//------------------------------// // Why not, magical horse rhyming // Story: Schadenfreude HATES MAGIC // by Daemon McRae //------------------------------// As Twilight had gone off on her Mystical Forest Disney Adventure(TM) by herself, Sunset was left alone in the castle library with me. As such, she had deemed it necessary to not untie me. Which was not wholly unwarranted. Distressing, but mildly understandable. Up until- “I’m serious, Sunny, I’s GOTS TO GO.” “I’M TRYING,” Sunset growled, one of the leather straps in her teeth. She quickly spit it out after a few more tugs. “I’m sorry I don’t have the magical finesse to get you out without shocking you- again, my bad- but seriously, who in their right mind ties somepony down like this?” She grumbled, biting another strap and tugging at it with renewed vigor. “I guess that would depend on the pony being tied down and the pony doing the tying,” I mused, well, more grumbled. “I mean, this isn’t even the fun kind of-” “Do NOT. Finish that sentence when I am trying to UNtie you. Seriously, I don’t need to know. EVER,” she added with a renewed tug. Which, surprisingly, (and after about five minutes of trying) broke the strap. At which point she stopped to stare at it. “... Look, I’m all for admiring your handiwork, but pur-leeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaasssssssseeeeeeeeeeeeee GET ME OUT OF THIS CHAIR.” She glared at me. “I’m TRYING to figure out how these straps come undone the easy way, you tumble-dried wank-sock.” I froze entirely in sheer awe at both the ingenuity of the insult and the readiness in which it was delivered. “How long, exactly, have you been waiting to use that one?” “Since the Fall Formal. Now hold still, I think I’ve got it. God, you’re like a child sometimes.” “...I am a child. All the time.” She paused and blinked, just as the next strap popped open. “Oh, right. I... tend to forget when I’m here.” “Understandable. I’ve already forgotten what normal color pallets are,” I conceded. “I mean, how do you even keep it straight in your head?” “Honestly?” she said, popping a leg free, “I don’t, all the time. It’s why I don’t make regular visits here. You basically have to relearn half of everything every time you change dimensions, even for a short time period. Doing it over and over again? I’d probably go nuts. Also, yes, even I find the pastels grating.” “Oh, come on,” said the familiar voice of a returning Twilight, “They’re not that bad.” Another pony, or, actually, zebra, trotted in behind her, but before she could get a word out, there was one last POP as the last strap broke free, and I tore through the room like a cat in a cucumber bathtub. “Sorrygottausethebathroomhellostripeyhorsenothingrhymeswithpurpleseeya!” ---------------- The laughing would not stop. Three grown-ass women, not a one of them taking this seriously. “Yes, yes, get it out of your system,” I grumbled, climbing back onto the couch, which was now slightly taller from my newly female perspective. “I... I mean... were you able to get it out of your system?!” Sunset howled, pounding a hoof on the carpet. “Yes, and it’s a good thing horses pee outside.” Twilight was doubled over in an armchair. “Y-yes, but not usually at the same time!” “No, that is a rather unusual situation, having to change genders mid-stream, I agree.” Zecora, it seemed, had enough self-restraint to stand up, but was still greatly amused. “I agree with my friends both orange and purple, I’m surprised you did not urinate on your curple.” “I...wait, what? That is not a word. Tell me that’s not a word,” I groaned. Twilight nodded, still giggling. “It’s the curve of a horse’s rear-end. So yes, not only does something rhyme with purple, you came to the one universe where everyone knows what that word is,” she chided. I rolled my eyes. “God I hate horses. And magic. This day sucks.” Zecora raised an eyebrow at me. “How does one despise such a native idea? Such discordance would surely disrupt one’s paideia.” Twilight smirked at me. “Paideia means-” “The training of ones mental and physical self to achieve an enlightened state in harmony with ones cultural development. Yes, I paid attention in Greek Lit. And to answer your question, Oh Wise Witch of the Woods, I’m not native,” I explained, before either of the unicorns in the room could interrupt. “What? I would think that information is mildly important to someone trying to help with my current situation,” I emphasized, pointing an accusing hoof at my newest cruel gift from on high. While Sunset and Twilight exchanged glances, and... I don’t know, telepathy maybe, Zecora walked closer and stared at the bracelet. “This little trinket is what causes such commotion? I was hoping for a beast or some kind of magic potion. If my eyes to not decieve me and I remember true, it’s imperative we get this bracelet off of you.” “That’s what I’m saying!” I barked. Twilight’s ears perked up. “Why, do you know what it is?” “I do, but you’re not going to like the answer,” the zebra said solemnly. “This bracelet was designed by an old archaeomancer. He designed the thing for training, to ...educate young foals, but this stallion’s idea of learning was to rake one over coals. His methods were so cruel they were forbade across the land; including this awful device, once called a Penance Band.” All the mirth in the room seemed to disappear all at once. Zecora was downright grim, Sunset looked physically ill, and... well, for once, I agreed with Twiggly-Wiggly, as being the most confused people in the room. “What the buck is a Penance Band?” Twilight asked. Sunset groaned. “It’s a- *hrk* -very old-school ‘reeducation’ device designed by Peyote the Mad. In academic circles, they’re called Retraining Bangles. The idea behind them was that they would survey whoever they were attached too, determine that person’s greatest character flaw, and give them a magical challenge to overcome directly related to that flaw.” “...ok, so why did you just have to stop yourself throwing up in your mouth?” I asked hesitantly, leaning away. “Because Zecora’s right, the guy who designed them was a sadistic sociopath,” Sunset growled. “Peyote the Mad was a eugenic utopianist who believed the only way to have a peaceful, productive society was to either breed or train the flaws out of its citizens. The band doesn’t just train out your worst flaw- it trains out the next, and the next, and the next, until you’re basically stripped of your individuality and independent agency altogether. No wonder it’s been electrocuting the crap out of you, that’s exactly the kind of sick aversion tactic he’d use.” Zecora nodded. “Peyote’s ideals were as sick as described, which is why all his tactics, and that band, are proscribed.” “...wonderful. You know, I’m supposed to go to a PostCrush concert next weekend...” “ME TOO,” Sunset shouted, “Ohmigod I am gonna be SO PISSED if we miss that-” she cut herself off, as Twilight and Zecora started giving her weird looks. *Ahem* “Yes, right. Magical contraband. Bad.” ----------------------------- Surprisingly, Twilight’s library did not have any books about Peyote the Mad, which only served to further annoy the Purplest Pointiest Pony Princess on the Prairie (along with that sentence), and Zecora’s knowledge was secondhand at best. Even Sunset, who knew enough about the psycho to hate him from (apparently) 200 years away, didn’t know much about the bracelets beyond what awful torture devices they were. Which, of course, led us back to the laboratory, which had by now plenty of time to reset itself. “Well, at least we know why pony you is getting worse shocks than human you,” Sunset mused. “Or, at least, a working theory. These bracelets are probably enchanted specifically for ponies. Peyote was kind of a purist.” “Oh goody, not only am I wearing a semi-lethal brainwashing bracelet, I’m wearing a semi-lethal brainwashing bracelet designed by Horse Hitler,” I growled. Sunset recoiled. “Oh gods no. He was a psychopath, not a world leader. Think less Adolf and more The Wizard Whateley.” “Oh yes, because that makes me feel infinity better.” Twilight looked up from some machine or other to raise a cautious eyebrow. “Do I even want to know who you guys are talking about?” “NO,” Sunset and I said in unison. Which made Sunny give me a weird look. “What? There’s a big difference between talking religious philosophy and The Third Bucking Reich.” “Fair. Zecora, how are you... no, scratch that, what are you doing?” Sunset asked, having caught a glimpse of Zecora’s ‘workstation’. Which consisted of a large boiling pot, a pop-up shelf of a wide variety of plants and potions, and the largest motherfucking mortar and pestle I have ever seen in my goddamn life how did they even get that fucker in the room. “If my theories of magic and the bracelet are true, I may have a way to remove it from you. In Equestria, certain plants are like spells, much like the ones I have here on my shelves. Some are for health, and some are for humor, and some negate magic, if you believe the rumors,” Zecora explained, dropping a very poisonously colorful plant into the pot. “I swear to god if my life is saved by Dr. Freakin Seuss I’m gonna cry a little inside,” I groaned. “Which, by the way, I’ve been meaning to ask. Apologies if this seems rude- yes I’m apologizing professionals have standards, too -but the rhyming thing. Is it cultural? Familial? Congenital? I’d really rather not mock your admittedly sick verses if it’s something you can’t control, you know?” Zecora gave me a playful smile. “Do not worry yourself of your jokes and your chiding. My rhymes are a choice, not something I’m hiding. The truth is I used to speak with a stutter. The rhyming has helped smooth my words out like butter. I no longer need them, but they bring me joy. You are not the only one who likes to annoy,” she explained with a wink. “...ok, Zebras are wayyyyy cooler than you magical pastel pony losers.” “Twilight, if you want to electrocute him, I’m not looking-” “NOT AROUND MY EQUIPMENT AGAIN.”