//------------------------------// // Suspension // Story: Bomblets // by Carabas //------------------------------// A blood-smeared zombie shambled through the night towards an unsuspecting stallion, inch by squirm-inducing inch, and Twilight Sparkle, to Rarity’s mild aggravation, felt it apt to provide technical details. “Fake blood,” Twilight whispered, as the magical motor of the little projector at their backs clattered and flickered its heart out, behind the sofa they’d sprackled across. “Knackerton Gore, if I’m any judge. Mixed parts syrup, corn flour, and food colouring.” Rarity suppressed a sigh as the alicorn’s voice managed to disperse whatever chills had inveigled up her spine. Before her, the black-and-white image of the zombie shuffled on across the screen, while the stallion assumed an expression of beatific happiness with the universe and their lot within it. “That’s fascinating, darling, but—” “I mean, all the ethical issues with getting real blood aside, it coagulates too quickly. Impossible to keep looking suitably bloody for extended shoots. And it doesn’t show up well under studio lights. Especially for monochromatic productions like this.” “I’ll take your word for it.” “And that’s not an actual flesh-eating zombie. They’ll have sourced a docile one from the alchemist-necromancers in Zebrica, and somepony’ll be jangling keys off-camera to coax it forward. Did you know there’s one zombie who’s been loaned out to nearly every studio for decades now? Old Shuffles. They awarded him an Oatscar once. Best Supporting Act—” Said zombie and their intended victim seemed to be taking a frustratingly long time to fulfil the roles nature expected of them. “Twilight, hush shush. A film’s unfolding. Let yourself be drawn in. Suspend disbelief a touch.” Twilight flinched and looked abashed. “Oh. Sorry.” A moment’s pause, and then she said, “I read a book once that was all about the behind-the-scenes work in moving pictures. Once you know about the workings … well, you can’t un-know them.” Rarity wriggled around on the sofa to face Twilight, and a subtle smile flickered around her muzzle. “And you’d never try to distract yourself by recounting the details, of course.” Twilight flushed. “I … well—” Clockwork turned in her head, and Rarity leaned in closer till she was all but eye-to-eye to Twilight. It didn’t do a thing to ameliorate the alicorn’s flush, and Rarity was quite alright with that. “If you want to do something really helpful during this picture, darling,” she purred, “then you ought to know that I’m just dreadful when it comes to horror.” “You are?” “Oh yes. No coping ability at all. I’ll badly need some pony to hold onto and to hold onto me in return.” She teasingly nuzzled Twilight’s neck. “Why, aren’t you some pony?” She was pleased to note that it seemed to be working. Twilight seemed altogether distracted by her, and didn’t have the air of one about to provide a fascinating factoid about the mechanics of horror picture production. She seemed, in fact, quite drawn in. “Well,” Twilight murmured. “I have been accused of being that, from time to ti—” Then, that instant, a violin was abruptly tortured, a bestial roar rang out, and a blood-curdling shriek followed immediately after. Rarity whirled back on the screen to find the scene a great deal more splattery than hitherto. Her heart leapt, if not all the way up into her mouth, and she took a moment — just a moment — to prepare a good, dramatic shriek and to swoon into Twilight’s hooves. That best-laid scheme quickly ganged agley, however, when the alicorn at her side screamed and all but leapt out of her hide and onto Rarity, forelegs clutching at her. Rarity yelped and all but fell back across the sofa, but forethought caught up and spiked that plan of action as she briefly met Twilight’s wide, violet gaze. Ponies who’d just been embraced for comfort’s sake in the face of a zombie eating some unlucky stallion shouldn’t just fall over like that. There were standards to uphold. And besides, there was something soothing about the hammering heartbeat under the soft hide pressed into her. As well as the fact she’d been the first port of call for a hug like that. “Disbelief suspended, then?” Rarity wheezed after a moment. Twilight breathed heavily and eased her grip a bit. She turned back to the screen, where the first burst of splatteriness had passed and the camera was now spending time dwelling on the aftermath. “M—more Knackerton Gore, soaked and shredded sponges, mashed apples for the zombie to chew on, and a lot of papier-mâché,” Twilight trembled out. “See, the camera angle’s c—covering up a lot of it. The light’s on the zombie’s face. Draws the eye away from the effect. There — there’s a limit to how real they can make it without illusion magic. Which would b—be cheating.” “I believe you, darling,” Rarity said gently, hugging Twilight closer, somewhat nonplussed, and yet not altogether displeased. “Tell me more. You have a most eager audience.”