Malodorous Development

by kudzuhaiku


A stench over Ponyville

Hayseed Turnip Truck paused to wipe the sweat from his snoot. Pulling a garbage wagon was no easy task, but the pay was good. Better than the pay was the fact that he could take the wagon home, so his wife and foals could sort through it for perfectly good valuables that other ponies threw away. Ponies did stuff like that, throwing away stuff, and he wasn’t too proud to claim these treasures for himself.

He was hauling quite a load and had stopped for a moment to rest near the bridge, so he could listen to the sounds of the babbling brook. How did a brook babble? He wasn’t sure. Try as he might, he couldn’t quite make out what it was saying. And bless those pegasus ponies, the wind was blowing south, which kept him upwind from the nose hair curling stink.

“I wonder what Cousin Applejack has got to toss away,” he said to himself, as nopony was around.

Again, he wiped the sweat from his face, and this time left behind a smear of black dirt.

“Roller derby is a-comin’ to Ponyville. I shore would like to watch me them Badass Bumpkins have a go at them bad guys.” The buck-toothed pony huffed, flicked his tail to keep the flies at bay, and then licked his teeth to get the dust and dirt off of them. “I gots me a long ways to go. Whew!”

A weird tingle could be felt in his teeth, and Hayseed paused. This happened sometimes, his teeth would tingle just before a monster attack. Ears rigid, he stood still, all of his senses straining to detect danger. He looked left, then right, left again, off to the right once more, and when nothing could be seen, he shrugged, which caused his harness to jangle.

Maybe he just had himself a case of the Tingly Teeth.

The wind changed, or perhaps it didn’t. Something felt wrong though, and he felt a curious tickle in his nose. When he sniffed, he immediately wished he hadn’t, as the stench of the garbage from behind him could knock a buzzard from an outhouse. It was as if the trash had gone bad, rancid. Something in the garbage wagon had gone from bad to worse.

“Boy, how-dee! That shore is a par-war-ful stank, shore ‘nuff! Miss Rarity must have thrown out Sweetie Belle’s victuals once again! Whew!” Eyes watering, his buck teeth tingling, Hayseed got his hooves moving, because it was far too smelly to stand in one spot.

“There oughtta be a law,” he drawled as he hoofed it down the lane. “There oughtta be a law about Sweetie Belle cookin’!”


Later, inside of Carousel Boutique…


Rarity’s nostrils crinkled in the most demure way equinely possible. She loved her sister, but Sweetie’s unannounced visits—or in this instance her unannounced breakfast—left much to be desired. Last night, Sweetie Belle had showed up not long after midnight, quite tipsy, and had made quite a ruckus after letting herself in.

Of course, poor Sweetie could not be faulted; her post-graduate work was quite hard on her, and so Rarity tried very hard to feel some sympathy during moments like this one, when she was standing in her kitchen and trying to figure out what to do about the smell. Opening the windows was right out, as the neighbors would know. Of course, the neighbors probably already knew, as it was doubtful that mere windows and walls could contain this stink.

After botching breakfast, Sweetie Belle—quite hungover—had gone back to bed.

Tilting her head upwards, Rarity noticed for the first time that there was something stuck to the ceiling. Something black. Was it toast that had been transmogrified into charcoal? Based on the evidence, such as the eggshells on the stove top, she suspected that the mystery stuck to the ceiling was yet another attempt at Fancy toast. How many times had she told Sweetie that it couldn’t be fried in syrup?

Conjuring a bottle of perfume, she tentatively tried a little spritz. What could it hurt? She sniffed, and immediately wished she hadn’t. A curious sensation overtook her and her horn felt peculiar. Was Sweetie’s cooking so bad that it was triggering her magic sense? That was bad indeed. Why, that was just the worst. The perfume somehow made everything even more awful, as her kitchen now smelled of rotten eggs and hot garbage left to bake in the sun.

“Oh,” she huffed, struggling to maintain her ladylike composure, “that is foul.

She spritzed her kitchen with a bit more perfume, but this did nothing to help the smell. Just as before, it somehow made things worse, and the perfume… something was wrong with the perfume. It was far too strong now, overpowering. It had gone from being delicate and beautiful, to the horrid stench of industrial alcohols, petrochemical fumes, and whatever else it was they used to make perfume. She knew some awful stuff went into perfumes, but it had always smelled so pleasant—until now.

There was no helping it, the kitchen windows would have to be opened.

“Oh, this is ghastly,” she cried as the first tears began to trickle down her cheeks, leaving behind globby streaks of mascara. “Oh, that smell! Sweetie Belle just had to be eating pickled eggs when she was out drinking. Why does it smell like garbage? The trash was just taken out this morning! Ugh! Ugh! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Prancing in place, Rarity shrieked as she threw open the windows.


Just outside of Ponyville…


“Big Mac… was that… was that Rarity screaming?”

“Eeyup.”

“Maybe it’s a bad day to go into Ponyville.”

“Eeyup.”

“I’m goin’ back home, Mac. Gonna work on that fence, maybe. You comin’ with?”

“Eeyup.”


Fluttershy’s cottage. Emergency spring fever ward…


“Oh, you poor dears.”

Biting her lip, Fluttershy looked over her patients and their big, red, swollen noses. The skunk clan was stricken with spring fever, and she—and she alone—was their caretaker. Sniffly, snotty, sneezy skunks were awful, but somepony had to care for them. They had need of soothing salves and a little tender loving care. Perhaps some saucers full of medicinal herbal tea might help.

The clothespin on her nose did very little to protect her, but there was no nurse more determined than Fluttershy. She walked among the cots arranged in neat rows, her ears pivoting to listen to every cough, every sniffle. What she feared were the sneezes. When a skunk sneezed, she would get very little warning—a few gasps perhaps—and then disaster would strike. When skunks sneezed, terrible things happened.

She had to be oh so very careful.

“All of my helpers seem to have vanished,” she remarked as she took note of just how alone she was. Even the mice had fled, and the mice had been loyal, constant companions. She hadn’t even stepped on one for a very long time, so she couldn’t understand why they had abandoned her during her hour of need.

That sudden, unexpected crunch underhoof was quite unsettling and difficult to unhear.

A gust of wind made the trees sway and leaves rustled as flower petals danced in whirlwind eddies. Fluttershy feared the pollen, but she dared not bring the skunks indoors. This wind felt wrong, though she could not say why. It was an ill wind, and her tender heart ached because she had no bed for it, no place for it to convalesce. As it tugged on her mane, her tail, and feathers, she could feel that something was wrong.

And then, quite without warning, even with Rarity’s clothespin, she could smell that something was wrong. It started off with a whiff of rotten eggs, followed by the fetid aroma of hot compost, or maybe garbage—she had no way of knowing for certain. There was a burnt smell, but other reeks as well, and just as the smelly symphony reached a crescendo, foul industrial vapours violated her nostrils. Something like alcohol solvents, cleanser perhaps, or hospital disinfectant, along with something a lot like naptha.

It was a dreadfully sneezy smell, and all around her, Fluttershy heard sharp inhales of breath as the skunks in her care breathed in the noxious fumes. Little poofy tails rose in anticipation of what was to come, and Fluttershy, surrounded on all sides by her patients, knew that there was no reason to fight the inevitable. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she then closed her eyes, and stood resolute, waiting for the worst to happen.

“Achoo!”

The first sneeze was the worst sneeze, because like yawns, it spread like wildfire. A foul miasma manifested, and with each sneeze, it grew in potency. Eyes closed, teeth gritted together, Fluttershy stood strong amidst the chaos. As the awful stench permeated her nostrils, she wondered what Discord was doing, and regretted that he was not here to witness this. It would make him happy, and Discord deserved to be happy. He would find this fascinating.

Even as her destruction coalesced around her, Fluttershy thought the sounds of the sneezes were the most adorable thing ever, but she dared not open her eyes to watch. She felt a presence on the wind, something warm, fetid, and foul. A bad bit of storm magic, perhaps, come to make mischief. A wind gremlin. As bad as everything was, it somehow grew worse, but being the quiet pegasus pony that she was, she clung fast to her calm.

She reminded herself that, this too, like gas, shall pass.


In a meadow just outside of the White Tail Woods…


Princess Celestia’s warm, generous sun felt amazing against her tummy and Pinkie Pie stared up at the clouds overhead with her sister, Maud, just beside her. This was a lazy day, and Pinkie was more than content to just lay in the grass and watch clouds go by. Maud was warm against her, which left Pinkie feeling safe and a bit drowsy.

“This… is wonderful,” Maud deadpanned.

“It is, really. This is like the perfect spring day.”

“No foals,” Maud continued in stolid tones. “No husband. No adorable manticore ransacking the house. No having to chase after Sly. Notes? Forget about them. Proofreading my geology lecture? Nope. This… this is wonderful.”

“Is it rough being married, sister of mine?” Pinkie asked.

There was no immediate response, just a long near-silence. Birds were chirping, singing, revelling in the glorious spring. The meadow bells were ringing as the soft breeze made them sway. Pinkie could never quite figure out how a plant could ring, but with magic, anything could happen.

“A part of me is still a solitary creature,” said Maud, her words slow and measured. “I would never want to give up what I have, but sometimes—”

“Maud, do you want me around?” Pinkie Pie felt bad about her sudden outburst, but she had to know if her sister needed some alone time. It sure sounded like it.

“No, this is fine.” Maud’s deadpan was as reassuring as always. “I miss Limestone and Marble.”

“I’m starting to hate Limestone—”

“Pinkie Pie, don’t say that,” Maud said in a big-sisterly sort of way that somehow was discernible through her deadpan words.

“She’s always working, Maud. Always. Always, always, always. She never has time for me anymore. It hurts.”

“Sorry, Pinkie.”

Rolling over onto her side, Pinkie threw one foreleg over her sister’s barrel and rested her head against Maud’s left foreleg. Grass stains were of no concern and she wiggled around a bit before she found a comfortable position. Closing her eyes, Pinkie snuggled up against her sister and then went still.

“Now I feel guilty.”

“Why do you feel guilty, Maud?”

“I have trouble making time for you,” she replied, her voice low.

“We do family stuff,” Pinkie said, hoping to make her sister feel better.

“But we don’t get sister time like we used to.” Maud sighed, a heavy, breathy sound, almost like a geological epoch passing by all at once.

“The family time satisfies.” Pinkie sucked in a deep breath and remembered back to when she and her sisters were foals. Those were happy times—happy times that had been cut short because she had left home. Though her eyes were closed, she squeezed them shut a little tighter, because she felt guilty.

She had left them.

“When did everything get so complicated?” Pinkie asked her sister, though she did not expect a satisfactory answer.

“We can’t stay little and uncomplicated forever,” Maud replied.

Scowling, she rubbed her cheek against the course sleeve of her sister’s smock. Lately, there had been far too many reminders that she had grown up, and that life was a lot less fun. In truth, sometimes the parties felt a little stale, and Pinkie knew that she was having to resort to crazy, over-the-top stuff more and more often just to keep them interesting.

She didn’t want things to change, and yet, change they did.

More and more, she wanted meaning in her life, but there was none to be found. She had no idea where to even begin looking. Everypony else had grown up and had embraced adulthood, while she struggled to hold on to some sense of eternal foalhood. The love of her life didn’t feel very loving and she couldn’t even recall when they had spoken last.

It might have been a year or more.

All of Pinkie’s complicated thoughts collapsed into an untidy mental pile as her eyes opened. Something… she felt a twitcha-twitcha as her Pinkie Sense made her body convulse. This was new, something unknown, and she had no idea what her body was telling her. Butterflies in her tummy, kickity-kicks in her buckers, a twitcha-twitcha in her dock… and fear.

Overwhelming fear.

“Maud…”

“Yes, Pinkie?”

“We’re in trouble, Maud!”

“What is it, Pinkie?”

Lifting her head, she could feel the sensation overtaking her. She couldn’t recall a time when her Pinkie Sense had behaved like this—ever. She could recall with total, perfect clarity when Nightmare Moon had returned. When Discord broke free. She had vivid memories of Tirek’s rampage—but she couldn’t remember ever feeling quite like this.

Maud sat up, and then stood up. Her smock was mussed, covered in grass and pink hairs. Pinkie looked up at her sister, and saw Maud’s jaw clench. Whatever this was, Maud felt it too. Pinkie had trouble standing up, but was pulled up to her hooves by her best sister friend. Her tail had a mind of its own and it was shaking so hard that things were falling out of it, things like her favourite measuring cup, some party favours, and her most favouritest, most-bestest vibrator, the Carrot-Quiverer Four-Thousand.

How embarrassing!

“Say, I purchased one of those for Octavia just this Hearth’s Warming—”

“Maud, no… we can’t talk about this. Not now, not ever!”

“Hang on, Pinkie. Something is coming.”

“Could you not say ‘coming’ just after seeing my carrot?”

“Never change, dearest sister, never change.” Bracing her legs, Maud stood resolute against whatever was coming.

Pinkie Pie wrapped her forelegs around her sister’s neck and held on for dear life, not knowing what would happen next. The roar of wind could be heard—and something tickled Pinkie’s nose. Even though she had only caught the merest whiff, she wanted to stuff her face down her neckhole somehow for safe keeping, because something smelled bad. Worse than changing Pound and Pumpkin’s diapers. Or Sly’s diapers, when he had tummy troubles.

Something awful blew though the meadow, wilting the flowers and causing the grass to go limp. Pinkie’s eyes watered, and as much as she didn’t want to, she kept sniffing. She just couldn’t help herself. The stink was indescribable, quite unlike anything she had ever smelt. She breathed it in, as if she was determined to destroy herself, and her frenzied mind tried to give names to the felonious, feculent funks assaulting her pie-sniffing holes.

This was worse than Rainbow Dash all covered in garbage, and grew stronger with each passing second. It was a hot, moist reek that defied all attempts at description, and its sheer, suffocating nature caused all of the curls in her mane to go elsewhere, some distant land that was free of stink. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her eyes flowed, and her salivary glands flooded the weird fleshy places just beneath her tongue.

As the indeterminable stench intensified, Pinkie Pie felt a lot less pinker.

“Make it stop!” she cried while she desperately clung to her sister’s neck.

But the stench had no limits, and it did not stop. Something about it vaguely reminded Pinkie Pie of Sweetie Belle’s cooking, but that was just about the only thing she could make out. It was as if Sweetie had made skunk soufflé—soufflé au moufette. Pinkie Pie realised that it fell upon her withers to have that long, much-needed talk with Sweetie Belle about her cooking.

Tears were streaming down Maud’s face and Pinkie felt her sister’s knees wobble. How bad did something have to smell to affect her sister in such a way? Maud was sniffling now, and gritting her teeth together. Pinkie held on, determined to ride out the stink storm, but she wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take.

And then, as suddenly as it had began, it was over. Either that, or her pie sniffer had lost all sense of smell. She sniffed, and there was nothing. All around her was wilted flowers, limp grass, and stunned butterflies who lay on the ground, helpless. Pinkie blinked and peered around while a flood of tears continued to run down her cheeks.

“Is it over?” she asked.

“It will never be over,” her wobbly-kneed sister replied.

“Maud… we have to go tell Twilight that there’s an evil stink loose in Ponyville.”