The Pony Who Was Thursday · 1:03am Jun 20th, 2015
I just finished The Man Who Was Thursday by G. K. Chesterton and wow it was a trip.
Wanted to talk a bit about The Night is Passing, games, random things, share some music, and depart again.
Firstly: You may have noticed that I put out two chapters last month. I'm going to try to make that happen a bit more. I have graduated--that's right, I matriculated ma!--and am headed to graduate study. Specifically, I will be attending the University of Mississippi's Law School starting in August. (Any Rebel Black Bears ready to rebel against other bears and/or the precepts of "bear" that are hegemonically forced upon free individuals by an oppressive hegemonic taxonomyist system?) Before that happens, I intend to make as much progress on Night as I can. There is no way in Hell, Heaven, or Jolly Middle Earth that I can finish it by then. Maybe. Who knows? But I doubt it. I will however try to get close. After I move, I will be writing still. I will be writing in and around the first steps of 1L (that's what they call it! 1, 2, 3 L I guess L means law.)
So expect faster releases.
I'm also working on some short stories here and there. A few my friends know about, a few they may not? No idea.
I'm kind of a dinosaur. I have discovered recently that whilst I was in labor with this monstrosity called (affectionately) TNIP, that the constituency of FiMFic had changed utterly. You know, nobody talks about It's a Dangerous Business anymore? Or any of those old classics I loved so much that made me start writing. Have you heard anyone reading Eternal? Eternal has a ton of problems but hell its entertaining and its a fascinating read.
I've tried not to be mopey on my blog. I've been a bit melodramatic, and I have been mopey a few times, but not about writing/fandom stuff as much. I just didn't see the point in it. For me, fandom didn't mean looking at the group around me but looking at the thing in the middle of us. I enjoy things. Genuinely. I genuinely enjoy fanfiction and source material and music and books and things all pretty equally. So it's odd for me to look up from them to see everyone else around me. I did that recently. A lot of the people I would recognize as the great writers are basically gone. Aside from The Night is Passing, I'm kind of washed up and forgotten to. Which is sort of sad. But I'm not going to rail about it to you, or cry over it, or blame the feature box. It simply is a thing which is. I've mostly been pretty stoic about the whole thing. Writing, for me--and this is mine, and I'm aware that others don't share my thoughts on this--is something which one does or one does not, and that is the only choice. Questions like "why" and "to whom" and "for whom" don't come into play with me until the thing is pretty much drying off, fresh off the pottery wheel. I look at what I do in reflection and see these things often, but I'm not sitting around with a pipe pretentiously puffing as I dissect the tastes of the FiMFic proleteriat, deriding the influences of porn and sensationalistic, topical drivel. (I do however, when I have tobacco, solid company [or none at all] and perhaps some coffee, smoke a pipe. It once belonged to an Anglican priest and I bought it in an estate sale where proceeds were invested in part to a boy's foundation.)
I see that a lot. Sometimes it irks me. Usually it does not. People deal with the passing of time in different ways. I've proved unable to go very quietly into the gentle night. I don't rail so much as I fume and light whatever I can and generally shotgun everywhere. Some people rail and then go. Some linger furious and write long Jeremiads about the State of Things or How The World Is Worse Than It Was Before. I find most of the time that we overestimate our happy past and underestimate our unhappy present. Law of averages. There's always something worth finding. Erasmus used to read scraps of paper he found in the street. I do the same. We both have trouble with pedestrian traffic.
So I'm a dinosaur, FiMFic-wise. I'm okay with it, I think. It won't really effect me if I want to post something here, anyhow. I posted when nobody read and I posted when lots of folks read. Most of my followers followed for stories I went away from, and I know that. It's okay.
I've been playing a lot of games recently. Fire Emblem: Awakening, for one. I enjoy shipping characters together. My Tactician is named Lyra and she looks like the good twin of the player-criminal guild thing from the first arc of Sword Art Online, which is to say she's a totes animu bamf, and of course she went with Chrom I mean come onnnn. I put the gynophobic swordsman and the Spock-like Mage together too, which was oodles of fun. I enjoyed their dialogue. Hell, all the dialogue in the game is great.
I've also been playing VERDUN. Let me tell you about Verdun. It is great. It's a WWI shooter which revolves around a game mode called "Frontlines" wherein there are a few huge maps based on four or five locations of heavy fighting in the great war. Central powers and Entente, and you take trenches and lose them. Sound boring? It's not. Verdun is hard, uncompromisingly so, and amazingly fun. It's a game where you expect to die often and often embarrassingly. Your KDR is not going to be good. It isn't. You don't care. It enforces objective-based gameplay by giving you time to retreat back after a failed attack... a minute, basically. Spend more time than that and you are executed for desertion. Which means that if you're going to fight off the enemy charge that inevitably comes, you are going to need to do it much more cleverly than by sitting halfway between lines in a crater waiting. Because yes, you'll get one. But you'll lose the point bonus for obeying and the next one will get you, and then you'll have effectively done nothing. But get into cover, be smart and be accurate? Ah, then you're cooking with petrol.
I'm Lyrewulf on STEAM. ADD ME. PLEASE. I'll talk if you ping me! USually. look up Lyrewulf or juliusscipio. Not my real name. that would be dumb. It's a silly name.
I also bring music
Challenge: If you read this far, tell me a story.
I don't have a story to tell, but I did enjoy reading yours.
A story? Very well.
Ahem. Ahe-hem. AHEM!
There was once an old man, who was both humble and gentle. He lived a long and fulfilled life, spending his later years as a story teller in a small village. He would tell fantastic tales that would enrapture the children. The children would gather around his humble home's porch, and they would listen to every tale he told, leaning in with broad smiles. The parents of these children would stand off to the side, watching over their young and not entirely pay attention to the old man's tales. Yet, they believed that his stories were his own. One day, a parent listened to a tale he laid out. They loved it. When all the children left to go about their day, the parent confronted the old man. "Tell me, are all of your tales that extravagant?" he said, smiling at the man. The man smiled back through his long beard. "Aye, and every one true," he answered back, much to the parents confusion. "You expect me to believe that all of your tales are of thing that you have done?" The old man laughed hardily. "No, they be not about mine own feats, merely thing I have witnessed." "So then, you lie to our children?" "Not at all! I never once claimed that I was the characters in mine stories. But, a story is a story, is it not?" "I suppose so."
And yet, as the parent lay in his bed that night, he could not escape the feeling that this man had wronged him. This man had traveled the world, stealing these stories and telling them as his own. How dare he? The parent grew angry, and called a town meeting, summoning all but the old man to the center of town.
"This man has wronged us!" his call rang out. "He has stolen things from others and given them away, as though it were his own charity! We must rectify this!" A chorus of affirmations came from before the parent, and he led the march towards the old man's home. His followers knew not what the man had stolen, but he had stolen, and that was cause for punishment, was it not?
When they arrived, the old man sat out on his porch, waiting for the mob. Beside him sat a large stack of journals, each volume clearly very old. As the mob drew close, the man stood and dragged the journals out to meet them. The parent stood at their helm, staring angrily at the old man. "What tale can I tell for you this fine night?"
"You may tell the tale of justice, old thief!" the parent called, pointing at the elder. The mob raised their hands and their voices in agreement. "Thief? I have stolen nothing!" the man replied indignantly. "You have stolen history, fiend, and for it you shall pay!"
A murmur spread through the crowd. History? How can a man steal history? An answer was reached soon. He had magical powers that allowed him to steal the words from books, and take them into his mind. They called this power simply by the name, Sight.
For you see, this village was of blind people. They were people who lived with their own eyes closed. Even as they beat the old story teller to death for his supposed crimes, their eyes remained closed.
When the beating was done, the mob scattered, justice having been served. Only the parent remained, standing over the old man, staring at him in disgust. "I hope you find mercy in the next world, criminal," he said, and cast a glance at the stack of journals. He did not open them, for they were stolen. Instead, his held his torch to their base, and lit them ablaze, and then walked away, feeling triumphant.
However, had he opened them, he would see that each tale inscribed into their pages was written by different hands, and signed with different names. He would have learned in the first journal that these tales were gifted to the old man by all he encountered. They were meant to be spread. he would learn that he had been wrong, and he had punished a man who had done no wrong in his life.
He would know of the criminal he himself was.
And yet, man has repeated this act of book burning, condemning that which they do not understand throughout time immemorial, and will always continue to do so.
Well, there you go. a tale from one storyteller to another. hope you liked it.
Once upon a time, there was this boy who love to read and write fanfiction. Sure, it wasn't very good, no it was downright horrible. But, he love it anyway and ad fun for a time. But, over time, something changed in him, a dark change that he didn't realize was happening to him. He began to read lemons, mstings of only bad fanfics, and only one-shots. It got to the point that, if the fic had more than one chapter or was longer than a thousan words, he would speed through it and not read it. He even stopped writing fanfic all together, not seeing the fun in it anymore.
Through the years, he stuck with roleplaying on a site that was fille with monsters, jerks, and even places that bascially just ignore his discussions. He was having a very bored life. He even read ery boring porn that never really caught his interest, "I just skip to the goo parts." he would say. Writing was all but forgotten, his only tales to be told in private with his brother. Then, one day on October, he watched a little show with ponies in it.
"Ha! I'll make fun of this show," the boy now man said. But, as he watched, something happened...he loved it. Soon, he found himself doing somethings he never expected, going to a fansite that was all about these ponies. He began to respect how to write women more and more, to the point where he began to dispise the porn he used to like. The works of Deathstalker and others, where women were raped and mangled no longer entertained him, the roleplays were boring. But one thing still was missing from his life.
One day, his younger brother told him of a fic called, "It's a dangerous business". It had many of the things he thought he would despise: It was long, it seemed dark, and it was many chapters. But, he read it. Not only did he like it, he loved it. Soon, he moved on to other fics. More and more he crave. Soon new things came to him, things that he loved. Friedns, a community of writers who welcomed not only him, but other like him, and a compassion he had never seen before. Then, he did something he never did before, he took finge to board and wrote again. He was back with an old friend that he never realized he was missing. All because, of an old fic. Sure, other may not talk ab out it much, but, a classic doesn't need to be A classic serves as an example of what can be accomplished when done right. Just like a classic movie shoul. The great writers that he adimired, still there, being like wisse mages who woul part their wisdome on others. And the fandom he loved, still producing great stories that encouraged him to expand his mind. Yes, other have left, but such is life. The others have stayed, and he realized...so would he, because the fandom encouraged that. The firends he made, encouiraged him.
And so, he...as in I,.. has reached this point. Writing storied and reading great ones, helping out who he could, and doing things that he never thought he would. Reading the stories he loves and handing them out to others. An one day, this reader will do "The night is passing" and tell other of this story. For, once, I forgot what a good fic is, but I won't do it again. I will continue to read great stories and share them. Why? Becuase I am part of a great fandom that, though has its problems (Though they are small when taken as a whole), is always willing to let a lot of positivity through, and to have great storytellers such as you on board.
Hey, you wanted a story.
Eternal is still one of the best FIMfics. Bad Horse and Obselescence have both compiled lists of classic fics that are fun to look back on. BH calls his "Required Reading" because it ought to be. You should make one.
And yes, a lot of the old folks are gone. But Eakin and GaPJaxie are still kicking, and Cold in Gardez is still winning contests. Go bug him about Salvation!
Here's a story: I once loved someone, but they aged and changed until I no longer saw in them what had led me to fall in love. I love them for different reasons now — for my hopes and our history and the comfort of familiarity — and that's okay.
3165228 trust me, I have gushed and whined and generally embarrassed myself fanboy ing over good master Gardez! Salvation.... Ah. That was a story. The only thing I truly regret about not being on staff anymore is my inability to see unpublished stories and this the de-published original one.
I know, right? I wasn't even really enjoying the actual game by the end. I just wanted to pair all the characters together, and then play again after I knew them better so I could make all the best pairings.
And, you know, dignity in old age or something. You get to sit at the adults table now.
Story:
1. Don't go onto the pier at night.
2. If you go onto the pier, don't speak to the sketchy pier people.
3. When the sketchy pier people tell you they're going to cut you, don't leave the pier and go out onto the empty, dark beach alone. Hang around where there's light and people.
4. If you go out onto the empty, dark beach alone and the sketchy pier people follow you, get the hell off the empty, dark beach.
5. If you only need a few stitches, don't go to the ER. They'll make you wait forever. Just get an ice pack and wait until morning to go to quickcare. Also, don't argue with the ER nurses. No matter the context, you're the asshole if you're arguing with the nurses. They have enough shit to deal with.
Well, even though I guess it is a strange place and time and context to do this, I am going to congratulate you with your graduation.
I personally have never heard about that "Dangerous Business", but I have read Eternal in not-so-distant past (approximately an year ago). You see, amidst examinations I suddenly felt an unhealthy urge to read some pony fanfiction, and so I did. I guess I have consumed anything TwiLuna I was able to find in the Web, and then something more, until my thirst for this kind of literature was satisfied for a time.
Tempora mutantur et nos mutamur in illis, I guess.
And now I shall tell you a story.
Once a man ate the cookie that was given to him by Luna, and came upon Moon. And when Moon said:
"I am Moon!"
The man asked her:
"May I have a cup of tea with you?"
3173313 Thanks!
You very much should read Dangerous Business also!
And I also like your story.
It was decided that the only way to resolve the differences between Sir Fancypants and Prince Blueblood was a right honorable duel. A duel because Blueblood insisted there was simply no other way, and right honorable because Fancypants knew that Blueblood would be torn between saving face and cheating to win.
Preparation for the duel began a mere hour after it was declared. A training field of the Royal Guard was emptied and set aside, and suits of armor were brought out for the combatants to wear. The whole affair was quite low-key at first, partly because it was such short notice and none of the nobility could figure out what to wear for such an occasion, and partly because it was blazingly hot. It was so hot, in fact, that Prince Blueblood yelped like a little filly when the scalding guard armor first touched his flanks, and while that was very entertaining everypony agreed cooling spells should be laid on the armor.
That took about twenty minutes, during which some enterprising young attendant of the two nobleponies realized the Princesses should be notified. At first, Princess Celestia attended because she thought the whole thing just sounded absolutely charming and a good way to stretch her legs. She thought she may show up and everypony would oooh and aaah that she’d dare legitimize such a brutal sport as dueling, but then there’d be no need as Blueblood would simply forfeit when the heat destroyed his perfect mane curls. But as time went by and Blueblood came no closer to forfeiting or leaving, she realized she might actually have to stay put and make sure nopony hurt themselves. This in mind, she sent for Shining Armor to referee the match, who dragged Princess Cadance in, who dragged in their servants and the friends of those servants, until a whole gaggle of ponies was starting to mill around excitedly. Princess Luna, for her part, was there because she had not seen a really good duel for one-thousand one hundred eleven years, and even though there was hardly a broken bone or two in the last one, perhaps this one promised blood due to ineptitude or sheer luck by the combatants.
Prince Blueblood looked around from where he was being fitted in his armor. Ever since Celestia showed up he realized his natural aversion to pain and proclivity to cowardice could not save him here. He’d just have to go through with it or become a laughingstock. As his limbs were girded with metal, he girded his mind with anger. Fancypants must suffer for his continued, premeditated, and aggressive indignations heaped on the house of Blueblood.
Fancypants just smiled eagerly from a few feet away.
“I say old chap,” he chirped, “quite a crowd starting to gather, isn’t there?”
Blueblood harrumphed. He was exceptionally good at harrumphing and had won many contests in it. “Not getting nervous, are you?”
“Of course not. I rather think it’s quite jolly! Entertaining ponies at a party is one thing, but getting their dander up with a little blood sport is quite another.”
“Yes, yes, very bracing and all that. Please don’t mention the word blood. It makes my humors go all aquiver.”
“Mmm, yes, quite. Hello, Fleur! Don’t worry my little mospy, Fancypoo will be fine!”
Blueblood harrumphed again. Fancypants had his little trophy wife, but everypony else was most definitely, without any doubt, here to cheer for Blueblood, as was fitting. Even Shining Armor, buffoon and meathead though he was, would know to call the match fairly and let Blueblood win, because he was a Prince.
The two ponies had heavy jousting helmets placed upon their heads for added protection, though it was stifling hot in them and the visors obscured everything but a tiny three inch long slit directly in front of them. Somehow they found their positions opposite one another in a large chalk circle drawn on the ground. They hefted long, heavy swords which they were to whack each other with about the head and neck, because all the books about pony warfare were from a thousand or more years ago and depicted a lot of whacking with big swords. Princess Celestia begged the quartermaster to give them “the safest deadly weapons possible,” and so the swords were wood instead of metal and quite dull.
Shining Armor stood between the two ponies and puffed out his chest, which was already sweaty from the blazing summer sun. Several unattached mares in the audience swooned, either from the sight or the heat, and Cadance glared at them in case it was the former.
“Ladies, gentlecolts, and gathered Princesses!” the Guard Captain thundered. “Today we shall witness the first duel ever to take place on Canterlot grounds in ten centuries! Exciting, isn’t it? Well, there’s not really a precedent for this kind of thing, but in general the rules will be like this: both duelists will be awarded points over a set amount of time based on blows landed on their opponent. Extra points for style and a little extra ‘oomf,’ as judged by me. No thrusting, no horn gouging, no aiming for the cannon or under the tail, and absolutely no magic save to lift your swords! The fight will go on until the time runs out or one pony says ‘I yield.’ May the best pony win!
“Which means Blueblood will lose,” he added under his breath. “Begin!”
Blueblood blinked inside his helmet. He hadn’t heard Shining Armor correctly. Did he say ‘begin’ or ‘we win’ or perhaps ‘stay thin,’ which he took much offense at? The helmet echoed abominably. It was too hot. His armor was chafing. He wished he was back inside eating cake. Had they actually started?
He didn’t notice Fancypants, who had mistaken some of Shining’s first words as a cue to begin and started advancing step by step, swinging his sword around in big, wild arcs. Shining and the others assumed it was a limbering up exercise and didn’t stop him, but eventually his flailing got him across the circle and in range of Blueblood’s head.
Clang! went the first blow of the day, wrenching Blueblood’s helmet almost sideways. It looked quite horrifying from a distance.
“Oooh! Ahh!” said the crowd.
“Zat is my husband!” cheered Fleur in her heavy Prench accent.
“My nephew!” cried Celestia, hooves over her mouth.
“Raaaah! Finish him! Appropriate his holdings and burn his heraldry!” cried Luna.
Blueblood staggered backwards, quite sure he was either dead or dying. His ears rang with the eerie vibrations of agonized metal, and it was very dark inside the helmet. He swung his sword wildly, causing Fancypants to back away (not that Blueblood could see it), and quickly shoved his helmet back in place.
“First blood goes to Sir Fancypants! Well struck!” shouted Shining Armor.
“I say!” Fancypants crowed.
Blueblood glared at him, or tried to, through the tiny slit in his helmet. “That’s not fair!” he whined. “I wasn’t ready!”
“The match is still going, Blueblood,” Shining answered him, smirking insufferably because he always liked seeing Blueblood uncomfortable. “Better be on your guard.”
The two ponies charged each other next, attempting to put some flair into their fight. They started slowly, plodding in their heavy, ill-fitting armor, but within five paces their hooves were thundering and kicking up dust. Due to their helmets they did not realize that they had passed each other within those first five paces and careened headlong outside the circle. They went at least twenty hooves each until Fancypants tripped and flopped over like a turtle, and Blueblood started attacking a bush.
Shining Armor held back a facehoof and gathered the duelists back into the circle, making sure to position themselves so they were unmistakably in front of each other. By this time the heat was starting to get to them, so the moment he released them the two went at it in a delirious fury. Their chests collided and they commenced with the walloping, which Luna found even more entertaining than watching her pet possum play dead. They almost seemed to be taking turns as their swords ponderously banged each other’s skulls. It was a spectacle not unlike seeing two ships colliding in shallow water, laboriously trying to disengage while attempting to push each other over at the same time, which just as much grinding and heaving and groaning. Luna was cheering her heart out at the savagery, and even Cadance was starting to get into it, cheering on both Blueblood and Fancypants and even Shining Armor for being such a good referee.
Unfortunately this unbridled fury combined with the heat resulted in both duelists becoming quite addled. It soon became clear neither of them really knew what they were doing, and Princess Celestia signaled quietly for Shining Armor to step in.
“Stop! Okay! That’s enough! Round over,” said Shining Armor, but even his booming drill instructor’s voice couldn’t prevail over the racket. He had to forcefully shove the two apart with his magic and start the match over again, because he’d lost count of how many blows there’d been, and even which had been entirely legal.
Fancypants and Blueblood strained to keep upright, panting like blown horses. This was entirely more distressing and violent than they’d anticipated. Fancypants realized that Blueblood was too stubborn to give up and resolved to end it with one decisive blow, and Blueblood realized that this was a stupid idea and decided he would give up on the next hit.
Fancypants came at him again and Blueblood lowered his sword, figuring getting knocked unconscious was better than standing around baking to death, and he’d get to flirt with the pretty Canterlot nurses.
CRASH! went the sword as it collided with Blueblood’s helmet once more. Blueblood was flung backwards from the force of the hit and came crashing back down to Earth. Unfortunately for him, he soon realized he was neither unconscious, dead, or being attended to by pretty nurses, but was actually in such amounts of pain as he’d never known before.
“Ahhh!” he cried, clutching his helmet to stop the infernal ringing in his ears.“You bumbling idiot! That was exactly enough to hurt as much as possible without knocking me out!”
“What do you mean, old chap?” said Fancypants. “Were you trying to let me destroy you? Not very sporting, what! I want this finished as nobly as possible. Just no fun if the other side won’t even try.”
“I’ll give you fun!” Blueblood snapped, tried to sit up, and then collapsed again, caterwauling like a maniac. The audience had started applauding at first, but then started to wonder if Blueblood was really hurt and they should do something. Fancypants approached cautiously, wondering if he had enough to cover any of Blueblood’s hospital bills, when Blueblood suddenly revealed his deception by leaping from the ground and giving Fancypants a terrific blow to the side of his head.
“Boo!” cried Fleur. “He was not ‘urt at all, zee scoundrel!”
“Ha ha! Well played!” Luna cried, chewing on popcorn she’d summoned from somewhere.
“This is intense!” said Cadance, fanning herself.
“This is too much,” Celestia muttered, shaking her head in disapproval.
Fancypants stood with his head bowed to one side. Blueblood loomed over him, gasping for breath, and lowered his sword.
“There!” he said. “Now give up fair and square before I finish you off!”
Fancypants, to say the least, was greatly perturbed. “You insufferable cheat!” he snapped.
“What?” said Blueblood. He took a few steps back as Fancypants reared up, somehow making his furious glare audible.
“You fraud! You high-society huckster! You lily-livered, gutter-dwelling, swinding con-artist! Take advantage of my pity, will you?! Well take this!”
Blueblood saw that Fancypants was now driven by nothing but blind fury. He was pushed back by a rain of blows that came from everywhere and nowhere, some landing on his sword, others the ground, and many more on his body. Fancypants staggered after him relentlessly, screeching like a banshee, and Blueblood started to fear for his life. Though he was an extremely sporting and fair-minded individual, he was still possessed of a very strong sense of self-preservation, so he did the one thing he could think of—attempt to disable Fancypants with a good tug on his leg with his magic. He did it very quickly and quietly, which to a magical prodigy like Shining Armor and the assorted Princesses was about as quick and quiet as an elephant trying to sneak through a china shop. There was much rolling of eyes as nopony was really surprised by this.
Fancypants’ anger dissolved instantly in the face of his tiny slit of a world upended like spilled milk. He found himself on his back and Blueblood on top of him, which made it extraordinarily hard to breathe. Blueblood yanked the helmet off him and put the blunt tip of his wooden sword against Fancypants’ neck.
“Yield!” he shouted.
“What? No, I won’t,” grumbled Fancypants. “You cheated.”
“I did not.”
“Did too.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Did not.”
“Did too,” said Shining Armor.
“You stay out of this!” Blueblood snapped. “Come on, Fancy, do please yield. It’s so hot out and I just want to go take a bath now.”
“I will never yield to a cheating lout like you.”
Blueblood harrumphed most fiercely. “Yield, or I shall cut off your horn!”
Fancypants sniffed contemptuously. “Shan’t. You’ll just have to cut off my horn. Do it. I dare you.”
Blueblood put the blade of his sword against Fancypants’ horn. He tapped it a few times and then tried a lame sawing motion while everypony stared at him awkwardly. He quickly gave up with a despairing cry. “Look, Fancy, you know very well I can’t cut off your horn.”
“And you know very well that I will never yield.”
“But you have to yield! I’m on top of you and got my sword to your neck.”
“And I say that on my honor such a thing doesn’t matter a bit, and I will not sacrifice my dignity surrendering in such a ludicrous fashion.”
“So you really won’t yield?”
“No.”
Blueblood groaned loudly. “Well, then what do you suggest? I still hate you, but I’m too tired to do anything about it right now.”
Fancypants found his earlier vigor was also greatly diminished. It felt quite good to be out of the helmet. “I suggest a draw.”
“A draw?” Blueblood balked. “To the likes of you?”
“It’s either that or heat stroke.”
Blueblood couldn’t come up with a good counter-argument to this. It was better than more pain, and certainly better than more clanging around in this ridiculous suit of armor. He immediately gave a nod and fell backwards, clutching his chest. “Oh! Oh the heat!” he shouted. “It is too much for me! Ahh! I am going to collapse!”
This wasn’t hard to exaggerate because it really was too much for him. He was absolutely coated in sweat and even the magically cooled armor felt like a sauna. He flopped onto his back and splayed out his legs, and the both of them lay there until Shining Armor, who was starting to feel very awkward, called the match a bust. Princess Celestia swooped down on both ponies and began scolding and tending to them in equal measure, calling for water to be brought. Princess Luna was gravely disappointed that nobody died or at least bled out all over the field, and left in a huff. Princess Cadance congratulated her husband on being so disciplined while dealing with such silly ponies, and Fleur de Lis was delighted she had come all the way from Prance to marry such a brave and chivalrous stallion as Fancypants.
Prince Blueblood found himself being fanned by alicorn wings and looked over at Fancypants, now that he was out of the helmet. At Celestia’s urging they stood up and shook hooves.
“Good show,” said Fancypants. “Even if you cheated.”
“I didn’t cheat and I still hate you.”
“It’s good to know some things never change, Blueblood. Same time tomorrow?”
“What?! But why?”
“To settle it of course! Smacking you in the head with a bit of wood was such jolly good sport, and it looks like the nobles have taken to it immensely.”
Blueblood looked in horror at the rest of the crowd, who were already gossiping about how duels were going to be just so very fashionable and if Blueblood was going to lead the charge.
“Auntie,” he whispered hastily to Celestia, “about that diplomatic mission to Griffonstone launching tomorrow…”
3175494 this was a jolly good read. Thankya, comrade squerrilz
TMWWT is one hell of a trip. Now I'm seized by the desire to write a ponification of it, somehow... Celestia would make a perfect Sunday, of course, but Luna has the whole Nightmare Moon thing going on. Maybe she could stand in for Gregory? And the Mane Six as the weekdays...
Oh, a late (true) story: I first read TMWWT entirely by accident. It was back in school, when we were doing an one-week... well, kiddie internship is probably the best description. You'd work half-days at some business, to get a hang of what it meant to have a job and be an adult or so. I ended up at the printing house of the local newspaper, where they also printed various other stuff like UFO and New Age magazines full of crystals and woo. And some paperback books, too. These included a Finnish translation of TMWWT, and as a clever kid with too little to do, I picked up one printer's proof copy, and started reading it when I had time. It was a stunning experience; I was familiar with a lot of fantasy and SF already, but this was a different sort of a fantasy, ostensibly part of our own world (though in a place and time far from where I lived), yet it threw everything upside down in a weirdly coherent way. I kept that proof copy, and it's still on my bookshelf, twenty years later.
3308747 Finnish? I wish I knew it. It sounds/looks so pretty.
Celestia would be awesome as Sunday. Actually I would say let Luna be the man in the dark room.
Actually this would totally work--mane six, six days till sunday... wow. Never really thought about that seriously but now that I am you could totally make it work.
I adore Chesterton. He has the clarity, humor, and good nature of C.S. Lewis with a lot more gusto and pomp. Lewis can tackle difficult things--Miracles is not for the feint of heart--but Chesterton just jumps into controversy and difficulty, rolls around, and just has the best day ever and it is rather endearing.