3 - Drowning in Air
Drifting Down the Lazy River
Drowning in Air
"I felt so lonesome I most wished I was dead. The stars were shining, and the leaves rustled in the woods ever so mournful; and I heard an owl, away off, who-whooing about somebody that was dead, and a whippowill and a dog crying about somebody that was going to die; and the wind was trying to whisper something to me, and I couldn't make out what it was, and so it made the cold shivers run over me. Then away out in the woods I heard that kind of a sound that a ghost makes when it wants to tell about something that's on its mind and can't make itself understood, and so can't rest easy in its grave, and has to go about that way every night grieving. I got so down-hearted and scared I did wish I had some company."
— The Adventures of Buck Fin
Turpentine looked up despite himself, blinking away the tears and shooting a nervous glance around the island while he looked for the source of the quiet voice. It had not sounded like a vicious monster, even though the storybooks back at the orphanage were filled with tales of monsters like kelpies who preferred to make gloating speeches over their helpless victims. In fact, the small and timid voice had barely sounded at all. The only clue to the location of the speaking creature was a round ripple out in the river where some fish or other creature had just made a dramatic motion and stirred the surrounding water.
The ripples died out, then began to move again when the coffee pot emerged out of the water, floating in a pale green aura of unicorn magic. It drifted a little while it moved towards Turpentine, who caught it in his hooves out of instinct.
“What are you?” he called out across the surface of the river.
There was no response.
The relative silence of the river sloshing against the raft and the cry of birds in the distance grated on his patience, but also his inherent manners. After all, whatever it was out in the river had returned his coffee pot, now filled with sand-free water. Despite his ongoing confusion, he added, “Thank you for the coffee pot back, by the way.”
Who or whatever it was who had spoken must not have gone through the same lectures from Mother Windrow as Turpentine had been subjected to, because there was a distinct lack of any “You’re welcome” as there should have been.
“Did you want any coffee?” he added after a period of relative silence, which also followed the question as well.
Giving a seemingly-casual shrug, Turpentine bent over and began to get out the coffee grounds to brew another pot again. The situation had changed, and he bent to his task with a silent resolve that several families with disassembled clocks or other loose pieces of carefully examined farm equipment knew very well.
Turpentine’s normally placid exterior concealed an itching curiosity, driven to find out what was underneath that rock or behind that tree and capture the mystery on pigment and paper. If the mysterious fire-builder and coffee-drinker was not dangerous, that meant they were unknown, and if there was one thing which could drive Turpentine into doing the most dangerous things, it was the possibility of discovering something new. Adding a few new pieces of driftwood to the fire and arranging a couple of flat rocks allowed the coffee pot to be propped up where it could get warm again, and also gave him one additional advantage.
Bait.
Turpentine returned back to the raft and fussed with his art supplies, retrieving the pencil and making a big deal of rearranging the easel. His previous tears of frustration were only a memory now, leaving only a few damp spots on his face which would dry fairly quickly now that the sun was up. A cheerful tune almost forced itself out of his lips while he worked, but he restrained himself to a few whistled notes before settling back down with the pencil and a new blank canvas.
This time, he had a slightly different subject to paint.
The tiny mirror clipped onto his easel gave Turpentine a fairly good view of the campfire with the warming coffee pot behind him, and he hummed quietly to himself while he drew in the mirror-reversed scene in thin pencil lines. A good artist is patient about catching the scene they want, and Turpentine considered himself to be a very good artist. Still, he had advanced to doing cross-hatch shading on his sketch and was actually considering just leaving it as a pencil drawing without any paint when the faint green glow he was expecting formed around the perking coffee pot.
He scooted the easel slightly to one side, then a little more to get the mirror pointed out at the calm river where he suspected the anonymous creature was manipulating his coffee pot. At first, he thought the dark patch of what seemed to be a waterweed of some sort in the river was being used by the unicorn to hide him or herself, but after a little inspection and squinting into the mirror he determined it was actually a waterlogged mane with a small green horn sticking up in the middle of it and a pair of emerald-green eyes to either side.
It took only a second to flip over the canvas and begin scribbling on the back. He had no idea what the creature or pony was, but it was fascinating to see the way his chipped and battered cup came drifting over and she lifted her head out of the concealment of the river enough to blow on the hot coffee. From the size of her horn, the set of her jaw and shape of her face, she was a very young unicorn, but what she was doing under the river’s surface both baffled and intrigued him. The only unicorns in his tiny village seemed to hate the idea of getting wet, except for baths, which oddly-enough they made into a daily ritual.
He drew with quick short strokes, using a pencil to outline the little unicorn holding his chipped coffee cup before diving for his oil paints. The colors were going to be tricky, because the green of her coat reflected off the water into a different shade of green, both of which did not match anything in his fairly limited selection, but he dropped a couple of dabs onto his color palette and started mixing with repeated glances into the small mirror for comparison.
“What’cha dooin?”
“Shh,” he muttered around the handle of the palette knife. “I’ve almost got this.” He tilted the mirror down some more to keep the little unicorn centered in the mirror before grabbing a fine-tip brush. The thrill of creation filled his head with a loud buzzing while he dabbed and stroked, letting his natural talent flow through pigment. After being so miserable on the raft and unable to find relief, painting the little unicorn was catharsis for his soul. Blues and darker greens found their way onto his palette while he painted her eyes and the way she reflected in the murky water, then a dark violet mixed with some white to lighten it for her damp sunlit mane.
Emotions were always the hardest to capture on paint and canvas, but easier when there were fewer of them to pick from. Her fluid expression reflected regret and anticipation mixed with fear and curiosity, making a muddle of the little unicorn’s face and perked-up ears. As much as he wished she would only be caught up in one emotion at a time, he found himself drawn to finer brushes and delicate shifts of hue while he worked under the hot sun. Experience allowed the perfectionist inside him free rein over the work until he caught himself reversing tiny details, at which point he drew back and switched to a broader brush for the ripples in the water around her. Perfection of detail was an unachievable goal. Far better to hint and suggest with shadows and the bright colors of sunlight reflecting the scene, while leaving artificial perfection to the photographers.
He was gently brushing the surrounding blue-green water out so the colors would fade into the whitewashed canvas when he became aware of how he had been constantly nudging the mirror on the easel further and further down every time the little unicorn had crept closer and closer to the raft. A cautious peek behind him showed she was resting her head on one of the logs, nearly within touching distance of his leg.
“Is that me?” she asked.
“Um…” Turpentine fidgeted a little and kept brushing the pale blues and browns of the water around the unicorn in question, wishing that he had used the smooth canvas-covered front of one of his flats for the painting instead of the rougher back. “Yeah,” he added once he backed up enough so his words would not cause the brush in his mouth to leave an unsightly smear on the painting. “It could be better.”
“I didn’t know I looked pretty like that. It’s very nice.” The little unicorn floated the coffee cup up onto the logs of the raft with a distasteful grimace. “Lots better than your coffee.”
“I don’t know how to make coffee. It looked easy enough when Mother Windrow did it,” said Turpentine. He put the brush into the paint thinner and swished it a little before wiping it on the rag. Picking up the coffee cup, he took a sip of the cooled liquid inside and promptly spit it out, although fortunately not on his fresh painting. “Yuck!”
The little unicorn by the side of the raft mirrored his expression. “Mister Baron Gaberdine never lets me try his coffee. He says it will stunt my growth. I don’t know how they can drink it when my mother visits.”
As if suddenly nervous, the little unicorn lit her horn up and concentrated. The light revealed a glittering ring of silver around the base of her horn, mostly camouflaged by the dark violet mane, and Turpentine felt a sudden urge to get his smallest paintbrush out of the soaking in order to add the detail before the paint dried.
“Whew,” she said, turning off her magic.
“What?” asked Turpentine.
“Nothing. It’s just… I need to go.” Before Turpentine could even get his mouth open, the little unicorn vanished in a dark swirl of the river water, but just when he had figured out what he should have said, there was another swirl of water at the edge of his raft and she reappeared.
“When my mother shows up, can you tell her you didn’t see me?”
“Your mother?” Turpentine lurched forward when the little filly vanished under the river again, but she was gone, and all of the calling he did out into the river did not bring her back for the rest of the day.
* * ☽ * *
When the moon rose over the scrubby trees bordering the river and their long, skeletal shadows replaced the warm sunshine, Turpentine huddled under his thin wool blanket again. Beside him, the painting had been carefully arranged with a cloth draped over it and spacers to keep it from touching damp paint, because in the outside air, there was always the chance of a beetle or moth getting stuck on it before the drying process completed. He had tried to do a few more sketches, but the humidity had made the papers of his sketchbook stick together or tear under the pencil tip, and he really did not feel like wasting any more of his expensive oil painting canvases on just drawings. Besides, his heart was not in it.
The little unicorn he had seen in the morning remained a mystery to him, which made an itch tunnel into the back of his mind and refuse to let go. She could have been some sort of nature sprite or water spirit, but not likely. There had been a sense of reality around her, seeming more real than the itchy sand or the damp, chill breeze of the evening. When she had vanished into the water, he had even seen the briefest glance of a cutie mark, looking much like a cloud. An illusion or a nature creature would not have a cutie mark, or at least he did not think so.
As he lay there and thought, listening to the soft hiss of the waves against the sand and the cries of the birds, being marooned did not seem that bad. Not that he would turn down a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a glass of warm milk in exchange for a few of his remaining dry alfalfa biscuits, but he was starting to think he had never really wanted to go to Baltimare in the first place.
The trip had started out as a futile gesture after the fourth adoptive family had finally given up on making him into a farmer and returned him to the orphanage. Mother Windrow had been properly sympathetic to the family but possibly a little glad to have him back in the house. It was not that large of an orphanage because the farming village was very small, and whenever he was out with a family, she was all alone.
As an old mare, Mother Windrow had not been very good company for the young colt, but she was at least somepony who seemed to appreciate his paintings. The house was filled with his starting paintings, hung alongside the small mementos which had been left behind by most of the orphans who had passed through her small home, but that did not help him make friends. In fact, if there had been another orphan to share the bedroom with, Turpentine would not have been so lonely. He might not have even left the small town if he had not found the raft drifting along next to the bank, so in a way, it was the stupid wood’s fault.
“Psst. Turpentine, are you sleeping?”
Caught in that twilight area between actually sleeping and only thinking about sleeping, Turpentine jolted awake. “Yes,” he hissed back. “I haven’t seen your daughter.”
The response he got was a childish giggle while the little unicorn popped her head up over the edge of the raft to give him a mischievous grin. “Not me, silly. When my mother shows up. She’s off talking to Mister Baron Gaberdine now, so we’re safe.”
“Oh.” Turpentine blinked owlishly in the moonlit darkness. “Who’s Mister Baron Gaberdine, and who is your mother? Actually, who are you?”
“Me?” The little unicorn splashed a few times beside his raft, sounding somewhat like a fish for a moment. “I’m Ripple. My mother is Pearl, and Mister Baron Gaberdine is my friend. Are you really an orphan?”
“Yes,” said Turpentine in a long, drawn-out fashion as he rearranged himself on top of the sandy wool blanket. “My mother passed away a few years ago, and I never knew who my father was. How did you know I’m an orphan?”
“Well, um…” Ripple fidgeted and used her magic to tuck back a section of her mane which kept falling over her eyes, trapping it under a small gold and silver maneclip with symbols of both the sun and moon on it before she continued. “Mister Baron Gaberdine got told about a runaway orphan from some town upriver, so he told my mother and she told my aunts, and one of them spotted you here. They watched really careful to make sure you weren’t hurt or anything and went off to tell Gabby, because that’s what he likes to be called, especially by my mother.”
“Oh. The ponies back home weren’t worried about me, were they?” Turpentine could feel his ears droop as the familiar crushing sensation of failure swept over him. “I didn’t mean to make them worry. I left a note, telling Mother Windrow I was going to Baltimare.”
Ripple let out a little gasp and shifted positions until her entire head and shoulders were above the raft edge. “You’re going to Baltimare too? That is so neat! When Mister Baron Gaberdine gets Castle Paradise all fixed up, he said he’d take me there and show me all about it. Of course, I gotta get good with my transformational magic first. Otherwise they’ll just be upset, like the ponies here.”
Turpentine’s mind may have been swimming with the suddenness of it all, but he cautiously took a step backwards in the shadows covering his raft. In some of the stories he had read, monsters able to take the shape of ponies came out in the darkness of night, using their magic to capture and enslave unsuspecting victims. “Transformation magic?”
“Yeah.” The little unicorn or whatever it was seemed unhappy about his retreat and sunk back down further into the water so only her horn and the tops of her eyes were visible above the raft’s edge, but she did not say anything else. She really did not seem very scary that way, but Turpentine was still a little wary.
“Are you a monster?” asked Turpentine. “A really scary monster like a changeling or a kelpie?” What little of Ripple’s puzzled expression he could see over the edge of the raft made him add, “That’s a bunch of vines that pretends to be a pony until it can drag a victim into the water and drown him.”
The little ‘unicorn’ popped her head back up and frowned in the moonlight. “What?”
“Well, in Captain Hornblatt and the Seven Seas, Lanyard the Cabin Colt was trapped in a sea cave guarded by a huge pile of seaweed that turned into a huge tentacled monster whenever he tried to escape.” Turpentine furrowed his brow in thought. “I tried to draw a picture of it, but the book didn’t give a very good description.”
“Oh, those aren’t kelpies, they’re just Ambling Weeds,” said Ripple. “They’re not as scary when you realize you can eat them. What are changelings? Do they show up in a book too?”
“They’re like this bug-pony thing that turns into a pony to steal their love. The newspapers had a bunch of pictures of them. Just a second.” Turpentine dove into his bags and began to rummage around. “Sorry about this,” he muttered, trying to leaf through his folders of art projects without getting any more sand in them. “I was in a watercolor phase, and I don’t want them to get damp.”
“You need a waterproofing spell on them.” The little unicorn scooted a little further up on the edge of the raft and held her hornlight up so he could see what he was looking for. “Mister Baron Gaberdine showed me how to waterproof things. I can even do whole books now so I can read back at home.”
“Really?” Turpentine looked back with a Power Mare watercolor hanging from his lips. “That would be handy, since you like swimming so much. Are you really some sort of water monster?”
“I s-suppose,” said Ripple with a wince. “All the other ponies I’ve tried to talk to run away and scream.” She swallowed once and shifted her shoulders to put one forehoof up on top of the raft.
Only it was not a hoof.
Ripple’s pale green coat only extended down to the elbow joint, thinning as it went and slowly being replaced by a thin film of glittering green scales where the leg widened into a flipper. It was wide and smooth, cupped a little towards the back and broadening up near the tips where an ordinary pony would have a hoof. Instead, there was only a narrow ridge of a somewhat harder substance extending out across the bottom edge of the flipper and making a little clicking noise when Ripple placed her weight on it.
“That is so cool,” breathed Turpentine while the watercolor drawing of the buxom superheroine fluttered unnoticed to the ground behind him. Moving very slowly in order not to spook his new subject, he moved closer and put his nose almost on top of the strange appendage. “You’re a seapony. I’ve always wanted to see a seapony.”
Ripple giggled as a little tension escaped. “You’re silly. Do you… like the way I look?”
“Yeah.” Turpentine moved his hoof along the strange flipper, nudging it and trying to peer underneath it in the light of Ripple’s horn. “I thought seaponies were just a myth. What do your back legs look like? Can I look at your tail? How do you swim?”
* * ☽ * *
To Turpentine’s intense disappointment, the only portion of Ripple’s anatomy she felt comfortable with him seeing was what she had hesitantly already shown him, but after a few minutes of discouraged internal grumbling, he realized that if their roles were reversed, he really would not be all that comfortable with having a filly looking around his coltparts either.
There were probably cooties involved.
He had to paint her. Well, paint her again, only better this time. If he had a proper studio with lighting and supplies, he would be able to make a few case studies and sketches of her body to get the proportions right, particularly if he could watch her swim. There was no way to do any of that in the middle of the night, on a raft, without the proper materials, but at least he could talk to her now without her vanishing into the river.
And to his intense pleasure, she seemed just as curious about his life as he was about hers. They settled down on the raft, almost nose to nose while they swapped stories and talked about little things. A few more sticks of driftwood on the fire made a warm light for their conversation and a piercing regret for a lack of marshmallows or chocolate for s'mores. For the first time in years, Turpentine felt… he wasn’t sure. The raft was just as uncomfortable under his chest, and the cool damp wind of the evening just as suffocating, but while they shared his insect repellent and each took a corner of the worn wool blanket to ward off the chill, he felt a warm glow he had not felt since the last memories of his mother.
They talked for a long, long time until they fell asleep in the moonlight.
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If Turpentine lived next to the Everfree Forest, he might have a different view of stopping to paint every strange thing that catches his eye, because some of them might catch him and eat him. They'd leave an *awesome* half-finished painting, though.
And for certain people (you know who you are) who complained that there is no romance in my seapony romances, please note that it's only Chapter 3, and the main characters are already sleeping together. (Hm, I've done this before, haven't I?)
Gah! If they were any more sweet I'd need to go to the doc to see if my insulin levels were safe.
Now is when Ripple's mother will probably show up with both of them sleeping.
7929587
Yeah, probably. I'm pretty sure that "No boys!" is a standard rule at whatever age they're at.
"There were probably cooties involved."
I'm pretty sure he's safe.
7929524 har har har har....
Also, we don't mind. Too drunk on d'awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
I don't know. At this point, I wouldn't mind them becoming siblings instead. But still, I suppose there's room for her to romance the Official Baronial Artist.
So good to see Ripple again and hear about Gaberdine and Pearl.
Yay, Ripple!
Also, there are seriously high levels of d'aww around here. Like, dangerous levels.
Squeeee! Even though I was looking out for this story, I almost missed it but for the feature box.
Hee. I suspected he'd get that back from the moment he threw it away.
Ooh, sly!
Those strange, strange adults
First contact... completely ignored in favour of Art
Hah. Well, not surprising, then. At least he's honest about it
"Hello. I didn't see your daughter."
Ohboy. Earning that Romance tag already, are we?
That went about as I thought it would
Wait, how does she know his name?
Oh. They totally know who he is, and that he's there.
Hi, Ripple!
Yeah, I gathered that, heh.
A changeling would probably not have trouble with transformation magic? Would be one really unfortunate changeling
Hah! The practical solution
First contact: success!
Down, boy!
Well, Gaberdine didn't mind those when it came to her mom
7929524
Didn't even have to check that link to know what it'd be
Heh. "Yeah, those fantasy monsters are totally real. Also delicious."
Very interesting to see those vestigial hooves on Ripple. Not sure if you've mentioned them before, but they're a nice touch.
Oh, and I have to ask: How exactly are pony superheroines buxom?
Oh Turpentine, paint me like your Prench girls!
7930855 You mean like under a waterfall? (wait for it...)
7930366 No, I didn't do a good physical description of seapony flipper setup in The One Who Got Away because I was trying to keep it a little vague and mysterious. I decided to out and out Tell this one so I wouldn't get so many questions this time. And pony superheroes are buxom the same way people superheroes are, only on the other end. Yeah, it makes for an odd mental image. Try not to think about it too much.
7930136 Hey, Turp's got his priorities.
7930000 7929690 7929578 I have not yet begun to D'awww. Better check your supply of insulin.
7930498 Now I have to picture the monsters running through their monster town, screaming, "Run! The ponies are coming! They're going to eat us all!"
7929627 7929661 At that age, boys are *never* safe from the deadly cooties. Just wait until he's older and wiser, like eleven.
7929770 Hey, they're only eight and ten. Puppy love, at best. Or tadpole love, I suppose.
7929833 It's pretty fun writing about them too. The story has actually been in the works for nearly a year now. I'm not exactly the fastest writer.
7930061 I expect it to be parked there for a few more days. The cuteness overload only gets stronger over the next few chapters.
Oh my god, I didn't realize and remember how much I needed more Ripple in my life.
Of course, Turpentine is pretty good, too. But Ripple, I had missed Ripple.
I found the perfect music for this story.
7930945
Okay. For now XD. It's very difficult not to plug you.
7930922
O_O Oh my.
7930922
Hey, plenty of time for a long, old-fashioned romance.
Please sir, I would like some more.
the adventures of huckleberry finn, one of the first books i'd ever read. this story takes me back, it has a different feeling from huckleberry, a bit more innocent, but close enough to remind me of reading late in the night about a boy on a raft floating down a lazy river
7930968 I don't get the waterfall thing. Please explain.
7931167 I don't either, I was just referring to the "draw me like one of your French girls" thing.
have a like and fav
Daww. That is all... so the Baron still hasn't gotten his castle up and working yet? How long after The One Who Got Away is this, then? Not long, I suppose.
This is pretty unique, and I'm very glad I gave it a chance. I almost glossed over it. Looking forward to seeing more!
7930945
Just know, I'm grateful I didn't learn more than the basics of social stratification otherwise I'd be much worse off and more pessimistic than I already am. Which is interesting becasue I've actually read of situations in nonfiction where the rich tried to uplift the poor only to realize the supposedly wretched ones were better off then the rich were themselves. And yet, the myth that the poor or poor becasue they're lazy still exists.
Big smile on my face right now...good way to start my workday. (so cute)
Huh. I was hoping this would end with him getting adopted by the Baron, but now I'm not so sure. What would happen to sad old Mother Windrow, living alone in her house with nothing but some paintings to keep her company?
"Signifying by divine providence that I, Turpentine, was to carry the coffee pot. That is why I am your king."
"Listen. Strange fillies swimming in rivers distributing kitchenware is no basis for a system of government."
7933186
7933920 7933186 Have I mentioned how much I love you guys. Because I do.
7932788 Yeah, she's almost fifty. That's ancient.
7932049 I'm gonna try to make those muscles ache.
7931777 You are mistaking the steam engine in the castle for *transportation* when in fact, it is *entertainment.*
7931194 7931167 Just wait a couple of days. You'll get it.
7931024 Your wish is my command. (until Chapter 18, and then you're on your own for a while.)
7929524 It would really backfire when he saw a cockatrice.
We haven't even seen the barge yet, and things are already getting shippy.
7929524 I find there's plenty of romance in them. It's just actually subtle and natural instead of stilted and forced. And there is more to the story beside the romance.
Hence why I like it so much.
By the way, you have a great creativity for naming characters.
I, on the other hand, am terrible. Do you have any tips?
Also, is there a chance we could get some sort of complete seapony sketch/diagram? I really like your "version" of seapony canon, and while your descriptions are excellent, nothing beats a picture.
It doesn't really matter if it is a "good" sketch. Just a general shape or anatomical diagram would be enough.
story says Ripple's eyes are green. *looks at cover art* then why are they purple in the cover art?
also I agree with Detsella Morningdew said here about some sketches -> 7940872
I would LOVE! to see some seapony art to know more of what they look like!
7941191 Huh. I never noticed. I'll nudge the colorist and see if we can get that touched up. I was just tickled pink that Pen Mightier and Manifest Harmony did the picture, and I didn't want to look a gift (sea)horse in the mouth.
7940872 I'm excellent at creating names.
as well as brief bios, explanations of powers, relations, and appearances.
But as far as my art goes? I just draw.
My tool is a pencil, and my medium, Paper.
I can fly understand this kids enchantment with this fillies alien anatomy, and just as well fully understand why a race of nudist creatures would not wnat to be 'looked at' even in a platonic artistic view. Shyness and morality, that is.
But, again, I can understand.
I may not be able to make anything with paint and brush, but I can create life with lead.
I started out with imitation, and mostly just graduated to advanced imitation and transformation if an image I see.
I could make the rough outline if any location I see. Books, baubles, river trees and all, with near stunning accuracy.
My problem? Rarely am I in the mood d for such things.
problem numer dos: I have a severe lack of patience for any one thing at a time.
And if I drop anything, even omce, I immidiately lose the mood and never return to what it was I was creating.
So, yeah, it would be an honor to draw Ripple in all her aquatic beuty, but I would need her to basically eb a statue for a half hour to do such a thing effectiveky, and I get the feeling she would be very uninclined to do so.
The mention of 'was that a nature spirit?' Had a certain humor to me given that when trying to summarize the show to non-fans before mentioning the phrase "my little pony" I often describe them as being nature spirits... albeit one who mostly have better things to do on any given day that act in that role. Still, everyone does pitch in to change the seasons in the focus town...
Just an interesting point of fanon/perspective. Not getting down on you at all.
Happy... its okay. This place seems to have that efgect on ponies.
Yup, definitly a foal. Though age still aludes me. So far i gauge betweeen 7-12 human years.
Though considering i don't know how you age ponies, it could be anything from 5-20.
This was a nice chapter and Iiked the references to your previous story.
Ever notice things the second time around that you missed the first time?
She's such a sweet little curiosity...so cuuute~
Man. My own second comments feel watered down compared to my old originals.
8824333
... Was that a pun?
How dare you.
And suddenly character development! I didn't expect the whole take-everything-apart trope from an artist, that's really interesting.
I have to say, I'm glad this one's gonna be longer. I'm looking forward to several nights of good reading.
Yeah, girls are like that, kid. It will be one of the Great Tragedies of Life when you get older
This is so fucking adorable.
buxom superheroine? There is nothing buxom in the mlp universe except possibly unseen female minotaurs.
file:///storage/emulated/0/Download/AX0M29GBxzmsPnct6GjcNScdAoQS9undNdQTwBBqIHc.png
Never mind, I found his drawing.
10465291 Madam Mammary, the Cow of Courage, and the founding member of the crime-fighting group Minotaurs Universally United, or MUU.
(Really, I wish the Captain Carrot and his Amazing Zoo Crew comic had not been cancelled. I've got most of the issues.)