This story is dedicated to my two most spiffing prereaders, Eisenman and AnAverageGom.
Pinkie Pie looked up.
She didn't do this often. The skies rarely had much to show her, and she preferred to focus on what lay below. Ponies. Ponies smiling and frowning. The skies didn't have those, especially not at night.
All the same, she looked up.
The winter nights of Canterlot had always fascinated her, from her very first night spent beside the castle. She'd been colder, then, of course. With no shelter, she'd been colder. Not like now. In a private suite in Canterlot Castle, the cold was friendly—almost a welcome guest.
And the nights fascinated her still. Hearth Warming's Eve was drawing near, and bright decorations lined the streets. Pinkie had spent all of the previous day sabotaging a complex colored light system Rarity had sought to place. She'd been brought to her senses before completely wrecking it, fortunately.
Regardless of her efforts, even at night, the city remained a colorful and vibrant place. But this did not come without a cost.
It came at the expense of the sky. Up above, the night was pitch black. There were no clouds—it was an exceptionally clear night. Elsewhere, it would be beautiful. But the home of the Princess of the Night herself could not see the stars for all the lights on the ground.
Pinkie would wonder whether Luna went elsewhere during this season, or if Luna stayed indoors and tried not to think about it.
Some ponies didn't understand Pinkie. They assumed she gave no thought to the thoughts of others, and that was true. Pinkie didn't understand how other ponies thought. It wasn't her fault. Other ponies were slow, and careful, and boring. She loved them, but they were boring. Pinkie didn't understand how they thought.
She understood how they felt. She understood if they were truly smiling, or if they were close to tears. She understood if they needed to be alone, or if they needed a hug. Sometimes, when it was funny, she would ignore this understanding. But when it was actually important, she always tried to help. She understood.
So she would wonder whether Luna was happy in this season, where her nights were longest, or whether Luna would prefer to wait until the shorter nights of Summer and Spring to show off her work.
Pinkie would wonder this.
But she wasn't thinking about the stars, nor the sky. Not even the night itself.
She wasn't even thinking about Canterlot.
She was thinking about a promise she'd recently extracted.
She was wondering if the promise was being kept.
Earlier that day...
“Remember, Gummy.” Pinkie wagged a hoof at her pet alligator. “You can't come with me to Canterlot. No matter what.”
Gummy blinked up at her.
“Don't look at me like that!” Pinkie picked Gummy up and hugged him. “It's not because I don't want you to come!”
The alligator's tail twitched.
Pinkie held Gummy up before her eyes. “It's be-cause I need you to look after Sugarcube Corner! I'm gone, and the Cakes are gone. The shop's abandoned.” She grinned, raising an eyebrow. “You know what that means.”
Gummy stared.
“You Pinkie Promise?” Pinkie stared deep into the wide violet eyes of the toothless reptile.
Gummy blinked.
His tail twitched.
Pinkie set him down, giggling. “Okey-dokey! Just remember!” She picked up her small suitcase in her mouth and trotted to the door. “Awtch ow or eepersh!”
Years ago (quite a few)...
Blowing up pony dwellings was a very delicate business.
Everypony knew that.
It was dangerous. It was an emotionally volatile political issue. It brought up ethical concerns. It brought up moral concerns. And it scared ponies. Add all those problems together, and a very delicate business was created.
Sir Creepalot knew how delicate this work was. So did Princess Celestia. Creepers were born to destroy. It was literally their sole reason for living. If this was taken away, it could create a great deal of anger throughout the species.
Explosive anger.
At one point, a picket line had been threatened. Specifically, the line of picket fence protecting Celestia's home. Sir Creepalot himself had made the threat.
It was a matter of professional courtesy to warn the victim in question, and so he had. Naturally, he'd ended up in the dungeons. This had been small surprise. Celestia was still sensitive after the banishment of her sister some twenty years ago.
Sir Creepalot knew this quite well. He understood how difficult the loss of family could be—especially when one had to bring about the loss personally. Scars did not easily heal. The Princess was still in an emotionally...volatile state.
But Sir Creepalot was a very popular creeper. One did not simply lock him up. Celestia knew this quite well.
And so it came to pass, on one dark night, that he was granted an audience with the Princess of the Sun. For the very first time in Equestrian history, a creeper and a pony walked side-by-side through the gloomy castle of Canterlot.
After a terse discussion, it was decided that a treaty could be drawn up. Certain restrictions were agreed upon. Chief among these restrictions? Fatalities were prohibited. If a death or serious injury occurred (besides that of the detonating creeper, of course), steps would be taken.
Sir Creepalot understood. In truth, the creepers did not want to kill. They just enjoyed being remembered. And what better technique than to sneak up behind a pony, start to hiss, and see the look on the poor pony's face when they turned around?
But there were alternatives. Griefing did not have to cause grieving.
And so the creepers agreed upon the treaty. And nearly a thousand years later, the treaty remained in place. Creeper-pony relations were about as cordial as could be expected. All in all, the ponies thrived, the creepers thrived, and Sir Creepalot waited.
Waited for just the right victim.
That night (it's the present date, silly)...
Sir Creepalot examined the colorful dwelling known as Sugarcube Corner. It was a quaint place. The roofs reminded him of pastry frosting. The windows were very well-crafted. The foundations appeared sound.
Clearly, a lot of work had been put into this building.
Sir Creepalot knew that to truly wreck Sugarcube Corner was no simple matter. Only recently, a strange dragon had tried to do just that. And the place had been wrecked. But the foundations were too well-established. Rebuilding it had not taken long at all.
If he was to actually, permanently destroy this place, he would have to get into the center of the building and stay there. And he'd tried that before.
The first time, a young pink filly had stopped him.
Sir Creepalot shuddered. Cake was all well and good, but being assaulted with it was a singularly unpleasant experience. And when the filly had begun to throw the eggs, it had been clear that no detonation could be successful.
The second time, the filly—a mare, by then—had been gone. But her five friends had not. Creepalot had been jabbed by sewing needles, kicked in the chest, scalded by magic, blasted by some sort of rainbow detonation, and...
...Stared at.
That had been the worst night of his life, most certainly. Death was fine. Almost all his brothers were long dead, mere gunpowder on the wind, and Sir Creepalot could handle that. Their loss was nothing compared to the misery of that night.
But the five friends were off now. As was the pink pony.
Creepalot gave a long hiss, that could perhaps be taken for a laugh. On the third try, he would succeed. Sugarcube Corner would finally fall.
He snuck out from behind a bush, and looked around. The streets were empty. If any ponies had been around that night to see him, they would likely have been startled. A creature like Creepalot was a rare sight, and a fearsome one.
The green abomination was tall, and walked on four tiny, spindly legs, like a stretched spider. His toothless mouth was constantly turned in a frown, but he would smile if he could. After nearly two thousand years, the wait was almost over.
He crawled carefully up to the walls of the pastry shop, and circled around. The streets remained empty, just as planned. It was approaching the pony holiday, the celebration of the destruction of those foul windigoes whose raging blizzard had stifled many a creeper's explosive potential. Most ponies were sleeping, or engaging in the ponies' “heart-to-heart conversations”.
Sir Creepalot rolled his beady black eyes as he crept up to the door. Speech wielded outside matters of self-preservation? Or hilarious taunts about, say, what a shame it would be if anything were to happen to a pony's hard work? Ponies were crazy. That was the only explanation Sir Creepalot could think of.
He stood next to the door. A comrade of his—called Horace the Horrible—had always endorsed waiting beside these portals, and waiting for a pony to step outside. Horace had made the mistake of waiting outside the door of one 'Starswirl the Bearded', though. Creeper-pony relations had been much more strained back then.
There was no point in waiting in this case, anyways. Nopony was going to come out, because nopony was home. It was like taking the candy of a baby. Not that Creepalot liked candy. He had an acquaintance who liked candy, but he hated it. It was sweet and nauseating, just like ponies.
Sir Creepalot reached down, grasped the lever device in his toothless maw, and pulled up. The door clicked open.
He closed his eyes. Soon, he would be gone, and his monument would be forever preserved. Who needed candy, and friendship, and other pony mysteries? The mystery of destruction, the source of endless entertainment for others of his kind, and very much ending entertainment for himself...that was the only mystery he wanted to solve.
His eyes opened. His head tilted.
What?
A tiny little lizard stood before him. Large violet eyes met Sir Creepalot's near-solid black ones.
The lizard stared at Sir Creepalot. Sir Creepalot stared back. There was a long silence.
It couldn't go on forever, of course. Sir Creepalot had a schedule to keep. “Ssstep assside.” He hated talking. He hated it so much. His lisp was stupid, and talking was stupid. But surely this lizard would get the gist.
The lizard did not move.
Eyes narrowing, Sir Creepalot forced his way past. The green lizard was knocked away, and bounced against the glass display case. Sir Creepalot entered the little shop, and made his way past the counter.
Soon.
Gummy climbed up onto the counter.
He stared at the creeper, whose back was turned.
Gummy leaped.
Sir Creepalot let out a hiss, as something landed on his back. He flailed, and smacked his back against the wall.
Whatever it was, it fell off.
Sir Creepalot turned, and stared at the little lizard. “You?”
It stared back at him.
Of course. If Sir Creepalot blew up, it would surely kill or maim this creature. It was far too close.
But this was the point he had to detonate. The key weakness of the structure. The source of all the future hilarity.
He examined the floor. He looked back at the lizard. “Go, little beassst."
Stare.
Creepalot glared. “Abssscond.”
Stare.
“Ssstop...ssstaring!”
The violet eyes bore down on Sir Creepalot. It felt like his soul was being laid bare before the probing, unending gaze of that pink pony's pitiless pet.
“Ssstop. Jussst...ssstop.”
The lizard stared.
Sir Creepalot shook himself. He wouldn't be swayed by this annoying amphibian. He leaned down, grabbed the lizard by the tail, and rushed back to the door. He would toss it out, hurry back, and—
—there. He swung his head, and the lizard went flying.
Across the street. Through a window.
Sir Creepalot heard yelling.
He hesitated. Then, he quickly nudged the door shut. If he hurried...
But as he turned away, he heard a knock.
He hesitated once more. The situation felt oddly familiar—almost like some sort of role reversal. He hated irony. He hated it, and he hated that he barely knew what it was because the pony definitions kept changing. At least it didn't have any 's's in it. That would make it the worst word.
...well, a door would not go unanswered. He turned and re-opened the door.
A gray winged pony stood there. She had yellow hair and yellow eyes. Sir Creepalot was not one to notice pony traits, but there was something odd about those eyes. Something uneven.
She gave him a friendly smile, hovering in midair, and held up a little green newtlike creature. “Hi, neighbor! Is this yours?”
Sir Creepalot blinked.
The flying pony waited.
“Yesss," he rasped. "But pleassse, don't leave him—”
“So he's your pet?”
“Yesss, but you—you mussstn't leavess—" he trailed off, trying to stop the hissing. He hated talking.
The pony blinked, a nervous smile forming. “Don't leave? Really? Okay!"
The pegasus landed—setting the alligator down—and trotted inside. “I've never been here before! Well, I was once, but I came in through the roof!” She turned back, grinning. “You sure it's okay if I come in? I think it's late out, but if you've got muffins or something...”
Sir Creepalot was silent.
The pegasus blinked. “Uh, sorry." She pawed the ground. "Sometimes I misunderstand things. Uh, should I leave? I didn't mean to...um...”
She cringed. “Look, I won't bug you again, it's just...well, it's almost Hearth Warming's Eve, and my friend—my friends, I mean—she's—er, they're all off with their families, so...I guess I just assumed...”
Sir Creepalot considered it.
He had earned his title through acts of great cowardice. That was how creepers survived, after all. Courage meant the time to shine. Meant the time to die. Sir Creepalot had lived a long time by knowing when was the time to die, and when was the time to lie.
But he sometimes made wrong calls. And now, confronted by this pitiable pony, he found only one call presented itself to him.
It was definitely the wrong one.
“No. It isss fine.”
Sir Creepalot looked around, trying to avoid the pony's suddenly hopeful eyes. "Sssome company would be alright. For a short time."
“Oh!” The pegasus brightened. “Thanks, so much! I promise I won't break anything or anything like that!”
She offered a hoof. “My name's Der—Ditzy Doo.”
Sir Creepalot eyed the hoof.
“Oh, right! Sorry! No, uh, right.” Ditzy giggled, lowering her hoof.
She looked around—with one eye, anyways. The other seemed to be focusing on the pastry display case. “So, uh, you're taking care of the shop for the Cakes, right?”
Sir Creepalot considered it. “Yesss. Becaussse they are in Canterlot.”
“Oh, okay!” Ditzy tilted her head. “What's your name?”
“...Sssir Creepalot.”
“Oh! So, uh, what are you?”
Sir Creepalot was not accustomed to this much talking. Did ponies always ask this many questions?
He noticed the lizard was creeping back inside. Quickly, he shuffled over and slammed the door. The lizard's eyes bugged out as the door caught it by the neck. It strained and, after a moment's struggle, pulled itself back out.
He turned back. Ditzy hadn't noticed, busy eying the display case—with both eyes, now. “I'm a creeper.”
“Oh, really?” Ditzy looked over her shoulder, sounding sympathetic. “I bet you deal with a lot of bullies, with your voice, and your...creeperness, right?”
“Not really.” Sir Creepalot frowned. Nopony bullied a creeper. They were too frightening to even come near.
“Oh.” Ditzy blushed, looking down at her hooves. “Yeah, uh...” There was a short, awkward silence.
Sir Creepalot walked over. “Do you want a muffin?”
“Oh!” Ditzy perked up again. “Sure! Thanks!”
Sir Creepalot walked behind the counter, opened the case, and grabbed a muffin in his mouth. He stood up and tossed it onto the counter.
Ditzy grabbed it, visibly salivating. "Wow, this looks good. Usually I can't affor..." The rest of her statement was muffled as she began to attack her prize. Sir Creepalot had never seen anything devoured with such ferocity. Though, honestly, creepers never had any need to eat, so that wasn't much of a surprise.
While the pony was distracted, Sir Creepalot turned back to the Point of Detonation. Or what would be the Point of Detonation, if he ever got rid of his unwanted visitor. Which he needed to do very soon.
He thought about it. He had to handle it politely. No sense in hurting her feelings, nothing logical about that. She seemed nice enough, if a bit overly trusting. What kind of a pony just came up to a creeper and started chatting?
A lonely one. Obviously. Sir Creepalot understood loneliness perfectly well. And she'd be upset no matter what when the truth came out. She was unknowingly allowing her neighbors' home to be demolished, after all. She might even get in some trouble over it.
Perhaps...no, wait. He dispelled the unwelcome twinges of guilt. She would be fine. She wasn't the one dying, after all. All the same, he needed to remove her. Quickly, civilly, and effectively.
He got an idea. He turned back to Ditzy, just as she finished off the muffin. “Ditzssy. I need a favor.”
“Hm?” Ditzy looked up. “Oh, sure! Anything for a friend!” She beamed.
“The lizssard outssside.” He spoke slowly, trying to keep his impediment under control.
“Who? Oh, you mean Gummy?” One of Ditzy's eyes rolled. “I think he's an alligator. Not sure, though!”
“I need sssomeone to tend to him. While I...look after the shop. It isss urgent.”
“Oh, sure! Sure!” Ditzy's beam widened. “Happy to do it! You can count on me! I don't need Carrot Top to help me! I can do it on my own!”
“Thanksss.” As long as the creature is not here...
“No! Problem!” Ditzy skipped back to the door, and opened it. “Oh, here he is now!”
Gummy stood on the doormat. Ditzy grabbed him—ignoring the alligator's attempts to bite her—and took to the air. “See you later, and I'll bring your alligator!”
“Pleassse don't,” Sir Creepalot muttered. He hurried over and shut the door.
` Then, he returned to the Point of Detonation. He began to concentrate. At last, after all these—
He stopped.
Two violet eyes were staring through the window before him.
Gummy was hanging on to the windowsill. Staring.
Sir Creepalot scowled. The lizard was too close. He would have to be moved. Has the winged pony already failed to—
Then, two gray arms shot out and snatched the alligator. Through the window, Ditzy gave a guilty grin. “Got this!”
She flew off.
Sir Creepalot hesitated. Then, he began to concentrate again.
Just as he felt about to detonate, though, he found he couldn't.
Those violet eyes wouldn't leave his mind.
Staring.
Waiting.
It was maddening. It wasn't as awful as being Stared at by that pony, but it came very close. Something about it was disturbingly...alien. Almost familiar.
He shook himself. He would not be defeated by a silly wide-eyed lizard.
The creeper began to glow. He could smell the gunpowder, and in the crisp just-after-midnight air, it smelled deliciously like victory.
Then he felt something grip the top of his head.
Something wet and...gummy.
Gummy stood in the darkness of Pinkie Pie's bedroom.
Gummy grabbed a floorboard in his mouth and ripped it out.
On the ground floor, a creeper prepared to explode.
Gummy jumped.
“Sorry! Sorry!” Ditzy rushed in, eyes wide.
“Remove! Thisss thing! On my head! Remove it!” Sir Creepalot was swinging his head frantically, without success—Gummy simply would not let go.
“Okay, okay! I got it!”
Sir Creepalot saw Ditzy grab something, but he was flailing too violently to see what. As long as it dislodged the awful reptile clinging to his head, he didn't care what it was. "Remove it! Remove it! Remove—"
"Calm down! I've—"
A board hit Sir Creepalot in the head. Hard.
He staggered. He saw Ditzy dropping the board. She said something, but he couldn't hear it over the loud ringing. His hearing wasn't very good, but that ringing was very loud. Couldn't Ditzy hear it?
Or was he just...
Sir Creepalot collapsed.
Following his fall was the fall of the board. It landed on the floor with a quiet clunk, forgotten by its wielder.
“Oh, no, no." Ditzy's eyes were wide. "No, I killed him! I missed! Why'd I miss? No, no, my one real friend-who's-not-Carrot-Top and I kill him!”
Gummy detached from Sir Creepalot's head and slowly climbed up onto the counter.
Ditzy approached the prone form of her new friend, as a tear ran down her cheek. "Why do I always mess things up? Every time. Every time. They're right, I am Derpy. No, why'd I even—”
She saw one of the creeper's legs twitch. “Oh!" She blinked. "Oh, he's alive!”
Gummy stared at her. He stared at the creeper, whose eyes began to open.
“What...”
“Huge monster!" Ditzy waved her hooves about wildly. "Broke through wall! Grabbed my board!”
Sir Creepalot stared up at her.
Ditzy pointed at Gummy, eyes wide. "He did it."
“Ssss...what?”
“Sorry, I really didn't mean to hit you, but you were moving really fast, and Gummy's kinda a small target and I'm so so sorry just please don't hate me forever, or report me to the Royal Guard so I can get thrown in jail, or report me to the Royal Guard and hate me forever in the jail I've been thrown in!”
“Ssss...head hurtssss...”
“Sorry! Gummy kinda got away from me and, um—”
Sir Creepalot started to spasm on the floor. After a moment, Ditzy realized he was trying to stand. “Oh! Here you go!”
She grabbed the creeper and helped him up. “See? That's what friends do, they, uh, help each other!”
“And hit each other with boardsss.”
Ditzy flinched.
“Sssorry.” Sir Creepalot rolled his eyes. “Jussst remove the lizard and—”
He stopped.
“What?” Ditzy turned. "Oh. Uh...oh." She cleared her throat. "Darn."
Gummy was gone.
Sir Creepalot could feel the violet stare again, but he hadn't the faintest notion where it was coming from now.
He sighed.
Why does griefing have to be so complicated?
