Twilight and Rarity rinsed their mouths repeatedly with mouthwash in the wash room, while Applejack tried ridding the aftertaste of the cookies with one of her famous Apple Brown Bettys. Pinkie scowled at her own reflection, wondering when the rainbow colors around her mouth would vanish. She looked at Rainbow, who sat casually atop the Apple's kitchen table. Eventually noticing Pinkie's stare, Dash said rather coolly “Don't blame me. I didn't know the cookies would have an aftertaste.”
Overhearing, Fluttershy walked in the room, her face still flush. “You really need to be more careful,” she said.
“Ah c'mon guys,” said Rainbow , “I learned my lesson. Let's just forget about it. Besides, I'm not the one who ate the cookies after learning they were fake.”
Applejack wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Easier said than done.” she replied, “I'm supposed to be one of the judges for the pie baking competition tomorrow, and I still can't taste anything but sour.”
Dash nearly chuckled, but kept her amusement to herself. “I'm sure you'll all be back to normal by tomorrow.”
“We better.”
“Mmm-hmm.” the others said in agreeance. Pinkie, Applejack, and Fluttershy filed off, while Twilight walked up to Dash.
“I hope you've learned your lesson for real,” said Twilight.
By now Rainbow had had enough criticism. Her voice cracked. “I said I was sorry.”
“And I accept your apology.” said Twilight, “It's just, be careful. Okay?”
“Whatever.”
“By the way, the postal pony came to the door earlier.”
“Yeah yeah.” Dash was ready to fly back to her own house when Twilight flew next to her.
“This letter's for you.” She levitated a white manilla envelope in front of her face. On it were crudely drawn letters spelling 'D-A-S-H'.
Rainbow shrugged, taking the letter in her mouth and flying off without even a good bye. Twilight shook her head. Rarity walked out of the wash room, checking her mouth carefully in a hand mirror. “Twilight, dear,” do you think the chalk dust helps hide the stains?”
Back at Rainbow's house, she ripped the envelope open with her teeth. This has to be another fan letter, she thought. She was the star of her own fan club, and a town celebrity, after all. In her mind this was just a regular occurrence. When she read the letter, however, her eyes widened, and her mouth drew down.
It was a literal letter from Hell, signed by a familiar “Mr. Sin.”
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The street buzzed with wasps and mosquitoes of every variety. People swatted at the bugs, praying the light would turn green so they could at least drive one more block, before inevitably being stuck at another light for an hour. Everyone was in convertibles, none of which had working roofs or air conditioning. The embers of the swirling ashen sky beamed off of their foreheads, making them sweat even more as the incessant buzzing of the mosquitoes pushed them closer to the brink of madness. At least things were better in doors.
Hell is not so bad once you get used to it, thought Betruger, sitting back on his blue leather couch in his ground level apartment. Besides the ambiance of car horns, muttered swearing, and wails of despair of the unrepentant, besides the weekends spent listening to devils droning on about proper work ethics, and besides having nothing to watch but UAC training videos, things were peachy. He only wished he could get back to his Maledict form, rather than just a human.
ZDDINGT!
His apartment intercom buzzed. He held the portable receiver to his mouth. “Who is it?” he asked.
“Dave.” said a garbled yet familiar voice.
Great, thought Betruger. Dave was a new recruit, sent to Hell for apparently every crime in existence. He was always bragging that he had murdered this man and this woman, this family, and that family, burned down entire cities, stole bread from the poor, sold that bread to the rich for profit, etc. Betruger was not sure Dave even could commit crimes (besides being annoying.) He was a goody two shoes, who did everything his devil masters commanded him to do without question, and more. He must have been sent to Hell by mistake.
Betruger did not want to give up any of his free time listening to a braggart. He spoke into the transmitter “Sorry, I'm busy.”
The voice on the other end crackled. “You don't look busy.”
Betruger shuddered. He forgot to close the blinds on his window. He made any excuse he could to get out. “I'm meditating.” he said.
“Oh?”
“Yes. Now let me-”
Dave was already through the door. Why must I always forget to check the lock, he thought. He sat up, consigned to his fate. Dave sat next to him.
“I like meditating,” said Dave, “I killed a guy once for interrupting me.”
The irony was not lost on Betruger. He barely listened as his thoughts turned to being back with the UAC. He may not have had as much free time then, but at least it was quiet. Dave kept speaking without a second thought, mimicking the actions of his tall tales with dramatic gestures. Betruger admitted to himself that this was not ideal He wanted freedom again. The ability to order others to do his bidding, to be the one in power. He was the Dr. Betruger, after all, not just some schmoe!
As his mind went idle, Dave's words began piercing in.
“The ponies, you know, they're stronger than you think. I always knew their strength, of course. I killed a guy for a pony once. He was a-”
“Ponies?” interrupted Betruger.
“Yeah, they defeated Old Hell, and brought peace to their world.”
Betruger nearly went back to his own thoughts again, before asking “Did you say Old Hell?”
“Yeah,” said Dave, “the part of town Romero runs.”
Confusion and then anger showed on Betuger's face. “You okay?” asked Dave. Betruger stood up, staring into seeming nothingness. His hands fidgeted.
The Dr. began chanting, his voice growing hoarse. Dave slowly shuffled out of the room, making sure to close the door quietly. Betruger continued babbling, finally shouting the words “My ticket...is…poniesssss.”