Hi. My name is Phantom Horn, and I’m a unicorn. Don’t let those other plebian ponies affect what you think of me. Just because I was born an earth pony doesn’t mean I am an earth pony. Just like Albert Reinstein and Bill Gaits, both born into families non-conducive to their futures, I plan on making my own future. I am a unicorn, and nopony else can take that away from me.
Phantom Horn was just like any other pony, if a bit delusional. He’s an earth pony, with the determination and heart of an earth pony, but, well, he’s put that power into believing with the full potential of his heart that he’s a unicorn. His cutie mark, earned at a Summer Sun Celebration when he was but a foal, is even of an invisible horn. When he earned his cutie mark, however, there was still no horn. He still can’t use magic, and can’t perform spells. That doesn’t stop him from trying.
“Fucking sandwich can’t lift itself… Why isn’t my horn working today? It’s usually at least glowing by lunch time.” Phantom sat a table in Ponyville, eating his hay sandwich the normal earth pony way. Other ponies stared at him intently, not because his eating style was weird, or because he was talking to himself. No, what caused them to stare so much was the toilet paper roll taped to his forehead. Combined with a bright pink shirt emblazoned with “Unicorns Rule” made for a quite unforgettable sight.
He slammed his hooves on the table. “I need to get in contact with the damn Magic Council and see if we’re having a shortage today. There’s no reason I shouldn’t be able to lift this sandwich.” He angrily chewed on, paying no attention to the stares he was accruing. He was used to it.
He had to get used to it. Once he discovered that race roles were chosen, and not bestowed at birth, he knew he had to tell everyone he was actually a unicorn. It made for a tough time at school, where all of the other fillies and colts made fun of him for not having a horn. “Who’s ever heard of a unicorn without a horn?” they’d taunt.
When he returned home, his brother, Keg Standard, talked to him after finding his own calling. “Look, bro, now that I know that picking up babes and partying all night is my destiny, I need to talk to you about yours.” Keg grabbed his brother’s shoulder and sat him down. “Mares can be really fickle whores, you know that? But even though they slap me, and throw their drinks on me, and call the cops on me, and put restraining orders on me, do you know what I do? I keep trying. I don’t let it get me down. I keep trying until those mares stop me themselves. And if it doesn’t work, I try a new one.” Phantom looked up at his brother, tears still in his eyes, but smiling a bit.
“You have to just not let them get to you, bro. Just keep at your destiny, regardless of what anypony tells you. Now get out there and work your magic!” Keg put on his glasses, smiled at his brother, and trotted away. Secretly, Keg was thinking to himself just how much of a faggot his brother had to be to cry about his own dumbass decision, but he was glad that his brother was functional again, if a bit crazy.
Nowadays, Phantom minds his own business, running his own errands and ignoring anything anypony says about his horn. He knows what’s right and what’s not, and those dumbasses always mentioning his horn are what’s not. They’re just lucky his magic isn’t working today, or else they’d pay.
He finished his sandwich and headed off to his next task: a seminar he was running at the town hall about privilege. He organized it months in advance, had his entire speech and presentation prepared, and should have a decent showing. It’s not often that everypony has the opportunity to learn about the master race and check their privileges at the same time. He trotted to the hall, smiling and ignoring the snickers and giggles along the way. It doesn’t even make sense anymore, seeing as they see him everyday.
He arrived at the town hall and saw the banner introducing him as the guest speaker for that week. He read it, seeing the title of the seminar, the pictures he added and… “Presented by Sub Standard”. He paused, smile subsiding. Sub Standard? What the fuck were these ponies thinking? He specifically told them not to use his birth name, as it was oppressive to his true destiny. He considered it one of his triggers, but, given that he read about those in a psychology book years ago and didn’t get the full understanding of the text, it wasn’t. But he still thought so, and in his head, that meant it was true.
He angrily huffed and strode into the hall, preparing to see the hundreds of attendees he was expecting. Instead, he saw hundreds of empty chairs and one pony sitting near the middle on the right side. One pony. One pony out of a town with a population of more-than-one. This isn’t fucking Appleloosa, this ain’t no one-horse town!
“Goddammit! Can this day get any worse?” he shouted into the sparse room. The single pony he had in attendance looked at him.
“Yes,” he said as he walked to the center aisle, walked past him while muttering something under his breath, and walked out of the hall. “It has to, or it’ll never get any better.” The pony, an older gentlecolt, smiled briefly before disappearing into the town.
“Shit.” Phantom plopped down onto the closest chair, exasperated, and just stared to the podium, where he was supposed to give the seminar. Not one pony at all. What did he do wrong? Was it the newspaper ads he put in? Nah, plebian isn’t that bad a word. Or maybe the flyers? I’m sure nopony was offended by the pro-unicorn propaganda. In fact, why weren’t there any unicorns here? Phantom hoped nopony thought this was a race rally.
He sat there for several hours, as he had rented out the space for five, just staring. He had developed a headache, just a slight throb, but it got worse as time wore on. He got up and trotted out of the building when the throb escalated into a full blown migraine. Phantom decided it was time to sleep off his bad day and start again tomorrow, happy and ready to enlighten the ignorant.
When he reached his house, a really sharp pain shook him, causing him to dip his head as he entered the door. He twisted his head and knocked it into the jamb. “FUCK that hurt. Goddammit!” He rubbed his head to ease the soreness and continued on, ignoring the pain. He walked upstairs, removed his Cardboard Unicorn Nonpermanent Tube (which he got as a standard issue replacement when he confronted the Magic Council), and lied down, preparing to sleep. It had been a long and horribly disappointing day, but he’ll make sure tomorrow starts off right.
“Hey, horntard, get your ass down here! Breakfast is ready!” Keg called from the floor below. Phantom simply moaned. His headache had subsided quite a bit, but his head was still sore.
“Give me, like, ten more minutes or something!” he shouted back, grabbing a pillow and covering his face. It wasn’t that he wasn’t a morning pony. In fact, he loved mornings. He just wished they’d come later in the day.
“No, get down here now! I’m making waffles!” Phantom groaned again. Keg was probably lying, but he definitely knew how to get his brother up. Phantom yawned, slowly rising from his bed and rubbing his eyes with his hooves. He reached over, grabbed his C.U.N.T., and readied some new tape to keep it in place. After prepping the horn, he lifted it up to his head and placed in the usual place. An odd scratching noise resounded around the room, but Phantom assumed it was just a mouse.
“Damn mice… I thought I told that shy pony to get them out of here…” He stretched and yawned again before hopping out of bed, destination bathroom. After carefully taking off the shirt he was still wearing, ensuring that it didn’t mess with his C.U.N.T. and throwing it in the hamper, he reached into the closet and grabbed another shirt to wear.
His brother always yelled at him for it (“Why the fuck do you have twenty of the same shirt?” he’d chastise), but Phantom didn’t care. It’s what he believed, so why let anypony tell him otherwise? Anyway, it wasn’t like he was wearing the same shirt every day. He washed and cleaned them just like anypony else would do.
He entered the bathroom, looking at the mirror to ensure that his horn was on straight and true, and began to clean up. He brushed his mane, making sure it was well groomed, then quickly ran his hooves through it to mess it up thoroughly. It was a careful process, and Phantom claimed it took skill to get the proper “just woke up” look. It worked well enough; everypony that saw him thought he had no proper hygiene or cleanliness with the shirt he wore and his messy hair.
That didn’t bother him, though. He was his own strong, independent pony and didn’t need no other pony to lean on. He brushed his teeth, pissed, and after making sure his mane was still properly messy, headed down to eat. He nearly tripped on his way down the stairs, but managed to catch himself before tumbling. “Did you almost trip?” he heard Keg yell, a hint of disguised laughter in his voice.
“Shut up! It’s early, alright?” He reached the bottom, turned the corner into the kitchen, and immediately sat down at the table on the far side of the room. His brother had already set out a waffle where he sat, smothered in butter and syrup with a glass of orange juice set aside. “What’s the occasion, anyway? You never make waffles unless you’re asking me for money, got laid, or asking me to do something for you.” Phantom glared at his brother while Keg continued making another waffle for himself.
“Guess again! I’ve got a second date!” Phantom nearly spat out his waffle.
“Wha- That’s great news! This is like…. your second second date ever!” Keg turned to look at his brother, grinning. “So, who’s the luck- er… who’s the mare?”
“She said her name was Fat Chance, but she’s skinny, so who cares?” Phantom nearly spat out his waffle again, but for a completely different reason.
“Did… did she give you her details?” Phantom asked carefully.
“Yep! She apparently has one of those fancy numbers that has letters in it instead of numbers. G-O-2-4-3-7-7 she said it was.” Phantom sighed. His brother wasn’t too smart when it came to women, no matter what he said.
“Keg, she told you to go to hell,” he responded. Keg looked at his brother inquisitively. “That phone number is just ‘go to hell’ in numbers.”
“But when I asked if I could have her name…”
“She told you-”
“Fat... Chance… Oh.” Keg slumped. The waffle iron beeped at Keg, who was no longer paying it any mind. “Fuck.” He unplugged the waffle iron, took out the waffle, and sat down with Phantom with his breakfast. “Well, these waffles got ten times worse.”
“Hey, I’m enjoying them. There’s that at least, right?”
“Fuck you.”
Phantom scratched at his head while he walked through town. The headache that suddenly appeared the day before left him a bit groggy, but it had disappeared quickly. Like other ponies, he had a job that helped him earn those few bits he needed to keep up his half of the rent. He still had no idea what his brother did, but he came through every month.
Somehow.
He walked quickly through town, hoping that he’d make it in time. He was late once. Big Mac nearly ripped him in half using nothing but one leg and a stern look. Phantom swore he wouldn’t die to being sectioned. At least, not to a stallion. If it was, like, four mares, he’d be okay with that. Not hopeful, but it suited him.
Apparently, according to him, Applejack didn’t care much for numbers, Applebloom was too busy visiting the hospital every other day, and Granny Smith would sometimes eat the ledgers in confusion. Big Mac decided having an accountant from outside the family would help, and that’s where Phantom came in.
Phantom had made it to the front of the orchard when he heard the first chime from the belltower. He immediately burst into a gallop and ran to the farmhouse, hoping to make it before the eighth chime.
GONG
He leapt over three fences.
GONG
Those poor apples. Oh well, they shouldn’t have been there.
GONG
He could see the farmhouse looming ahead. He was going to cut it close.
GONG
Apple Bloom and friends had set up a small platform in his way. They were tap dancing on the stage to a vinyl record player sitting off to the side. For once, they’re not actually that bad, Phantom thought. Too bad for them.
GONG
He leapt onto the stage, ignoring them completely, and continued through. His tail whipped Sweetie Belle in the face, causing her to stumble towards Scootaloo. She stepped on Scootaloo’s tail, causing her to yelp in Apple Bloom’s ear. Startled, the little pony tumbled over the side of the stage into the player, denting the horn and breaking the record. Phantom looked back at the mess he caused, grimacing. He’d pay for that later. Not now, though, he had work to get to.
GONG
He was going to make it! The door was right there, just feet in front of him.
GONG
He crashed into the door at full speed, knocking it clear off of its hinges into the sitting room. Granny Smith, who had been rocking in her chair, moved her head as the door sailed past. Phantom barreled into the house, flipping and rolling in an attempt to stop himself. After a few seconds of flailing, he ended in the hall at the opposite side of the sitting room, staring upwards at none other than Big Mac.
“You’re going to make me fix that, aren’t you?” Phantom sighed.
“Eeyup.” Phantom put his hoof up to his head to make sure his C.U.N.T. hadn’t been damaged in the turmoil. He smirked when he felt the cardboard give slightly at the touch before getting up and picking up the wood that used to be a door in his mouth. Due to its weight and, as his brother would put it, Phantom’s weak beta mouth, he dragged it over to the door frame.
He looked over to the table next to the door where the usual tools lay: a hammer, nails, new hinges. This wasn’t a first occurrence, and Phantom had prepared in advance. Well, at least he did after the third time it happened. Big Mac had Apple Bloom fix it the first few times, but recently, he had been making Phantom do it instead.
Filthy mudponies with their lack of magic and need for manual labor… he thought, making sure to keep it to himself. He once let something like that slip while he was working under the Cakes. Needless to say, he, confetti, and old cake batter were all fired directly out of the back door into a nearby dumpster. He had nursed that particular knot for weeks afterward, and it took him several days to wash the smell of cake out of his hair. Nowadays, he steered clear from them and Pinkie Pie.
He was getting the hang of it, at least. This time only took him a hair over five minutes to finish the job. Better than the hour it took the first time. Amazing what repetitive manual labor does to a pony’s speed and efficiency.
After wiping the sweat from his brow, he walked through the farmhouse to the office. It wasn’t always an office, but when Big Mac made the executive decision to hire an accountant, he also made the executive decision that Apple Bloom didn’t really need a room dedicated to “practicin’ stuff” and moved all of their business paperwork into the space. It was a pretty large room, and Phantom never felt cramped in the space.
He looked at the inbox, piled high with ledgers, receipts, and contracts with various businesses in and out of town. Phantom had to sort through these, make sure they were in the black, and advise them on anything they should or should not be doing. Generally, as long as nopony barged in while he was working, he could get it done relatively quickly and easily. Despite being earthy pony hicks, they were very well-organized.
He reached up, grabbed the first set of documents, and opened them before the door burst open.
“What they hay do ya think you’re doin’ messin’ up my sister and her friends while they were, uh… What were ya’ll doin’ out there?”
“Tap dancing!” Scootaloo exclaimed. Applejack looked at the small pegasus inquistively.
“I thought ya’ll already tried that?”
“We did, but we forgot until just now,” Sweetie Belle clarified, blushing slightly. Phantom stared at what was happening. He was the center of this discussion, but maybe, if he kept quiet, they’d forget all about him and just go away.
“Anyways, y’all knocked ‘em all down and broke their music doohickey without so much as an ‘Ah’m sorry!’” Applejack huffed. She stared at him for what seemed like an eternity, but was much closer to four seconds. He broke.
“Ah’m sorry,” he mumbled.
“What was that?” Applejack snapped.
“I said ‘I’m sorry,’” he hastily replied. Not a lie, but he fudged the numbers a bit, something he didn’t do often. She glared at him before dipping her head and sighing.
“Just don’t let it happen again, sugarcube. These little fillies don’t need no more trouble than they can wrangle up themselves.” She turned toward the crusaders. “As for y’all three,” she started as they frowned, “Y’all are gonna get out there and tear down that there stage before somepony else breaks somethin’.”
“But-” Apple Bloom began.
“No ‘if’s, ‘and’s, or ‘but’s. Y’all go through our lumber faster than a jackrabbit runnin’ from a jackdaw.” The trio, still frowning, slowly, but purposefully, walked out of the room toward their makeshift stage. Phantom Horn continued looking at the door, hoping that the five that became two would also become one. Applejack, blissfully unaware of the racist pony in her midst, turned back toward him.
“So how’s the paperwork comin’ along?” she posited, trotting over to the desk to see his work, which didn’t exist.
“About as well as those three’s cutie marks, at the moment.” He stared down at the ledger he hadn’t even been able to open.
“Well, what’s keepin’ ya?”
He glared at her for what felt like four seconds but was closer to an eternity. She stared back at him, completely oblivious to the fact that he considered her to be the “what” that was keeping him.
He broke. “Can I please ask you to leave so I can get back to work? I can’t really concentrate with another pony looking over my shoulder.”
“Why didn’t ya say so, sugarcube? Just holler if you need anythin’.” With the speed of a jackrabbit running from something significantly less dangerous than a jackdaw (which he was positive bore absolutely no threat to the aforementioned jackrabbit), she exited the room.
Finally, now I can work in peace… he thought. He bent over and started work on the number-crunching he grew to hate. It was going to be a long day.
The bell tower chimed thrice when he finished up the last of his accounting duties. It was par for the course, which sat alright with him. He was used to staying a bit later most days due to the Apple family’s tendency to interrupt nigh constantly, which luckily didn’t happen this time. He quickly reorganized the desk, placed all of the ledgers, contracts, and forms into the outbox, and began to leave when Big Mac appeared in the doorway. He carried a small pouch in his mouth, which, when Phantom looked up, dropped directly onto his head.
“My payment for the week?” Phantom asked the towering stallion.
“Eeyup.”
“Deductions included?”
“Eeyup.”
“Fantastic. Thanks.” Big Mac turned and walked out of the house, heading back into the orchard where, presumably, he was going to move an immovable object or stop an unstoppable force or something. Phantom stopped caring about his bosses approximately forever before getting hired. He was here for the bits, nothing more, nothing less. Babysitting, sometimes, but that was extra.
With no interaction with anypony on his way out, he disappeared from the farm as fast as he could and headed to town to drop off his bits at his house. No doubt he’ll find his brother there with the mare of the day. He trotted into the area most other ponies would call “the ghetto,” said his greetings to his neighbors, and headed to his house. Just before he made it up his stoop, a mare stopped him in his tracks. Oh great, the super’s here…
“Hello, Mr. Standard,” she goaded.
Phantom gritted his teeth. “Hiiiii, Ms. Miss.” I wonder what this bitch wants today…
She sneered at him. “You know I’m married, Mr. Standard. It’s Mrs. Miss.” Miss Miss always corrected him on that, and he never gave two shits.
“I’m sorry, I forgot, Mrs. Miss Miss,” he retorted. “How can I help you today?”
“Oh, nothing you haven’t done before, I’m sure. Your brother’s been in there all day fooling around from what it sounds like. I just wanted to let you know that if he gets any louder, somepony might call the police thinking that he’s hurting the poor mare, though by the sounds of it, that wouldn’t be too far off.”
Wait, Keg’s getting laid? Phantom shoved her aside to get into the house.
“Sure sure, I’ll tell him to lower the volume. Thanks bye,” he quickly recited, having done it several times already with her. She didn’t matter, though. Keg got laid! He burst into the house, slammed the door in her face as she attempted to peek into the abode, and ran upstairs to his brother’s room. It certainly sounded like somepony was getting banged in the house.
He got to the door and placed one ear against it, just to make sure that’s where it’s coming from. Sure enough, a moan escaped followed by a rumbling as somepony banged against the wall. Suddenly, somepony screamed, and without pause, Phantom ran into his brother’s room unannounced.
The first thing he saw was the floor as he tripped over his brother’s clothes laying about. He slammed his head into the floor, knocking his C.U.N.T. towards where he assumed another one was, and began to roll. He never understood that, how he was so good at rolling, but he rolled with it. With little warning, he stopped against the far wall, upside down with his hooves above him and his muzzle facing the center of the room.
Keg looked at him from the cot he was laying on, before simply responding to the show with, “Dude, what the fuck?” He stared at his brother with disgust for breaking into his room, but that look melted into bewilderment. “Dude, what the fuck?”
Phantom saw at a glance that his brother was probably the one making all of the sounds the super was complaining about, given the situation. A stallion was standing beside him, with his hooves digging deeply into his brother’s back. Phantom recognized him as one of the spa ponies who specialized in massages, but why he was here, Phantom couldn’t determine.
“Why are you getting a massage?” Phantom still didn’t move from his resting spot against the wall. Keg snapped out of it, shooing the pony out of the room as fast as he could. He threw a few bits his way and slammed the door on him before turning back to his brother.
“House call, but dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Well, I heard a scream, and I thought something bad was going on and-”
Keg was holding his C.U.N.T. in one hoof, and looked back at his brother.
“Wait, no, give that back! I need my horn ‘cause if I lose it the magic council will charge me double for a replacement!”
Keg took the tube in his teeth and ripped it in half. “You don’t need this shit anymore, Phantom.” Phantom’s mouth rose, and, when he finally flipped over, dropped a little further.
“But… but…” he stammered as tears filled his eyes. Keg, exasperated, grabbed a nearby hand mirror and gave it to his brother.
“Just look.”
Phantom looked into the mirror, and gasped at the horn protruding out of his forehead. Like, a real horn, not a toilet paper roll. Made out of real pony bone and everything. He reached out a hoof and touched it. It made a “boing” sound when he flicked it, just like how he imagined it.
Phantom fainted.
Keg looked at his downed brother, to his horn, then back to his brother.
“...What the actual fuck?”
