More Schadenfreude for your inspection · 4:35am Jun 17th, 2018
I got permission from Daemon McRae to use Schadenfreude in my 1940 Equestria story, and although he encouraged me to abuse the poor guy, I was wondering if this was too much.
Snippet below the fold. Credit to Admiral Biscuit for the idea of using the Cord 810 roadster in the story:
Blueblood was not a rapid eater, giving Jon and Twilight enough time to visit the friendly kitchen staff, get a good if somewhat quick meal, and even save a few sandwiches for Spike when he finally showed up. The dragon was tired at having to spend so much time with a natural irritant, a little flustered that the spark plugs he was transporting had been gapped and measured to the most precise degree, and more than happy to fall upon a loose sandwich like the apex predator (of sandwiches at least) that he was. By way of conversation eked out between bites, Jon found out that one of the Cabinet Secretaries had once held the position of Director of Weights and Measures, and since the measurement of the spark plugs had been the issue, Schadenfreude had brought the dragon and the task to his attention.
During tea.
Jon had to worry silently to himself at the concept of Schadenfreude crossing Celestia’s government, and the natural results thereof. Most probably explosions. Which Schaden would survive, of course, because that would be the most annoying probability.
“I’m back!” caroled the pony in question, prancing into the kitchen and knocking a teacup off a nearby table with his wagging tail. “I just had to make one last check of the automobile and sign off for the Royal Vehicle Inspector. Nice mare. Very business-like. And I found outfits for all of you!”
“You shouldn’t have,” deadpanned Spike as he took the padded helmet from Schadenfreude’s eager hooves.
“Is that… leather?” said Twilight Sparkle, cringing back from the helmet and goggles that were being pressed upon her.
“Genuine Montana cowskin,” declared Schadenfreude, passing the last helmet to Jon. “Belonged to the Chicago Bears team of ‘38, in near mint condition from Prince Blueblood’s collection. And don’t forget the goggles. The speed meter on the Cord goes all the way up to a hundred and twenty.”
“You don’t have any roads in Canterlot long enough to get anywhere close to that,” said Jon, although he tried on the helmet just to check. “Let’s just go down to the carriage house and wait for Prince Blueblood to finish lunch.”
- - Ω - -
An hour later, Prince Blueblood made his entrance into the carriage house with a smug servant by his side. His Highness was resplendent in a tan driving jacket, immaculately pressed and detailed, with his own leather helmet and goggles. Schadenfreude was… Schadenfreude as usual, but holding Jon’s camera around his neck and pausing to take the occasional photograph of his superior.
Since the carriage doors had been opened to the afternoon sunlight, Jon moved forward to help push the car backward into the castle entrance driveway while Twilight steered. He had barely put one hand on the flame-red paint of the big roadster before Prince Blueblood snapped, “Hands off my vehicle, human.”
“He’s a mechanic, sir,” said Schadenfreude. “All proper expeditions with a motorcar include a mechanic to deal with any trivial issues that arise.”
“Oh!” Blueblood looked Jon up and down before giving a decisive nod. “I’ll be the only pony on the street with a motorcar and a human mechanic, won’t I? Well, get in. Over there,” indicated Blueblood with a pointing hoof at the passenger side.
“I thought I would just—” started Jon before Blueblood gave him a scathing glare.
“My automobile, my rules,” he commanded.
Jon could not see any way around it, so he moved to the other side of the roadster and opened the door for Twilight Sparkle.
“Not that… thing!” declared Blueblood with an outthrust hoof at the oil-speckled Twilight. “Out! This is the finest leather seating, and I will not have you contaminating it with that filth!”
The dirty and oil-smeared Twilight Sparkle gave Jon a wide-eyed look that seemed to mix anger and disdain in equal measure, but with another glance at the leather seats she would have to sit on, she scurried back to give the driver and mechanic some space. With Spike and Schadenfreude pushing, the roadster glided out into the driveway like it was riding on clouds instead of big rubber tires. Prince Blueblood pressed down on the brakes smoothly, bringing the Cord to a halt without a single jerk except the one behind the wheel.
“Told you I knew how to drive.” Blueblood adjusted the rear view mirror with one hoof and admired his reflection, giving Jon a moment to consider the arrangement of the pedals. Equestrians had shorter legs by comparison, so the interior of the car had been adjusted by the way of blocks and some strategic gadgets that would have made it uncomfortable for Jon to drive anyway.
“Let’s take one turn around the gardens, Your Highness,” suggested Jon. “It’s a new engine, and needs to be brought up to temperature slowly or we might crack the block. The last thing we need is to have to push the motorcar back here through all the ponies in town.”
For a moment, it looked as if Prince Blueblood was about to object, but he looked down at the dashboard instead and took the shifter in his magic, moving it around until the vehicle showed it was in neutral. “Start,” he commanded. “Run. Turn on. Activate.”
Jon quietly turned the key into the ‘On’ position and looked around the shadowed floor for the starter button. “You normally step on the starter,” he said, still looking. “I don’t see one down there, though.”
“Put the shifter in neutral and step on the clutch,” said Twilight Sparkle, reading down the instruction book. “The Cord automatic starter will—”
There was a growling noise and the roadster engine caught, making a low, throbbing noise that made the bulldog launch himself from the motorcar seat and pelt off in the opposite direction as if the huge mechanical monster were going to take off what little remained of his tail. The prince did not notice, as he was entranced enough by the noise that he put the shifter into gear and let out on the clutch.
The car jerked forward and the engine promptly died.
“First gear,” prompted Jon. “I’ll just move the shifter—”
Blueblood struck with the speed of an angry cobra, and Jon pulled his stinging fingers back. “My automobile,” cautioned the prince. After a moment, he moved the shifter through the H pattern to first gear, contemplated the marvel of mechanical engineering again, and depressed the clutch.
The engine started up again with a low throb, sounding a little to Jon’s ear like a pet panther wanting to go out for a stroll in the chicken coop.
“There,” declared Blueblood, lifting up abruptly on the clutch pedal and killing the engine again.
Twilight Sparkle opened her mouth to give advice and Jon caught her eye, shaking his head.
“Obviously defective engineering,” growled Blueblood.
Jon carefully licked his lips and suggested, “The engine will need a little more fuel to move the auto at first. That’s the accelerator,” he added. “On the right.”
“I knew that.” Blueblood jammed down on the clutch until the engine started, then jabbed down on the accelerator just as hard. The big V8 engine roared into vibrant life, only to die as Blueblood yanked both rear legs off the floorboard and the roadster leapt forward, coasting for a brief period before coming to a halt in Twilight Sparkle’s purple magic.
“Gently!” Jon managed to pull his fingers off the dashboard, although he really felt like wrapping them around Schadenfreude’s neck, because their ignoble start was being immortalized on Jon’s best Kodak film. And the servant looked like he was having the time of his life.
“I’m doing fine without you,” snapped Blueblood, although at Twilight Sparkle instead of Jon as he expected. “Release my automobile from your spell.”
“I was just trying to help,” said Twilight in a very small voice. Spike must have been expecting tears, because he was off like a shot, bringing back a wad of shop rags just in case.
“I’m doing fine!” Blueblood jammed one hoof down on the clutch until the engine started again, then slowly let up the clutch while nudging the accelerator. This time the roadster began to roll down the gravel of the driveway with a loud crunching noise, making similar crunching noises as Blueblood made several turns. “See!”
“Very good, Your Highness.” Their ignoble start seemed to be the low point of the trip as Blueblood proudly steered the heavy roadster in the direction of the narrow garden path, handling the steering wheel with the smooth practiced motions of an expert. Or at least one who had imagined it many times in his own head.
“What excitement!” declared Blueblood as they bounced slowly along the path. They were not really traveling that fast, but several bunny rabbits were frightened into running by their presence, and stood with twitching whiskers in the taller grass when the roadster drove by. It was, by far, the most peaceful and pleasant drive Jon had experienced, but still no excuse for not trying to put in a good word for his student.
“Yes, sir. I only wish Twilight were with us to enjoy—”
“Hush, peasant!” Blueblood favored Jon with a very unfavorable glance and moved the shifting lever into second gear. “I want to see what my automobile is capable of. First, we get up to speed.” He pushed down on the accelerator gingerly until the automobile was bumping along a little faster, then smoothly pushed down on the clutch and let it back up. The automatic shifter clunked beneath the vehicle, and their speed picked up to a fairly brisk trot down the uneven path. Jon got a good grip on the door handle, only to have it come off in his hand with a rattle of loose screws.
That’s the problem with having multiple mechanics put this thing together.
He tossed the handle on the floor, then tried to wrestle the glove compartment closed from where the bumpy road had knocked it open. The garden path was perfectly smooth for the occasional fertilizer wagon or lawn equipment, but it was not designed for the wide body and inadequate suspension of the big roadster. Some vehicles had latching seat belts to hold the passengers in place during a rough ride, not this one as Jon discovered when Blueblood took the curve at the bottom of the hill at the same speed. He slid across the smooth leather seat and bumped into the prince, only to have Blueblood give Jon a solid shove back to his side of the car.
It was at that point when the interior rear view mirror fell off and the door on Jon’s side abruptly popped open that he began suspecting Schadenfreude’s hoof in the mechanical failures. Particularly when Jon saw him alongside the garden path, snapping away with the camera before bolting to a different location for more photos.
“I think we need to stop, Your Highness,” blurted out Jon while holding onto his door and trying to get it to latch.
“Afraid of the speed?” Blueblood grinned in the breeze and jauntily took the next curve with the same reckless disregard for Jon’s safety, with flowers and bushes whisking past and ticking at the edges of the auto on the narrow path.
“I need to get the screwdriver,” managed Jon while still hanging onto the door. “Some of the parts are vibrating loose. Like that one,” he added when the radio knob came off and the wireless set began blasting away at full volume with some sort of music program. It startled Jon about as much as the mechanical failures, but not as much as Blueblood laughing about it.
“You humans are such cowards. After I get familiar with this motorcar, I believe I shall enter your Indiana Five Hundred and show humans what we ponies are capable of.” He ducked to avoid a branch that swept overhead and thunked into the windscreen. “Once we get out into the open, I shall show you what this motorcar can do.”
Jon eyed the key and considered just what kind of trouble he would get in for grabbing it and holding on until everything stopped moving. He was just getting braced to do the snatch when the roadster came out from the garden path back onto the gravel of the carriage driveway
Then everything went straight to Tartarus.
Blueblood moved the shifter into third gear and cycled the clutch again, only to have the engine give out a sudden bellow as if the accelerator pedal had been mashed to the floor. There was a sudden squeak of panic, which Jon was determined to say came from Blueblood if he survived, then the rear of the automobile seat smashed into Jon’s back.
Gravel was scattering everywhere as the roadster barreled through the circle driveway with Blueblood frozen to the wheel in terror and Jon scrabbling for the key, which he yanked out of the ignition after several frantic grabs.
The engine seemed to take the removal of the key as an affront, and cranked up its stentorian bellow instead of stopping. The auto carrened past the grassy center of the carriage circle and shot like a suicidal arrow toward the thick wrought-iron gateway to the courtyard. Bushes flew past, and Jon could see Schadenfreude leap in front of the roadster with his hind legs braced in the gravel and his forelegs stretched out to stop the runaway car.
The big Cord roadster went over him like a rocket-powered steamroller, with hardly a bump.
“Gate!” screamed Jon. “Get out of the way! Get out of the—”
A few curious servants at the iron gateway scattered in different directions as Jon reached up and grabbed Prince Blueblood by the horn, then heaved the both of them behind the dashboard moments before the car met the gate in an earsplitting crash. Shattered glass went everywhere, and the crumpled remains of the windscreen sliced by overhead like a crude guillotine.
“My car!” howled Blueblood. He yanked himself out of Jon’s grasp and sat back up to grab onto the steering wheel, clutching it with enough force that it bent under his hooves. Things along the road down into the city were flying past far too rapidly for Jon’s taste so he did not try to throw the panicked unicorn out of the car like he wanted. In any event, it rapidly became too late to save his life.
“This is your fault!” shouted Blueblood. He stomped on the pedals to no effect, including the accelerator pedal and brake that were flush with the floor. “You’re trying to kill me!”
I do approve!
Schadenizim spreads!
I dunno. Schaden doesn't normally do things that might kill people...
But it is somewhat amusing.
I still can't find the story for this yet. Is it not published?
Schaden somehow wired the wireless to play Billy Ray Cyrus on repeat with no way to turn it down or off:
4884185 Little hint. Look at the blog tags on this one.
I'll publish when I'm done. The final product is much nicer that way. I'm up to Chapter 10 out of maybe 20, but they're long chapters mostly. 6-8k.