[Snippets]: Dusting of my gdocs · 1:33am Jun 16th, 2016
I was paging through my gdocs. Found some . . . interesting stuffs in there.
Maybe some of it will actually get finished someday. Maybe . . . Fanfiction and even a little personal stuffs in there.
Anywho, here it is in all its random glory. Woooo!
From Warriors of Justice (an MLP short)
Complacence was the natural enemy of justice. As a Warrior of Justice herself, Amelia knew full well the consequences of such complacence. So she took it upon herself to stay as alert and aware as possible, even if that meant certain “sacrifices.” Paper pusher for the Boston police department was far from the glamorous job of her dreams, but it had one distinct advantage and that was information.
Amelia stared at a particularly large chunk of information yet to be filed away with a frown. Petty theft, vandalism, missing pets, all the cases that did not warrant the department’s attention or hers for that matter. Still she would persevere, for buried within the confines of these files were secrets. Dark, dangerous plots criminals thought they got away with it. Well, Amelia Airhooves was not about to stand by and let that happen, not on her watch.
“File this one with the others, Amelia.” A familiar, greying sergeant set the manila folder on her desk, walking by without so much as changing his gait. “Another day, another disaster,” he mumbled under his breath in a near perfect monotone.
Amelia pounced on the envelope like a hungry wolf. He had made no secret of his nearby conversation with the marshal about this one. It wasn’t everyday less than reputable research practices were brought to light. And the fact that the company was corporate giant Eincorn Pharmaceuticals made the justice all the sweeter. However, those lazy detectives had dismissed the anonymous tip as a false alarm without even investigating its validity.
Those crooks would be in for a nasty surprise, for tonight Amelia Airhooves would bring the Hammer of Justice upon them once and for all. “Let justice prevail!”
“Uh, Amelia? What are you doing?” The sergeant had turned around, staring open mouthed at her.
“Rallying the forces of justice, Sergeant! We are crushing evil under our hooves.”
He rolled his amber eyes. “Yeah, well, could our rally flag get off the desk now?”
Amelia looked down, realizing that she had jumped on the cluttered desk. A warm sensation under her hooves drew her attention to the coffee soaking through her snow white feathers. Great, that’s going to stain. Reluctantly, she climbed off of the desk. “Of course, sergeant. I’ll just, get this picked up.”
Without another word, he made his way down the hall once more, mumbling something about “nobles.”
“I heard that!” She grabbed a stress ball off of the desk, throwing it dead center against the back of his head. “The Airhooves are Warriors of Justice, not mere nobles.”
He waved his hoof in a carry on motion. “Well, don’t let me stop you, ‘warrior,’ there’s the mile left to go.”
Amelia’s lavender eyes darted to the mountain of files on her desk. Scooping them up, she trotted down the hallway towards the record room. By the time she had arrived, her trailing black and white tail was covering in dust and sundry office supplies. Some days she wondered why she even bothered brushing it out. “Good morning, Fury.”
A wild-maned sorrel looked up from his desk, grinning broadly. “Well if it isn’t Amelia.” He eyed her tight bun with that strange focus he always used around her. “You know, it’d look a lot better if you let it down. It’s a downright shame hiding all that beauty for yourself you know.”
Amelia felt her cheeks grow warm. Fury was a decent pony, but his advances were ill-concealed even to her. “I rather like it put up, Fury. Besides,” she clapped her spotted hoof on the desk, “a Warrior of Justice does not flaunt her beauty, but remains humble at all times.” Huffing, she snatched the key resting behind him with a quick flick of her tail.
Opening the cage, she turned back to face him, petite frame puffed to its fullest height. “And I wouldn’t date you if you were the last stallion in Equestria! Some Warrior of Justice you are, getting stuck here for misappropriating funds.” Without another word, she whirled around towards the file cabinets. She had to focus. There was only four or five minutes tops to memorize the information in the file, best to make it count.
From Rain (a practice piece I wrote for my personal fantasy world)
Come on, faster! Cole could smell the storm reaching an angry boil mere minutes behind them. Instinctively, he tightened his grip on the well-worn reins. Underneath him, Capstone tensed before lurching into a headlong gallop. The Stristhon-bred stallion could manage the pace for a little while—a gamble Cole loathed to take. His eyes glanced to either side, but the overgrowth of trees and driving sheets of rain made seeing any opening rifts impossible. If a large one came . . .
Sensing his rider’s vigilance, Capstone’s eyes turned to the heavy bell hanging from Coles’s staff. “None yet, boy.” Cole stroked the stallion’s sweat-streaked sorrel coat, praying the words were true. At this pace, the ripples sensed by the bell came distorted like music heard inside a glass jar. If the bell caught a rift now, there could be no chance of discerning where it came from. The tradeoff of being a Pathway Priest.
With a crash that settled deep within Cole’s chest, lighting struck an aging oak, shattering it upon impact. Capstone’s stride did not falter as he whipped around the flaming obstacle with all the grace of a Tiras ballerina. At the same instant, the heavy, unmistakable call of the bell rent through the raging storm.
Cole freed the staff from its support strap, gripping it tightly. With practiced ease, he tied off the reins with his free hand then unsheathed the bone hilt from under his heavy blue robes. With a silent prayer, he closed his eyes—searching. It took only a moment before a light blinding in its brilliance overwhelmed his senses. Reaching out, he drew a small slither towards him.
The moment his eyes opened, light flashed from the bone, forming a blade of liquid energy. It flickered and danced—a will o’ wisp in the premature dark afforded by the storm. Ready.
From my remastered Light Fades Fast (a dark MLP novel)
Snowflakes slashed through the frigid air like stinging sabers of cold. They caught in an involuntary dance with the wind — rising, falling, and dropping to shatter against the cobbles. Common noises muted well before they could penetrate the Sabbath stillness all pervasive at this late hour. Or was it early?
Lys raised his delicate muzzle catching a lungful of frigid air. The perpetual canopy of cloud overhead gave little indication beyond the imminent threat of flurries. His ear twitched towards the large clock tower at the center of their sprawling city. Cracked, aged bells rent the silence with their tolling, tolling tolling.
The bells were a fixture as inescapable and lamentable as the coughs heard throughout the populous this time of year. And yet, Lys felt an inexplicable comfort from it. As he pulled his wagon along the filth-laden alleyway, he counted. Seven. Eight. Nine? Had he really been out so late?
He shuffled, adjusting the wooden collar. The rags wrapped around its cracked surface did little to alleviate the painful pressure sores from continuous contact with his thin-frame. Lys knew that he should not—could not complain. A candlemaker would always be in demand. He might not live well, but he would live. More than most could say . . .
His eyes fell to the wisp of a stallion pressed against the alley wall. A shadow of what might have been, like the rest lining the streets. Some young, some old, all exhausted. The heady smell wafting from the stallion’s patchy coat indicated an inebriate. Lys knew better than to intervene. He plodded along the cracked cobbles, driven by the familiarity of motion rather than the desire for a destination.
Despite the thick layer of ice, Lys’s chipped hooves maintained their traction well enough. Yet another storm would be upon them—at least according to the notoriously inaccurate meteorologist's report. Under other circumstances, that would have been ironic. After all, there had been a time when weather forecasts were one-hundred percent accurate. But that, like so much of their history had been long lost. Now the best prediction for snow or indeed blizzards lay in the elderly’s joints and a mastery of the senses.
Lys shivered at wicked blast from the North. Definitely a blizzard. Spurred on by the incentive of shelter, he stumbled into a side alley by the Second Street bakery. The building had long since fallen into ruin with missing portions of masonry and a partially caved in roof. Due to a rumor started over two decades ago, most ponies avoided the place for fear of taints. Being far from superstitious, Lys rested there on occasion. No homeless pony was stupid enough to stay in one place for long lest he be a target for the overworked and extremely heavy-hoofed police force. “Clearing the streets” took on a whole new meaning with those thugs.
Shuddering from the now constant wind, Lys dragged the cart into the relative safety of what had been a processing room. He stepped out from the shafts, giving his long legs a good stretch. Technically, the cart was too short for a stallion of his stature. However, simply having a cart was a luxury he did not take lightly. The ache in his back was worth the food in his belly.
He adjusted his paper-thin blanket—the only one he owned—across his back. With a soft groan, he sunk to the cold stone. Far from comfortable, but vastly preferable to death from exposure. This portion retained a roof and a substantial windbreak, enough to provide for a decent night’s sleep.
Weakly, he started his half-hearted grooming routine. As a colt, he used to take warm baths with his siblings. His coat had been as sleek as silk and every bit as shiny back then. Now, the dull, rough hairs more closely resembled coal than the fine granite they had begun life as. He nibbled at his leg, trying to pry off some of the filth. The result had been a mouthful of grit and street slime.
A part of him wanted to draw out the loaf of stale bread buried in the crates of candles. However, he had to save it to sate the morning hunger pains. A loud howl sounded as the wind whipped through the building. Lys watched the flakes as they passed or caught in the corners. He enjoyed watching snow. If only it were not an indicator of imminent discomfort . . .
In no time at all, he found his eyelids drooping as his mind absorbed the steady drum of the wind striking the stones. Let nature’s fury blow, it would not disturb his respite.
From A Blast From the Past (little Miraculous Ladybug blurb I wrote as a joke with my bff. The villain is me akumatized.)
Marionette knew something was wrong long before her feet struck the cobblestone. Since when was the champs Elysees covered in cobblestone anyway? The entire street looked like one of those old postcards they sold at tourists’ shops. Every single car had been replaced by horse drawn transportation of varying types. She herself had landed beside a large dray pulled by two enormous draft horses. They stamped impatiently as the stunned driver—garbed in the fashion of the late 1800’s— kept staring from the animals to his once-truck. The situation proved to be the same everywhere.
Where bright neon signs and billboards once stood now simple wooden signs remained. The citizens were either too stunned or in some children’s cases, too excited to be of much help in identifying the source. She couldn’t believe how much her Paris had been transformed by this latest threat.
An instant later, Chat leapt gracefully from a lamppost—an oil lamppost to stand beside her. “Yuck! What the heck?”
Sighing, she turned to see what he was fussing about now. She burst out into involuntary laughter. “Horses, Chat. Horses . . .”
“Eeeeew!” He scraped the manure off on the street corner.
They both jumped when a boy came running down the sidewalk ringing a bell. He looked just like the stereotypical newsboys from the turn of the century. “Hear ye, hear ye! Read all about it! Tyrannical villain, Time Turner wreaks havoc upon unsuspecting populous!”
Mari and Chat watched the kid run past, too stunned to speak. “Did you just see—”
“Yeah, we’d better get going!”
They took off towards the landmark. When they arrived, they were greeted by yet another surprise. There seated on a large grey horse was a woman clothed in extremely outdated dress complete with bonnet.
“So you’ve arrived, my pets!” She cackled loudly. “I suggest you hand over your miraculous.”
“Not happening, grandma!” Chat called, proceeding to try and strike Time Turner with his staff. The horse reared, nearly landing atop Chat.
“Woah! What bee’s got up his bonnet?”
Mari sighed, drawing out her yoyo. “You won’t get away with this, Time Turner!”
“Well now, miss. We’ll just see about that.” She raised her hand, revealing an antique alarm clock. It swung faster and faster until it became nothing but a blur. In an instant, a wave of akumatized magic washed over them. The instant later, she had wheeled her horse around and galloped off down the now cobbled street.
“Hold it!” Mari lept forward only to trip over something. She glanced down and nearly fell from the shock. A hoop skirt? Seriously? She turned to Chat who was sporting a penguin tuxedo compete with top hat. His staff had turned into a cane. My yo yo? She felt for it and drew out . . . A powder box?
“Well, this is a most . . . unexpected predicament, my lady.”
Huh? “Since when do you speak so formally, M. Chat?” What? Since when do I speak like that? Urgh! Yet another unwanted side effect . . .
“We must make haste to apprehend her!” Chat gagged, rubbing his tongue with the back of his hand. “Why must she attack our mannerisms as well?”
“It is a most distasteful assault on our dignity.” What the heck? The sooner they found this villain the better.
“Can we travel atop the roofs?” Chat frowned at his cane trying without success to extend it.
“Perhaps we ought to inquire after a cab?”
“Capital choice, my Lady.”
Reluctantly, Mari watched chat wave down a cab and soon they found themselves seated in the handsome. How did she even know what it was called?
The driver seemed less phased by the situation than they which was a blessing. “To Notre Dame, sir?” he asked as if this were a normal day in Paris. Perhaps it was . . .
Chat nodded emphatically. “Indeed. And make haste! I fear all of Paris may be in great peril.”
‘Great peril.’ Mari snorted a laugh into her now lacy gloved hands.
They set off at once, though not at a speed so often portrayed in historic movies. They were barely crawling as the driver weaved his way through the crowded streets. She turned to Chat, surprised to see his eyes full of wonder. “What?”
He gestured with his cane. “Look around you, my lady.”
She followed his direction and gasped. All of modern Paris had been washed away before them. Marionette had never been a fan of history—sleeping away most lessons, but she found herself genuinely captivated by the scenes that unfolded on their trip. At the steady pace a single horse could manage, she could finally appreciate the city’s historic roots in all their former splendor.
Certainly it stunk of overcrowding and horses, but it also held a charm she had only ever read about. The city of lights took on a whole new meaning under the warm glow of the gas lamps. A living, breathing city, not a stagnant picture in a history book. Everything she had ever learned came to life right before their eyes. “It is marvelous, Chat!”
“Indeed, my lady. . .” He breathed, stroking back a stray lock of her bangs. The warm smile on his face reached his eyes in an instant and for once she didn’t find it annoying. It seemed even he could be charming at times.
“I suppose this could be worse,” she murmured more to herself than Chat. Maybe they could wait a little longer before freeing Paris . . .
And there's just a bit of what I have in my docs. Lands. I write too much and finish far too little.
Anywho, if you like any of them, let me know in the comments! Interest always helps motivate me to write more! ^.^
I was giggling so much at the Miraculous Ladybug snippet. Especially at the part where they were affected by the time magic, and were stuck wearing really old-fashioned outfits and speaking in archaic tongue.
Laughing at Amelia. Dear god she's full of herself.
And for some reason I misread slither as sliotar. Sleep deprivation maybe.
I remember reading part of the Amelia story more than a year ago!
I'd like to see more of what the central conflict is in that one, though I like the character introductions.
That Light Fades Fast excerpt was riveting, though. Seriously, I'm getting a strong Brandon Sanderson/Mistborn vibe from it, and I like that a lot.
Lol, I was laughing so hard at the Miraculous Ladybug one.
~Melly~