At some point foals and fillies give up their belief in Santa Hooves. Perhaps they saw Mom and Dad at two in the morning, well before the dawn rose on Hearth’s Warming, putting extra presents under the tree. Maybe it was one too many bad actors playing the jolly reindeer, wearing obviously fake antlers at the local town square or farmer’s market. But, for most ponies, Santa Hooves was a thing one outgrew, then missed, and then taught to one’s own children as part of the generosity and fellowship of the season.
Of course, it was obvious. Santa Hooves couldn’t exist, could he? Nothing lived in the Great Northern Wastes beyond Yakyakistan, unless you counted windigoes. How could rabbits build mountains of toys for the ponies? Why didn’t this infinitely good spirit visit griffon homes? And how could he visit hundreds of thousands of pony homes in a single night? It made no sense, obviously.
But, even as they scoffed, many ponies had vague memories of staying up late and seeing the immense reindeer coming down that tiny, tiny chimney. Or they remembered their parents arguing about the wonderful, wonderful present that neither of them had bought. Or they woke up early in the morning and found deer tracks in the snow outside, despite the nearest deer living hundreds of miles away… and none of them being big enough to leave those huge prints…
In the skies above the great mountains of the north, through the heavy-laden snow clouds of Hearth’s Warming Eve, a cloud of a different sort flew against the wind, ever northwards. Flecks of bright yellows and blues and greens zigged and zagged across the loose formation, not stopping, not resting. Some moved up to lead a group, while the prior leaders fell back into their slipstream to recover some energy. At a time when every other flying thing had gone south or into winter quarters, these fliers flew on, into the coldest of the weather, across the mountains east of the Crystal Empire, deep into the ancient frozen wastes.
Their destination, when they reached it, turned out to be nowhere near the north pole, but had any ponies been among the flyers they might have supposed otherwise. The building had seen better days, but it yet stood. Snow almost completely concealed the pink tile, and icicles hung from the faded blue shutters closed to the eternal northern winter. But warm, welcoming light streamed through the slats in the shutters, and in the gateway leading into a courtyard swept mostly free of snow stood a tiny bipedal figure, wearing thick winter clothes of red trimmed in white fur.
The flyers landed, one by one, forming first a mob and then, by silent consent, an organized grid, row by row, column by column, a swirling mass of all the gentler colors of the rainbow. Landing took some time, and the sun drifted towards the horizon as the little figure in red waited for the flyers to finish.
Finally, after a minute of no landings, the tallest of the flyers, antlers proud in the late afternoon light, stepped out of his row to look across his charges. “Um, I guess everybody made it,” he said in a tone that oozed deference to the world at large.
“Not quite, my dear Thorax,” the little creature in red said. “There is one still on the way, hm, yes, one left.”
And sure enough, low on the southern sky, there was another fleck- not bright and colorful like all the others, but purest black. The assembled flyers watched with growing concern as the fleck grew closer, staying low, until it landed well behind the group. That flyer, kicking a bit of snow out of a hole in her foreleg, strode slowly, unconcerned, through the back and middle of the crowd, ignoring the thousands of eyes staring at her.
When she got to the front of the crowd, she spared the tallest one not so much as a glance, walking straight up to the figure in red. Then, with the greatest dignity, she bent her forelegs, resting on her elbows, bowing her head. “We who remember,” she said, as reciting an ancient ritual, “return to honor the ancient pact.”
After a pause and a nod from Thorax, the others chanted, “We who remember return to honor the ancient pact.”
“Food for service, service for food,” the black one continued, and then with a snarl she could not suppress, “generosity for generosity.”
This time without a pause, the thousands of colorful fliers repeated the formula.
“Once more we pledge our service to the Gift-giver.”
“Once more we pledge our service to the Gift-giver.”
“Once more we accept his eternal gift of love and life.”
“Once more we accept his eternal gift of love and life.”
“Let those who remember forever honor the name of Moochick.”
“Let those who remember forever honor the name of Moochick.”
The little figure in red shook his head, hobbling forward on a little wooden cane. “Remember, remember!” he muttered. “You’re all thousands of years too young to remember! But here you are, here you are.” He looked around the crowd before him, all but the youngest of them standing taller on four legs than he did on two. “I suppose you’re better at remembering me than my sweet ponies, tsk tsk tsk.”
The little creature regarded the stick in his hand, his eyes squinting a little- or, at least, the bushy white eyebrows moved down a little. Between the white lining of his hat, the eyebrows, and the beard and mustache, it was nigh impossible to find a face underneath when he wasn’t talking. “But I remember,” the little creature said in a quiet voice. “I remember the first ponies. I remember the first Queen Majesty. I remember how they constantly had to ask for help, for this was such a horrible, oh yes, a horrible world back then, horrible for defenseless, silly, silly ponies. Then they needed the Moochick, oh yes, yes. They needed all the help they could get!”
The Moochick glanced over his shoulder at the mansion. “This was their home, once,” he said. “I gave it to them. With all the latest, yes, the latest conveniences. The ponies only reinvented most of them in the last, hm, the last hundred years.” He sighed. “The pool’s still there. Frozen forever, alas. Too bad. But they grew too many, and they moved out, and they moved on. The eldest legends today mention times when ponies lived in Paradise. Now only the Moochick lives in Paradise, and remembers.”
The black flyer shifted on her kneeling hooves, but said nothing.
“But they finally grew up,” the Moochick continued. “Up, and out, and all about, they grew. They became less silly, less helpless.” He sighed. “Less innocent, too. And less in need of others to make their problems go away. They can be their own heroes now. And their own destroyers too. Tsk, tsk, tsk.”
“Um, Mr. Moochick, sir?” Thorax asked.
“You are in the presence,” the large black flyer hissed, “of the great Moochick! You will be silent!”
“Um, mother? I’m, um, pretty sure you can’t give me orders anymore,” Thorax replied, not sounding sure at all.
“Ah, yes, speaking of changes,” Moochick said, stepping forward and waving his little stick. Something lifted the black flyer off her elbows and back to a standing position. “I see you’ve had quite a change, yes, quite a change indeed since last year. For the better, I think. Well, all but one.” Moochick sighed. “But true change comes from within. We cannot change until we are ready.” The beard twitched, and a glimpse of teeth was visible through the hair; Moochick was smiling. “Why, I’m not ready to change myself! No, no, my mushrooms are gone, the forests and meadows are gone, and my silly, foolish, selfish ponies are gone, but Moochick remains, and I just can’t seem to stop giving.”
“We know, sir,” Thorax said. “That’s why we’re here.” He looked at the black flyer and added, “Even Mom… um, Chrysalis… I guess.”
Chrysalis glared at Thorax, at her former subjects, and then at Moochick. “We were afraid and starving,” she said. “We came to you, and you gave. Now I come to you again.” She shot another glare at her transformed hive and added, “I don’t know why they’re here, though.”
“We come because we’re grateful,” Thorax said. “Mr. Moochick didn’t have to give us love to get through the winter. But he did. And now we don’t need to take love to live, but we return anyway, because we want to do the right thing. As long as Mr. Moochick needs us to be Santa Hooves, we will. That was the deal.”
Chrysalis nodded. “That was the deal,” she said.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Moochick said. “I’ll still feed you, Chrysalis. And for the rest of you…” A couple of white snow rabbits hopped out of the front door of the mansion, carrying a large sack between them. “I think Hearth’s Warming presents for all of you will do nicely, now that you can appreciate them.”
“Work first,” Chrysalis muttered. “Let’s get it over with. Where’s my list of naughty ponies?”
“Um, actually,” Thorax muttered, then continued in a more firm voice, “I think it’s my time to be the Ogdeniw this year.”
“I quite agree,” Moochick said. “I know you enjoy being the Ogdeniw, Chrysalis, but the ponies are changing again, oh my yes. A new Ogdeniw, yes, a new Ogdeniw for new times! Besides,” he said, waving his cane, “I have a very special pony child, yes, who needs a very special Santa Hooves!”
A slip of paper appeared in the air in front of Chrysalis. She took it in her forehooves and read it aloud: “Bloo Shine, #7 New Cobblers, Ponyville.” She looked at the Moochick. “All right, so where’s the gift?”
The Moochick shook his head. “Oh, no, no, no, Chrysalis,” he muttered. “Like I said, this is a special case, I said.” The old gnome looked at the ex-queen and said, “If it were as simple as delivering a box and eating some cookies, I wouldn’t need to send a queen, now would I, now?”
“Well… that’s true,” Chrysalis said. “If this is a special case.”
“Mom,” Thorax said, a tiny hint of vexation seeping into his quiet, polite voice, “you’re holding things up for the rest of us.”
“Fine,” Chrysalis growled. “The sooner I leave you traitors, the better.” She gave the Moochick one last look. “I’ll be back as soon as I’m done. Be ready to fulfill your part of the bargain.”
“Oh, Chrysalis, Chrysalis,” the Moochick chuckled. “When have I ever failed to give what I promised? Give more than I promised, even?”
“As long as I get what I deserve.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” the Moochick said. “I would never give you what you deserve. Only what you need and, sometimes, what you want. How horrible it would be if everybody got only what they deserved!”
Shaking her head at this nonsense, Chrysalis spread her hole-riddled wings and took off, buzzing south with the same determination she and her former changelings had flown north, as the sky darkened with the setting of the sun and the raising of the moon.
Behind her, tens of thousands of changelings assumed a single disguise- that of a large, overweight, merry reindeer in a costume mimicking the Moochick’s clothing- and accepted presents with tags from one white rabbit after another, with the Moochick watching and nodding in satisfaction. He couldn’t give to the ponies himself, not anymore. But with tens of thousands of helpers, he could give enough to keep the spirit of giving alive, and that was what mattered to him.
And in the darkness of Hearth’s Warming Eve, Santa Hooves of all sizes took off from the snow, galloping across the skies, to all corners of Equestria and the Crystal Empire, each with a present- or, in the case of Thorax, a large bundle of switches and a list of deserving recipients.
And ahead of them, one other Santa Hooves flew, giftless and alone.
Number Seven on the unpaved Ponyville street named New Cobblers by the Equestrian postal service was a standard, narrow, two-story cottage, thatched roof covered by snow, eaves hanging with holly boughs and red ribbons, smoke rising from the chimney, all snug and smug just like the rest of Ponyville.
Chrysalis hated it.
Chrysalis hated all of Ponyville, with its smug houses full of smug ponies. And she hated each and every individual pony in the town. She hated the buildings, including the smug shops, the smug town hall, the smug fountain converted to mini ice rink, everything. She especially hated the smug crystal castle just outside of town, with its smug alicorn princess and her smug friends with their smug rainbow friendship magic which, if any of them knew Chrysalis was on their smug little streets, they would use to smug her right in the face.
More so than most of Equestria, Ponyville had a major case, in Chrysalis’s mind, of smug pollution.
And here I am, she sighed, about to contribute to it. At least it’s only one pony, who three years from now will probably think I was a dream anyway- assuming I don’t find some way to conquer the whole useless species in the meantime.
For a shape-changer, entering a house through the chimney of a lit fireplace is not the most difficult thing in the world. What went in the top, through the roof, was Chrysalis, but what materialized on the bottom, well away from the fire irons and grating, was a Santa Hooves every bit as large and festive as one would expect… except this Santa Hooves’s smile never reached the eyes, which retained a hardness around the edges that no amount of shapeshifting would ever remove.
Chrysalis hadn’t played Santa Hooves in decades. She much preferred being Ogdeniw. Terrorizing some horrible brats was always so much fun, even if she wasn’t allowed to spirit them away like the old legends said. And each Santa Hooves visited only one house, but Ogdeniw had a full night and dozens of deserving pony brats to put on the straight and narrow path back towards growing up to be perfect, brain-dead prey. But here she was, no switches, no chains, not even a darn present to give to the little fetlock-biting…
She took a deep breath and forced herself to think of all the love that the Moochick had always given on Hearth’s Warming morning- enough to keep a changeling, even her, full for a week. Maybe she didn’t have an inner Santa to channel, but she could at least cage up the outer predator for one night. That done, and with her disguise firmly in place (except for that bit around the eyes), she began investigating the common room on the first floor.
Whoever Bloo Shine was, Santa Hooves was being generous to her this year- Santa, spelled P-A-R-E-N-T-S, no doubt. There were three large presents under the tree labeled FROM SANTA already. That seemed… odd. Usually the Moochick only sent changeling Santas to homes where the parents couldn’t afford a Santa present at all, or where they couldn’t afford a particular present that, according to the Moochick, would change that pony’s life. A three-present brat shouldn’t even have been on the list… well, maybe the Ogdeniw’s list, but not Santa’s!
And then there was the traditional cookies, milk and carrot by the fire. Some houses only had the carrot. Some only had hay, not even being able to afford a carrot. But they always reeked of love and generosity… at least, they did in homes that weren’t due a visit from Ogdeniw. But, as Chrysalis sniffed the food… no, not a drop of love here. Instead the snack stank of sadness and confusion. Bleah.
Chrysalis took her investigation upstairs, to the bedrooms. Moving silently was a skill practically born into every changeling, and more so changeling queens. (She refused to acknowledge herself an ex-queen. She was still breathing; ergo, she was still a queen.) She found the parents’ room first, saw them cuddled together asleep under their blanket, love oozing through the quilting. But she resisted the desire to snack, even as hungry as she’d been in the months since her overthrow. The Moochick would know… and you did not cross the Moochick. Never. Moochick might forgive betrayal… but forgiveness was the only gift you’d get ever again.
The next door opened onto a little filly’s room. (The dolls and flower pictures were a welcome hint; with a name like “Bloo”, Chrysalis hadn’t been able to guess.) And where the loving parents had tasted delicious, the bed in this room stank of the same sadness that contaminated the cookies and milk downstairs.
Chrysalis stood in the doorway, thinking. All right. This is a reasonably well-off kid with disgustingly loving parents, she thought. And no way is this the first year Santa Hooves was so generous to her. She ought to be dreaming happy greedy dreams of all the new goodies, right?
“Who’s there?”
Oh, lovely. The brat isn’t asleep.
The disguised changeling queen stepped quietly into the room. A bit of magic channeled through “Santa’s” antlers lit the room just enough for the sky-blue unicorn filly with the white mane and burgundy eyes to see the big, smiling reindeer in the red suit. “Good ev-” Chrysalis coughed, realizing she’d forgotten to change her voice. “Excuse me,” she continued in a deeper, flawlessly masculine voice completely unlike her own. “It’s cold outside tonight.”
The little filly sat up in bed, squinting a little. “Are you Santa Hooves?” she asked.
“The one and only.” Compared to the enormous lies Chrysalis told on a daily basis as a matter of survival, this lie was nothing. “I left your presents under the tree. You got extras because you were so good and didn’t try to peek.”
“Thank you, sir,” the filly said unenthusiastically.
Chrysalis suppressed a sigh. The Moochick had sent her here on some special mission, and she couldn’t think of any other way to get it over with than… disgusting as it was… talking with this little girl about her… blech… feelings. “You know,” she said in the Santa voice, “I know when you’ve been bad or good… but I don’t know everything. And right now all I know is that you’re sad.” She walked over and eased herself to a seat on the end of the bed. “Would you like to tell Santa about it?”
The unicorn filly sighed. “I was gonna make a special gift for my parents,” she said. “I just learned how to bake cookies. And I got this extra-special recipe, and I was gonna make it for them for Hearth’s Warming! But when I went to the store to buy the ingredients… they were out of eggs!” Tears ran down the filly’s face and around her muzzle. “And I couldn’t get any anywhere else! So now I don’t have anything to give my parents this year!” Bloo sniveled and said, “And they’ve been so nice to me this year, I feel just awful!”
“And you’ve been nice to them, I know,” Santa Chrys said in a gentle rumble, all the while thinking, I may throw up. “But let me think about this for a moment…”
So, obviously this was the special problem that foolish old Moochick had picked out for her. Really quite simple. Any pony could have fixed it… but, of course, not any changeling. Only the small number of changelings who were intimately familiar with Ponyville, either before or after the mass betrayal, would have the tools to make this a simple fix. And none of them had as much knowledge, first-hoof or secondhoof, as Chrysalis did.
Still, very simple. And it required only a little rulebreaking and a little sneakiness. For the queen of deception herself, no big deal.
“Now, you know it’s a naughty thing to go outside by yourself at night, right?” she rumbled in her Santa voice.
Bloo nodded.
“But sometimes- if the reason is extra special, and if you have an adult you can trust with you- sometimes it can be excused,” the fake Santa Hooves continued. “Especially for a little pony who’s been so very good all year…”
Getting into Sugarcube Corner was only slightly more difficult than getting into Bloo Shine’s house, and only because Chrysalis chose one of the chimneys leading into the baking ovens by mistake. Fortunately the ovens were only slightly warm, having been shut down hours before once all of the baking was done. She didn’t let Bloo Shine in immediately, though; first, she checked the refrigerator for eggs.
None. Drat.
Fortunately, she knew exactly where to get some. But first things first.
Little Bloo was shivering as “Santa Hooves” unlocked Sugarcube Corner’s front door and let her inside. There was a small fire still glowing in the hearth of the common room, and Chrysalis tossed a couple of logs onto it from the little pile by the display cases. That done, she led her little charge to the kitchen, who froze in a burst of sudden despair at the sight of the large baking ovens.
“What’s the matter, little Bloo?” Chrysalis-Santa asked. “I thought you knew how to bake.”
“I know how to bake in Mama’s oven,” Bloo said. “I’ve never baked with these great big ones before!”
Ah. Minor oversight, but Chrysalis’s plan wouldn’t even hiccup. “Then I shall get you a helper,” she said. “As it happens, there’s a certain pony who’s a very good friend of mine, right here in this town. A whisper in her ear, and I’m sure she’ll be happy to help with your parents’ cookies.”
Sadness turned to glee so swiftly that Chrysalis’s stomach, already queasy at all the sappy talk she had to keep up for this disguise, threatened to manufacture something that could indeed be thrown up. “Oh, goodie!” Bloo giggled! “I get to bake with a snow-bunny!”
“No, dear,” the so-called Santa corrected her, “she’s someone you know very well. You just wait right here. I’ll have her down shortly, and then I’ll go fetch some eggs while you get ready.”
Her spies had marked the exact window that led into Pinkie Pie’s upstairs bedroom. They had noted the four incredibly ingenious traps waiting for unwanted visitors in their reports. That, of course, had led to Pinkie’s successful capture and thence, curse it, to Thorax returning to steal her hive away. Since then, Chrysalis suspected, some new traps would have been installed,. Shorn of her Santa Hooves disguise, she approached the window with appropriate caution.
The caution proved justified. There were three new traps among the four old ones. She deftly avoided them all, opening the window (which was unlocked) and sliding in. As a final precaution, she used a flash of magic to tip the little Santa cap on the head of the sleeping dwarf alligator over its eyes, just in case it awoke. Another bit of magic sealed the room to prevent any sound inside from escaping. It wouldn’t last long, of course, but it didn’t need to.
She put her muzzle right next to the ear of the sleeping pink pony, took a deep breath, and let out her favorite villainous laugh. The instant Pinkie Pie’s eye flashed open, Chrysalis triggered a teleport spell back out to the alleyway beneath Pinkie’s window, repeating her evil laugh.
Upstairs, she heard a rapid stumbling and the crunching sound of two hooves on the snow that had settled on the windowsill. Good. Now for her lines.
“My wicked schemes are proceeding according to plan!” she said loudly, entirely for the benefit of the pony listening above her. “The moment that foolish filly comes out from this pathetic little bake shop, I shall have my first hostage! With her in my clutches, Twilight Sparkle and her friends will have no choice but to surrender themselves to me! Bwa-hahaha!” Over her own laugh she could just barely hear a tiny, breathy gasp of terror. Excellent...
Wait a moment. That’s actually not a terrible plan. Why not…
No. No. Remember the Moochick. Stick to Plan A.
“Now all I need is for her to wander back out before Santa Hooves returns!” she continued, and was gratified to hear another one of those gasps. “For all my power, I will be helpless against his holiday magic! No, I must wait out here until that filly COMES OUTSIDE WHERE I CAN GET HER…”
One more gloating laugh? They’re so much fun, but time is…
… eh, why not. Always make time for simple pleasures.
“A-haha! Bwa-hahaha! BWA-HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”
More sounds of stumbling and bumbling and rumbling down stairs. Chrysalis shifted to the other side of the building, by the kitchen, where she could hear.
“Oh, Pinkie Pie! Are you the helper Santa Hooves was talking about?”
“Helper? Helper… yeah! Yeah, that’s right! Good old help-o-rooni Pinkie-rooni, that’s me! He-heh! Now… what was good old Pinkie gonna help you with? That doesn’t involve you going back outside in ANY WAY?”
Chrysalis nodded to herself. First step completed. Now to get those eggs.
The moon shone down on Fluttershy’s cottage. The bear that hung around the place would be in a cave hibernating this time of year, which meant Chrysalis only had to worry about the small fry, and only those who wouldn’t sleep inside.
The only guardian the chicken run had was a fox, who woke up for only about three seconds before a sleep spell sent him back to dreams of how happy Fluttershy would be with him for not enjoying a chicken dinner. Chrysalis, meanwhile, grumbled at having to burn so much magic on this night. Moochick better make it up to me, she thought.
She poked her head into the henhouse, where a dozen chickens stared back in silent worry at the intruder.
“Listen up,” Chrysalis said. “I want six eggs. You want me to not turn your next juicy earthworm into a tatzlwurm. I get what I want, you get what you want. Do I make myself clear?” She pushed the small wicker basket she’d stolen from a market stall into the henhouse. “You have five minutes.”
Five minutes and nine eggs later, Chrysalis changed back into Santa Hooves and flew back towards Ponyville, congratulating herself on her knowledge of what could be accomplished with the proper motivation.
“But between all the baking and the egg nog and- well, there isn’t an egg left in Ponyville!” Pinkie Pie said. “I know! I checked!”
“Santa Hooves said he’d bring eggs,” Bloo said with the perfect faith of an innocent child. “And Santa Hooves can do it. Santa Hooves can do anything!”
Something knocked on the back door.
“See?” Bloo said confidently. “That’s him now! He said he’d be back!” She trotted over to the door and opened it.
A towering black figure reached in and grabbed the little unicorn filly.
Pinkie Pie screamed.
Chrysalis, in her Santa disguise, heard the scream. Oh, wonderful, she thought. Don’t tell me Thorax chose now of all times to give Diamond Tiara her annual straighten-up-or-else Ogdeniw visit… She redoubled her speed, and yes, sure enough, there was the Ogdeniw, holding a terrified Bloo Shine up by the barrel with one hoof, while Pinkie Pie stood in the doorway to Sugarcube Corner’s kitchen and stared.
As much as Chrysalis despised Thorax for his weakness and then his treason, she had to admit he’d outdone anyling she could think of with his Ogdeniw disguise. He’d left behind the sack full of switches somewhere, possibly because he looked more intimidating without it. He wasn’t so much black as anti-light- the full Hearth’s Warming moon didn’t seem to touch him. He was just a swirling hole in the air in front of the ordinary winter night, with two tiny glowing eyes as white as the rest of him was dark.
The screaming kept up. Lights began coming on in the houses and buildings around Sugarcube Corner. Darn and blast, Chrysalis thought. The Moochick will not be pleased with me. And it’s not my fault!
“Breaking into someone else’s home,” the Ogdeniw hissed in a voice that sounded like sleet on a rooftop. “Being out of bed after bedtime. Waking up the neighbors. You are a bad pony.”
“Nuh-uh!” Bloo shouted back. “Santa Hooves says I’m a nice pony! He says I have an excuse!”
The Ogdeniw lifted Bloo up higher to stare into her eyes. “You are naughty,” it said. “And that makes you mine.”
“Put her down,” Chrysalis boomed in her best resonant Santa Hooves voice. From the echoes coming back from the houses, it was pretty good. “That pony is on my Nice list. And since I am Santa Hooves, I ought to know.”
The swirling shadow lowered Bloo, but didn’t put her down. It stared at Chrysalis, and for a horrible moment she had the feeling that she’d forgotten to disguise herself. She had to stop herself from checking. “Imposter,” it hissed. “Begone.”
There was a little gasp from Bloo. No, no, no, Chrysalis thought. The Moochick might forgive betrayal, but even he would never forgive taking Santa Hooves away from an innocent pony. And the Moochick could do… things. Chrysalis didn’t know what exactly, but if the Moochick could make presents appear from nowhere and produce enough love to fill an insatiable changeling for a week- thirty thousand times over- then it stood to reason he could do things a lot less nice, too…
“I am no imposter,” Chrysalis pronounced. “I am the true and genuine Santa Hooves!” She lit up her disguise’s antlers with her magic, slashing down on the hoof that held Bloo in the air. With a yelp of pain the shadow uncurled its foreleg, letting Bloo drop to the snow, where Pinkie caught her.
But before Pinkie Pie could rush Bloo back into Sugarcube Corner, the Ogdeniw slid back, blocking the door, stretching its shadowy form over the pink mare and pale unicorn filly. “She is mine,” the shadow said. “And now they are mine. By the ancient law, they are mine.”
“And I said they are not!” Chrysalis flew over to the Ogdeniw, face to face, and whispered, “Will you cut it out, Thorax? You’re ruining everything! I know I always wanted you to grow a spine and find your evil side, but tonight is not-”
Something struck Santa Chrys just under the jaw, sending her tumbling through the air, slamming into the wall of a nearby house just next to a window. The window opened up, and a tubby little foal with a curly brown mane poked his head out. “Hi, Santa Hooves!” he said. “You all right?”
Chrysalis rubbed her chin with a cloven hoof. “Go back to bed, little one,” she growled. “The Ogdeniw and I are discussing practical metaphysics.”
“Practical metaphysics?” The fat little foal’s face screwed up in confusion. “Is that grownup words for fighting? ‘Cause you look like Snips when he teased Snails about losing his favorite firehopper…”
Chrysalis pushed herself off the wall, flying back towards the Ogdeniw, partly because if she had to say one more word to that little punk it’d be something very non-Santa…
… but mostly because, as the Ogdeniw stretched taller and darker out of the alleyway, she was beginning to suspect Thorax wasn’t anywhere near Ponyville just this moment.
“You shall not stop me, imposter,” the Ogdeniw hissed. “You are not one of the Three. You are not of the Grove. You have no power over me.” The shadow reached down and curled around both Pinkie Pie and Bloo, raising them into the air. “I shall take what is mine. The ponies shall learn to fear and hate this night. My people shall rise from their slumber. The windigoes shall take this land, just as they took the one before!”
“Oh, no!” Pinkie Pie gasped. “You mean all of Equestria will freeze over? But you can’t do that! That’s where all my best friends live!”
The Ogdeniw bent its glowing eyes down to glare at Pinkie. “That will no longer be your concern,” it hissed.
“I beg to differ.”
Chrysalis despised the very idea of heroes and heroics, but she had to admit it felt extremely good to deliver that line, even better than it felt to return the Ogdeniw’s sucker-punch with interest, sending the giant shadow reeling.
And, to make things even better, she had an audience. Dozens of ponies were looking on now, including- yes, there were Rainbow Dash, and Rarity, rushing forward to catch Pinkie Pie and Bloo Shine as they dropped from the Ogdeniw’s grip. Twilight Sparkle probably wouldn’t be far behind, and Starlight Glimmer, and possibly even Applejack and Fluttershy if given enough time. So, she had to finish this, and finish it quickly- both to sustain her role as Santa Hooves and to keep the Elements of Buttinsky from interfering.
But an audience of ponies- of ponies who believed... Yes, this could work.
“You’re correct that I’m not one of the Three,” she said. “Nor am I of the Grove.” Whatever all that meant. “But I am Santa Hooves. On this night I am the spirit of generosity and goodwill. I bring gifts to the children of Equestria, and I bring memories to the parents of happy times together, sharing love and harmony and friendship.”
Ye gads, I really am going to throw up.
“And I bring a gift greater than all of these,” she continued. “I bring forgiveness. Forgiveness for Bloo Shine and for all these ponies! For on this night all quarrels and wrongs are set aside. I am the spirit of the New Start, the spirit of Coming Together.” And even I know that’s the most hypocritical thing I’m ever going to say in my life, but the character demands it. Gah.
“And this is a gift that every pony can share, Ogdeniw!” she continued. “The founders of this land gave it to one another! It is baked into its very foundations!" Do you bake foundations? "And it has been given, again and again, for over a thousand years! The gift of Harmony, Ogdeniw! The more of it you give, the more you keep!”
I’m running out of cliches here…ah, here’s a good finishing line…
“And where,” she finished in her booming, echoing Santa Hooves voice, “where in the ancient laws did it ever say that only three are allowed to give?” She stamped a cloven hoof in the snow, causing the shadow, which had towered over her, to twitch. “Because on this night, every pony is Santa Hooves. Not just one. Not just three. We are all Santa Hooves… and you, Ogdeniw, you will obey us.”
The Ogdeniw recoiled, shrinking under the glare of Santa Hooves and, at this point, almost a hundred ponies, who walked closer to the weakening creature under a wave of purifying magic only the shadow and Chrysalis could feel. It burned, but Chrysalis had been burned before, and she'd had many, many years to learn how to maintain a role.
“Begone,” said the voice of Santa Hooves. “Trouble not this good child again.”
The shadow fled and vanished under the crushing pressure of harmony. It took all of Chrysalis’s iron will not to follow, to get away from that sickening sensation.
There was a moment of silence. And then, at the exact moment Chrysalis predicted, Bloo shouted, “Santa Hooves beat up the Ogdeniw!”
Cheers went up from the crowd, and with them a tidal wave of love.
Now this, Chrysalis thought, struggling to keep her tongue in her mouth, this you can keep up all night if you like.
Or… well, I suppose not. "Yes, we did," Santa Hooves said. "All of us Santas did. Together." That sappy little line brought out another cheer, but Chrysalis's sour stomach was soothed by another wave of love and happiness.
Even if it was a little... smug.
She walked over to the egg basket. Only one of the eggs had cracked when she’d dropped it. She picked it up and placed it at Bloo’s hooves. “This should be enough for your special present,” she said. “Finish it up, and Miss Pinkie will see you back to your home and straight to bed like a good pony.”
Looking around the crowd, she added, “That goes for all of you good ponies. After all, maybe I’ve already visited your house...” Slow, obvious wink. “... and maybe I haven’t!”
The older ponies laughed, some a little guiltily.
“A merry Hearth’s Warming to all!” Chrysalis cheered, launching her transformed self into the sky. “Never let the flames of friendship die- and keep giving the gift!”
She didn’t look behind her to watch the crowd go back to their homes. Her job was done, and nothing, not even a year’s worth of love from the Moochick, could pay her to stay a moment longer.
Almost the same instant Celestia raised the sun over Hearth’s Warming Day, Chrysalis landed at the Moochick’s snow-covered estate. The other changelings (those traitors) had already been and gone again. The ancient little man in the red suit stood at the gates, as if he hadn’t gone inside all night. For all she knew or cared, maybe he hadn’t.
“Well, well, now,” the Moochick said, “I heard every word, I heard. Excellent words, Chrysalis. I knew you were the right pony for the job, yes, yes.”
“Whatever,” Chrysalis muttered. “They were just words. The same claptrap the ponies have deluded themselves with for years.”
“Just words?” the Moochick asked. “Yes, I suppose, just words, yes. Until someone listens to them, and hears.”
“Look, it’s dawn,” Chrysalis snapped. “I’ve fulfilled the pact for another year. Where’s my reward?”
Moochick shook his head. “Some people can be dropped in a pile of gifts and never see a one, no,” he sighed. “But you shall have your gift, as ever.” He raised his staff, waved it a little, and…
… Chrysalis was full. She could feel power flowing through her, warming her from within, as she only experienced once a year… and perhaps this year, a little more so…
“And one more, yes,” the Moochick said. He lifted a bag half-buried in the snow beside him and pulled out a large box. “This is for you,” he said. “For the season. Until I see you next year.”
Chrysalis took the box in her magic, lifting it up next to her. “Thanks, old…” She sighed, kneeling and said, “Thanks be unto the Moochick; let his name be remembered forever, and gratitude longer.”
“Oh, I don’t know, I don’t,” the Moochick said. “Forever is such a long time, and it’s been so very long already. But next year, yes, I think so. Good to see you, Chrysalis!”
“Yeah, right,” grumbled Chrysalis, and flew away, not stopping until she found her hidey-hole deep in the Everfree Forest. Only there, safe from prying eyes, did she open the box.
It contained sugar cookies.
Chrysalis tasted one. They were terrible- all sugary and crunchy and crumbly and, and, and... cookie-y.
That didn’t stop her from eventually eating every last one.
She’d earned them.