Sometimes, the author is entirely too silly · 5:51am Sep 10th, 2019
Summer thunder rumbled and crackled while brilliant flashes of blue-green lightning illuminated the rain that fell with a sideways slant. The garage door was open so that Nut might enjoy the cool breeze as he worked. He was tired, but not sleepy, though he had been awake for quite some time. Work had to be done, work needed to be done, because he needed this time to sort his head out. The ruined wagons would not fix themselves.
While he laboured to remove the shattered, splintered wheel, he could not help but wonder what Pod might say about his coupling. A part of him wanted her to know; it would be a relief for her to know that he’d moved on. That they were still connected in meaningful ways that mattered, but that both of them had successfully moved on. She had Taffy, a pony that Nut felt was a much better fit for Pod than himself, and he had Black Maple—also a better fit. To be an adult about these things, it was hard, so hard to do.
He could not deny that he was an adult now, for he had made adult decisions. It wasn’t the act of consummating his relationship with Black Maple; far from it, for foals could also engage in such acts, and sometimes made more foals when doing so. It was accepting Black Maple’s shortcomings and embracing her strengths that made him an adult. In return, he hoped that she would do the same, for surely he had his own flaws.
Was it love?
It might be.
Might not be.
He spun the wrench in a smooth circular motion to remove the bolt. The wagon stank of the sea, of fish, of filth, of sewage, and pollution. This would not be the sort of smell customers would want to encounter, should they come here in search of services. This gave him pause, the wrench ceased to turn, and Nut knew what must be done.
Surely his laundry spell would also clean the wagons.
What would it hurt to try?
Earlier this night, he’d drank a prodigious amount of booze, both ale and rye. This was helpful to him as a unicorn, because now he had a surplus of calories to work with, and he could afford this downright excessive magical expenditure. His laundry spell had gained strength with his maturity, and now, at the age of nineteen, he could cleanse a truly horrifying amount of filth if the situation demanded.
Not but an hour ago, before departing for the night, he’d laundered Black Maple’s bedding.
It was a good warm up for what came next. Squinting at the filthy, seaweed strewn wagons, he thought about bubbles and suds. Like foamy ale, but soapy. As far as he knew, the spell had no name; it was just a spell, something he’d picked up in school, found he had a knack for, and then had modified it to suit his needs. Was he drunk? Not quite, but he was a little tipsy perhaps. Laundering Black Maple’s bedding had sobered him up considerably, and he wondered if his casting now might kill his buzz completely.
Bubbles, bubbles… he thought about toils and troubles. Yes, he expected to toil through the night, and he might have some trouble come morning. He’d need some sleep sometime. Why was the night so invigourating? Had Princess Luna done something to him? Altered him in some way that she had not yet confessed.
Distracted, the redouble-bubbled his efforts. Suds. Froth. Foam. Spume. There was filth all around him, and filth was bad for business. Something had to be done. He was a manager now, and he was responsible for customer satisfaction. If he was a customer, and he walked in the door, and was then assaulted by this stench, he’d walk right back out.
Deep within Nut’s psyche, the Disgustang opened one hoary eye and turned its cold stare upon all the offensive filth. It coated the floor, permeated the air, there were stains beneath the wagons where they had dripped. Dried gooey seaweed festooned the wagons like gross party streamers. A putrid party that celebrated putrefacient putrescence. Without realising it, Nut channeled his revulsion into his magic and in doing so, suffered an explosive breaking point.
This had never happened before; magic surges happened to other unicorns, not himself. He was seized by the sheer magnitude that flowed through his body, his eyes lost call colour and turned a luminescent white. His horn ached and his guts churned. Cleanliness was next to Celestial goodness. When sharp, stabbing pains went lancing through his throat and lungs, he let out a feeble cry.
A second later, the world exploded and turned white, tinged with oily rainbows that gleamed with iridescence. For a moment, he was afraid that he might smother, but then he realised that he was surrounded, buried by bubbles. A sea of bubbles. The soap that he’d somehow conjured burned his eyes, stung his nose, and tasted terrible as it somehow crept betwixt his lips. Everything was hot and wet; not quite scalding, but uncomfortable, as if he held himself over a column of steam.
Overcome with magic, Nut spoke with a voice that wasn’t entirely his own.
“I am become bubbles, destroyer of filth!”
Brazillions of bubbles. Everywhere.
And a pony whispered in his ear, so the triumphant might not wallow for long in his conquest over filth: "Clean clothes," came the whisper, "are fleeting."
bubbles no nut is stronger than that for he is Dipentene or at least Sodium cocoate, witch is made out of coconuts by the way
“The sea sends it’s regards”
I for one enjoy the silly author. It is a fun time when things get silly.
5118974
How do I love sea? Let me count the waves.
wow this is really good. it really shows the battle Nut is going threw.
nope, not silly enough!!!!!
Nightmare Nut! The Bubbles Shall Last Forever!! Buhahahahaha!