//------------------------------// // Dying to reach the setting sun // Story: The Elements of Absolution // by leeroy_gIBZ //------------------------------// The second I woke up, I knew something was wrong. I was lying on somepony else’s couch and I was covered in something vaguely sticky and my brain hurt and I felt like throwing up and the sun was in my eyes. The first two were to be expected, and I considered them a part of my daily routine. But hangovers and sunlight were things can fuck right off as far as I’m concerned. Firstly, I had specifically engineered a spell to prevent headaches. Well, I had technically converted one used to treat Meningitis into my own personal hangover cure but the general sentiment remains. I should be feeling fine right now, not blowing chunks on Sunny’s table. Secondly, Indigo Zap is in deep shit. Legally, I don’t have the authority to execute ponies, even really annoying public nuisances with stupid headgear. But I’m sure I spin that into being self-defense. When I find that Pegasus, I am going to shove the sun up her ass. That’s right, the sun. It’s out and that’s her fault and I’m in too much pain to care about the logistics of fucking a pony with a literal celestial body right about now. After wiping my face off a blanket and then throwing it over the worst of the mess, remind me never to mix brie and brandy ever again, I set out to track down my dragon and maybe also find a shower. That and breakfast, definitely breakfast. “Good afternoon, Sunset. How’re you feeling?” Sunny said, painfully loudly, once I had walked into the storefront. “Oh, yeah. I crashed in your house. I feel like cold shit warmed up, thanks for asking. My back’s killing me and I’m awake before noon. Get me coffee.” “I thought you said you didn’t like coffee.” “Either that or Bucks Fizz but considering your level of general knowledge, I’ll go for coffee. I take it black, like my heart.” Sunny, who was apparently one of those abominations known as “morning ponies”, walked over to a coffee maker and started fidgeting with that. I started poking around the top floor of her house for a shower before I accidentally smelled my self and threw up again. Her bed was one of those four-poster things with satin sheets and fourteen pillows and a herd of stuffed animals. It looked annoyingly soft and comfortable compared to the couch. I found the shower and was just about to step into it when Sunny walked into the bathroom, carrying a mug of steaming coffee. “Don’t you knock?!” “Oh, I’m so sorry!” She said, dropping the coffee. “I really didn’t need to hear the sound of breaking glass this early in the morning.” I said, wincing. “Dearie, it’s seven in the evening. I was about to wake you up for the Winter Night Festival. After all the work you did yesterday, I didn’t think you’d want to miss it.” “What? You tellin' me I slept through an entire day? How come the sun’s still up then? It’s supposed to be the longest night of winter.” “Don’t look at me. I’m just as confused as you are. But I really think we should get going. As fashionable as being late is, Ponyville never really grew attached to that particular tradition.” I pointed to myself with a hoof. I was still covered in mud and brandy and vomit. “Thanks, but I’d rather be late than arrive looking like this.” “I could lend you a dress and perfume. It’d probably be faster than trying to shampoo all of… that out your coat.” “Fine. Just make it simple, alright? I’m not really one for frills or pomp.” Fifteen minutes later and two bottles of Trop Cher later and I could impersonate a survivor of the Great Taffeta Massacre. I was also standing outside Sour Sweet's restaurant, the place being used as a town hall while the last was being repaired or something. I guess the weird shit that lives in the forest sometimes gets out. At least, that’s what Lemon Zest said. “Well, let's get this over with,” I said, shoving through the crowd outside the building, pushing open the doors. The café was more puritan than ever, its tables and bland wall art were replaced with rows of fold-out chairs and pastel orange banners respectively. I found my seat in the front row, with a placard taped to it. S. Shimmer, Royal Diplomat to Ponyville Nice, an upgrade from Royal Parasite, which was the last thing Luna titled me. Although that was after a pretty heated argument. I may have accidentally steered the Moon a little too close to the ground and caused a tidal wave. Big deal, it wasn’t like anypony in Manehattan actually died. At least, not anypony I knew. Luna did not let me help out with heavenly bodies after that. Not even her own, a real shame considering that she made Fluer de Lis look like, well, Sunny Flare. Smolder took her obligatory place hovering a few feet above my head and the townsfolk filed in pretty quickly after that. For some reason, Sugarcoat decided to sit next to me. Luckily, she regretted that decision. “What happened to you? Did you fall in a trough of pig slop before coming here?” She asked, crinkling her nose. “It’s called Trop Cher, dearie. It’s terribly vogue.” Sunny piped up from behind us. “I’m sure the pigs must love it. But please, next time actually bathe before attending an official government ceremony. Some people look forward to these things, you know.” “I pity them. This the lowlight of my month.” “Then keep your mouth shut. You might learn something. That and your breath stinks worse than the rest of you.” “Hey, at least I can actually pull off the ‘ungroomed beauty’ look. You just look like a rat who wasted her night correcting some snot-nosed brat’s homework.” Sugarcoat adjusted her glasses. Usually, insulting somebody’s career gets a bigger rise out of them. I guess I’ll have to dig deeper. “For your information, I was discussing the script with my assistant. She had slipped in some rather unorthodox edits.” “Hear that, everypony? Sugarcoat here spent all night slipping things into Cheerilee! Who’d have guessed, your goody-four-shoes teacher is actually a pervert!” “I will kill you. I will peel your skin like a potato. I will hammer nails into your hooves. I will-” “Shut up, both you.” Smolder interrupted, “The show’s about to start.” The dragon was right. A pink-maned Earth Pony had found her way onto the stage, accompanied by a small army of guards. She tapped the microphone expectantly until one of Lemon’s bandmates looked up from her magazine and turned it on. A wave of feedback screeched through the audience. Off to a great start. “Good evening, fellow ponies. I’m honored to welcome you to the 897th Annual Winter Night Festival. Before we commence with the festivities proper, I feel obligated to provide a brief explanation of the history behind this event, for those newcomers in our audience.” Droned the Mayor. I had suddenly realized why I was seated so far to the front. It wasn’t because I was apparently a diplomat or anything because Equestria’s actually pretty lax with seating arrangements, at least, compared to the Yaks anyway. Uptight bastards. But great fun at parties, as long as their aimed at somepony else. No, I was stuck right in front under the watchful eye of ten Royal Guards because of a little thing called my fondness for levitating stuff out of ponies’ hooves. How I wished to throw a wineglass at that idiot politician. Boring. Or maybe at one of her bodyguards. If it aimed it right, I reckon I could land it on his spear. That would certainly liven things up a bit. “… And that’s the significance of the traditional carols. Without any more ado, let’s begin.” The Mayor finished, hours later. “Two thousand and five. A personal record.” Sugarcoat whispered. “What?” Sunny asked. “Two thousand and five assorted historical inaccuracies, grammatical errors and non-fluency features. And we voted for this pony.” “What’s next then, your little play right?” I said, looking over the event schedule. It did not inspire. As if by cue, a little horde of foals stumbled and tripped their way onto the stage, covered in the gaudiest costumes I’ve seen. Seriously, these things put Luna’s own treasury to shame. There was not a single filly there not wearing a dress with at least thirty rhinestones on it. After their procession had ended along with the applause, and all of the tykes were corralled into something resembling order, the assistant teacher walked on stage. “Good evening, Ponyville. Here is our school’s play detailing the events Mayor Mare has just discussed. Hopefully, our version will be a bit more entertaining.” I hope so too. “So please, give them another big round of applause; we all worked very hard on this.” Cheerilee said, clapping herself off. “In the beginning, there were two sisters.” Lisped a narrator, “The older sister controlled the Sun. Her name was Celestia.” A filly wearing a multi-colored wig and a few pounds of costume jewelry walked on stage to yet another round of applause. She took a bow and then nodded, her fake her nearly slipping off her head as an orange disk was paraded around the stage. “Her younger sister and our Princess controlled the Moon. Her name was Luna.” Princess Luna herself proceeded to materialized on stage or, at least, her severed head did.