I woke up facedown in the sand. That was a new one. Not waking up facedown outdoors, the sand. Where was I?
I sat up and looked around. Pyramids and shit? Seriously, where was I?
I flagged down the first pony I saw and asked.
“You’re in Somnambula.”
“Where’s that?”
“Southern Equestria.”
Huh. Well, that answered that question. But how did I get here?
I already had good idea for why: blackout drunk. The actual physical transportation part of it was what I didn’t get.
I wandered into town. The red and white furry Santa coat I wore was a bad choice for the heat. Wachowski never wore her own uniform. Casual observers might say she was smarter than me. But I had my reasons.
To my surprise, I found a large booth set up and selling books. The banner over it read A.K. Yearling’s last book.
A lot of ponies had gotten word that A.K. Yearling was none other than Daring Do. That had been Rainbow Dash’s writing in the friendship journal.
Glancing at the title of the books on sale, I burst out laughing. This was the greatest revenge ever. It was titled You Gave Birth to the Antichrist, Rainbow Dash. I promptly bought a copy.
I’d used to read Daring Do books all the time They weren’t bad, and I’d gotten familiar with her writing style. I’d quit when she’d started explicitly describing sex with Trixie. While I think she was just bragging, I didn’t want to read that.
Daring was still a decent writer, though, and her documentary on Rainbow’s former foal, Catcher, was brilliant. I loved every second, especially the parts with me in it.
When I finished reading it, though, I realized it was dark and I was still stuck in the middle of the desert. Damnit, why couldn’t I have been stuck in the middle of the dessert?
Speaking of food, I spotted a familiar-looking farmers’ market train. Figuring it would end up in Ponyville eventually, I hopped aboard and settled down with the grapes to ride back.
When I arrived back in Ponyville, I was drunk again.
Apparently, my talents with blue agave sort of applied to other things, too. I was like Jesus, except I could turn grapes into wine.
Too bad. I didn’t like wine.
I stumbled away from the train and somehow found my way to Sweet Apple Acres. I then somehow found my way to Applejack’s bedroom and took one of her hats. She had like twenty of them, all identical.
With something to keep bright light out of my eyes, I made my way back to Ponyville.
“Wow, you look good in that hat,” said some pony. I didn’t see who it was because I was drunk.
“Thanks,” I mumbled. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had ever given me a fashion-based complement. Hell, I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given me any compliment.
I thought about tracking down Rainbow and making fun of her. But nah, I needed to put together some really good material. Maybe I could even drive her over the edge.
As goddamned tempting as that was, I remembered I was supposed to be being a nice guy. Guh.
Stumbling into my place, I saw Daring and gave her a hoof bump. Nice job, kid.
I wondered if A.K. was going to be a-OK. She seemed bittersweet about it. For one, her cover was blown so there wasn’t much point passing her books off as fiction anymore and who would read an autobiography in that many volumes?
I supposed she’d settle down with Trixie or something.
Shit. Was I going to be a grandfather?
I was distracted from that line of thinking by Pinkie. Or rather, her skull with her mind inside. It sat on the table and was attempting to give Wachowski ideas for plot twists in her screenplay.
Wachowski was ignoring her, because I’m sure you can imagine the kind of things Pinkie was suggesting.
“Okay, so what if the leading lady protagonist was actually a secret lesbian?”
“No.”
“What if she was actually two secret lesbians?”
How would that even work? Like stacked-up-kids-in-a-trenchcoat-trying-to-get-into-the-movie-theater-except-lesbians?
To completely avoid that question because I didn’t want to know, I grabbed up Pinkie’s skull and took her outside. “Hey Pinkie, what the hell am I supposed to do if Trixie and Daring have a kid?”
“How’s that supposed to work?” she said.
“How do you of all people not know how babies are made?” I said. “With all the sex you have.”
“Sex makes babies!?”
I guess Pinkie wouldn’t know, considering the kind of sex she was into.
“Hey Valiant, can you do me a favor?” Pinkie suddenly asked.
“What?”
“Can you wear the skin of my face?”
I stared at her. It was the I-hope-I-misheard-that-but-oh-God-I-probably-didn’t look.
“So it’s like I’m not dead,” she went on.
I switched to the sure-let’s-just-horrify-everyone-for-no-particular-reason expression. Sarcasm dripped.
Then I remembered Pinkie didn’t get sarcasm, and said aloud, “No.” I prayed Sunset had gotten rid of it.
The mental image, though, was so strong that I needed a drink or ten to wash it away. After leaving Pinkie’s skull back with Wachowski, I went to get drunk.
While drinking, I had an idea and got up. I was developing a plan. A drunk plan, but is that any different than usual?
We were still working on getting Tin Mare integrated back into her airframe. The computers were in, but not connected. At best, she could talk to me as I flew.
But she didn’t, because she knew how much I hate backseat driving. Sometimes I really like Tin Mare. I should, I built her that way.
We arrived at the Rarity and I hopped out. “Hey Rarity, you remember when I asked you to hang on to that Trident for me?”
“What are you wearing?” she demanded. “That hat looks even worse on you than it does on Applejack.”
“I always kind of liked the idea of the cowboy image.”
“Aren’t you from...a city in Wisconsin, wasn’t it?”
“I said the cowboy image. Applejack isn’t a cowboy either.”
Rarity sighed and did the ocean equivalent of an eye roll. “Just take it and go.”
Tin Mare and I got the Trident picked up. “What are you planning on doing with this?” she asked as we flew back.
“I think you know. I just have to get a few more things in place.”
When we got back to Ponyville, Guinness saw me coming and already had a tequila waiting. Good man. I sat down at the bar and took the first sip.
“If it’s any consolation, Rainbow’s on the naughty list,” I said. After saying it, I kind of wondered if it was appropriate. Dude had just broken up with his wife.
But Guinness sighed. “I hate to let her go, but…” He looked like he wanted to say something else, but couldn’t find the words.
“At least you’ll have more time with Skyla,” I said. “How do you like going from 95% to 100?”
“Well, I was thinking about talking to Bible and get her started on some studies. I’m not bound and determined that she’ll be raised Catholic, but I would at least like her to have a baseline understanding so she can make her own choice.”
He paused for a moment. “Hey, you’re in good with Santa Claus, right? It would be really cool for her to sit on the actual Santa’s lap around Christmas time.”
“Um…” I pushed the hat I’d borrowed from Applejack back. Now that I had some tequila in me and had gotten lucid again, I realized just how horribly it clashed with my Santa-pimp coat. “Well, the thing about that is, he might be closer than you think.”
Guinness read my expression and glanced at the coat. “Wait, you’re not saying…”
“Yeah, I sort of killed him.”
Guinness shook his head. “What!? That was not what I was going to say at all!”
“It’s Tim Allen rules: you kill him, you become him.”
“Why would you want to become Tim Allen?”
I shuddered. “Thank God I didn’t. Honestly, if I had stopped to consider that beforehand, I probably wouldn’t have risked it.”
“Wait, go back, so you’re Santa Claus now?”
“Yup, even got the coat to prove it. It was a strategic decision based on needing power. Unfortunately, I did it in the summer, when nobody is thinking about him, so that power is currently on a wane and I’ve got nothing. I mean, an unlimited bag of toys is nice, but that’s about it. That’s also part of the reason I haven’t been pursuing Gabby as hard as I could: I’m waiting for winter.”
“But Christmas season starts right after Halloween,” Guinness pointed out. “It comes earlier every year.”
I cocked my head. “That’s true, much as I hate out-of-control consumerism. It’s still months away, though.”
“So, does Wachowski know?”
I grinned. “Nope.”
Guinness frowned. “But why wouldn’t you tell her? I know you two don’t get along. Maybe she would respond differently if she wasn’t constantly threatening to report you to Santa.”
“Because I’m trying to be a nice guy.”
He threw up his hooves. “You killed Santa Claus!”
“That was one thing, and a while ago. I’ve turned over a new leaf, I’m not actively a dick anymore, and I’m trying to make the world a better place. I am Santa Claus, after all, bringing toys to all the good girls and boys. That’s actally one aspect of Earth that’s much nicer than Equestria: In the story of Hearthswarming, ghosts will freeze you to death in an apocalyptic blizzard if you aren’t nice to each other. Santa Claus only brings you coal if you’re bad.”
I raised my head to look at him. “Speaking of that, what do you want for Christmas? Say ‘power armor sized to fit Valiant.’”
“Uh, power armor sized to fit Valiant.”
I reached into my bag of toys and pulled out said item. “Great, thanks. It’s what I’ve always wanted.”
“Why didn’t you just get it for yourself?” Guinness asked incredulously as I put on the powered armor.
“Christmas is all about the spirit of giving. Don’t you feel good about it?”
Guinness stared at me. “Are you at least going to use my goodwill to go after Gabby now?”
“Hell no. It’s still summer.” I sighed. “You know, this really is getting to be kind of a drag. I should have just gone with my other plan and sold my soul to The Beatles.”
I took a final swig of tequila and clomped out wearing my power armor. What a jolly old elf was I.