later with a small-ish hatchet. Needless to say that this worried all present. She held the axe's handle between her teeth and made a sharp downward jab with it. Her neck made a gnarly sound as the blade clonked straight through the little wooden birdhouse and lodged itself into the deck of the porch.

“There ya go,” she said, “Now get to countin'!”

Spike said, “Sorry about your birdhouse, Applejack. I thought we'd be able to open it afterwards...”

“Nah, don't worry about that, little'un,” reassured Applejack, “It wasn't made very well anyway. Applebloom made it for my birthday and, one thing's fer shure, she ain't gonna be gettin' her Cutie-Mark in carpentry!”

Spike collected the bits of paper and went to sit back down on his rocking-chair. The other ponies took their seats and waited to hear the results.

“Ok, the first vote,” he began, “is for... Laura... Hearthstone?.. Laura Hearthstone.”

Rarity spoke up, “D'you think it's meant to be 'Lyra Heartstrings'?”

Twilight said, “Yeah, that's the one. Couldn't remember the name...”

“Ok,” Spike continued, “Next vote... Lara Hearsthings. We'll just take that as Lyra again.

Next up, is... light green pony who's friends with the pony with the sweets- Lyra, then.

And... light blue pony who sits funny. I think I'm noticing a pattern.

I think we can all guess... yep: gurl ponie with harp on leg.

And finally, but predictably... err... Solid-Oak Roberts?” Everyone looked around until, at some point, Fluttershy spoke up:

“He's cute.” The others nodded to each other.

“So,” said Spike [and “Right” said Fred], “It looks like Lyra's certainly been making a name for herself. Anyway, she's the winner, for whatever reason, so who's gonna go tell her?”

Twilight said, “Well, you're the least drunk of all of us...”

Spike hove a sigh. He knew there was no point in arguing, “Fine. I'll be back soon.” He hopped dejectedly, but lightly, to his feet and walked off to find Lyra. The other ponies had another cigar and opened some fresh whisky.

It didn't take Spike long to find the light-greenish pony. She was sitting on the park bench, by herself, at half seven in the evening. It looked a proper shame. Spike walked over to her, awkwardly. It wasn't the warmest evening so they were near enough the only ones in the whole place. He hoped she didn't think he was here to mug her.

“Umm, Lyra?” he said. Lyra hopped off the bench dejectedly, but lightly, and greeted him:

“Err, hey... Spoke?”

“Spike.” Spiked Spike.

“Spike!” Spiked Lyra, “Spike. I knew it was Spike. Hey, Spike.”

“Hi,” said Spike, “Anyway, I was just wondering... Twilight has a spare ticket to the Grand Galloping Gala and she was wondering if you might want it.”

“Oh,” said Lyra, “Yeah, that sounds wonderful. I've not been feeling too good recently, so a night out would be just the ticket- pardon the pun.”

Spike laughed, “I'll tell Twilight that one. She collects puns.”

“Cool,” said Lyra, who had no answer for that.

“... and alliterations,” continued Spike, unexpectedly, “Rhymes. The occasional limerick. She has a whole notebook filled with anagrams. An archive of spelling mistakes and malapropisms other people have made in her presence [in her own words: she'll never forget]. I've seen a pamphlet of her own incorrect-usages floating around, come to think of it. Oh, and she has a special bookshelf above her bed for journals of words she's made up that she thinks should be real words.”

“Cool,” said Lyra.

Spike was only gone for about ten minutes. When he got back, he found his six friends gathered around a piece of parchment.

“Hey guys, what you looking at?” he introduced.

“Oh, hey Spike,” said Twilight, “Erm... we sorta had an idea while you were gone. We just sent Dear Leader Celestia another letter... asking for three more tickets to the Gala...”

“Oh,” said Spike, “... Ok, well, at least you guys all have your tickets now. Plus, Lyra got a ticket- it really cheered her up.” Spike felt relieved that the whole mess was sorted out. He considered another drink but then had another thought, “Hold on, wait. Three tickets?”

“Yeah?” said Twilight.

“But...” said Spike, “That only makes five tickets. There are six of you.”

Twilight looked blank for a few seconds before her face dropped for a few seconds before her face lit up slightly for a few seconds, “...Spike? Do you think you could just... y'know... go ask Lyra for the ticket back?”

“Why don't you just write to Celestia again and ask for another one,” said Spike dejectedly, but lightly.

“It's just,” Twilight began, “The Dear Leader has ordered us not to send her any more letters while she's trying to sleep.”

“Trying to...” Spike was livid, “It's eight o'bastard clock! What's wrong with her?! She has literally no sleep cycle. Why's she in charge of the sun?!” He sighed heavily and started to walk off the porch dejectedly, but lightly.

“Fuck's sake.”