//------------------------------//
// Behind the (S)Laughter 
// Story: Ideas Entwined 
// by FanOfMostEverything 
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Planeswalkers, pony and otherwise, are often confused by certain parts of the worlds they visit. Ravnica, the plane-spanning city of guilds, has a lot to unpack in that regard, no part of it more notorious than the Cult of Rakdos.

One key thing to remember about the Cult of Rakdos is that… well, it's a cult. To Rakdos. Who, it cannot be overstated, is an archdemon. The Lord of Riots, the Defiler, the Final Curtain, and other such tasteful sobriquets he’s acquired through millennia of doing exactly what one might expect given those epithets.

The other thing to remember about the Cult is that it is still one of the ten pillars that keeps society on the world of Ravnica standing. In every iteration of the Guildpact, the Cult has been assigned such necessities as mining, the service industry ranging from catering to assassinations, and of course, entertainment. Not just placating the demon and keeping him dormant (or at least amused) in his semi-molten dungeon-palace of Rix Maadi, but also bringing joy and excitement to all the people of Ravnica.

Some people might insist that they prefer their joy and excitement with less blood and sharpened wrought iron, but the revues and other clubs still sell out on a consistent basis.

That's all well and good, says the tourist, but the theory's hard to bear in mind when an unscheduled parade explodes half of Foundry Street. Moreover, they add, there's the question of ponies' involvement in the guild. Ponies throughout the Multiverse are renowned for their empathy, sense of community, and general geniality. And then there are the blood-streaked, cackling revelers with more piercings than sense, cavorting in those horrific spectacles like they were a townwide musical number in a much more idyllic plane.

The best way to understand the Cult, especially how the ponies of Ravnica fit into it, is to consider one recent conversation between two friends.

“Does it not ever bother you,” said Rarity to Pinkie Pie one day at their usual cafe, “all the gore and flames and general havoc? You’ve always struck me as such a sweet mare, and I just don’t understand how you can bear to put up with that sort of thing every night, much less manage it all.”

Pinkie tilted her head and offered a lopsided grin. “Well, yeah. You’ve lived in the lap of luxury your whole life.”

Rarity gave that a narrow look over her wineglass. “And had to work off every zib.”

“Sure, sure." Pinkie paused to take a draw from her mug, which was filled with what she called "punch" and that the narrator refuses to examine in any greater detail. "But you still grew up with money up to your eyeballs in the mansion of one of the most important people in the world. Who, you know, has already lived a lot longer than humans usually do.”

“Miss Karlov has been blessed with considerable longevity, yes. I still grew up in the servants' quarters until I was old enough to be of use to her. I fail to see how that is any more relevant to your job than her bank balance.”

“Like I said, most humans—and ponies, and viashino, and especially goblins—haven’t been blessed that way. Death comes for all of us in time.”

Rarity raised an eyebrow. “I was raised by ghosts more often than the living, Pinkie. I’m the last mare who needs to be reminded of that.”

“Yeah, but that inevitability is what makes life precious. And knowing that your bomb-juggling tightrope act over lava could end in a disaster folks will be talking about all week…" Pinkie trailed off and sighed, her smile much more sedate than her usual manic grin. "You get to go out knowing that you took everything life had to offer until it had to cut you off. You go without regrets.”

That prompted a hint of a smirk. “Other than ‘Dear me, I wish I hadn’t lost my balance,’ I assume.”

Pinkie giggle-snorted at that for several seconds before she could gather herself. “Yeah, other than that. It’s all part of the deeper Rakdos philosophy.”

Rarity silently stared at her for the better part of a minute.

“What?”

“I’m just astonished you were able to say that last part with a straight face.”

“I was being serious!" Pinkie pouted, then paused. "Well, mostly.”

“Pinkie, you are one of the most intelligent Rakdos members I’ve ever seen, and yet I am entirely convinced that you never graduated kindergarten. You’ll pardon me if I don’t put much stock in your philosophers.”

“Sounds like somepony needs to take another trip to the Pinkie Revue.”

“As long as you don’t make me sit in the…" Rarity shuddered at the memory. "Urgh, ‘splash zone’ again. Acid stains are impossible to get out of the surviving fabric.”

The manic grin made its triumphant return. “No promises!”

And Rarity still smiled, because Pinkie was her friend, and life was all the more precious for it.