//------------------------------// // Chapter 4: "Nopony Knows the Trouble I've Seen..." // Story: The Perfect Little Village of Ponyville // by McPoodle //------------------------------// The Perfect Little Village of Ponyville Chapter 4: “Nopony Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen...” Spike stood in a cell in the underground dungeon, gripping the bars and shaking them. He’d been doing this for at least an hour. “Hey, where’s my trial?” he proclaimed to any guards who might be in earshot. “I know my rights! Where’s my lawyer?” After several more minutes of this and no response, the baby dragon allowed his eyes to wander around, taking in the wall of the hallway outside of the bars. “It’s a funny-sounding word: ‘Obey’,” proclaimed one motivational poster posted there. “A word of kindness is better than a fat pie,” read another. A particularly ancient one read “KNEEL BEFORE ZO...”, but the last word was scratched out and replaced with “Your Mayor” in a purple curlicue font. There was also this: REWARD! 10,000 Bits for the Capture of The Dreaded P.D.P. For Crimes Against Fashion (also assault, battery, theft and violation of curfew) A Word of Advice, Though: Whatever You Do, Never Look Directly At the Dreaded P.D.P.! While he was studying this sign, he heard the sound of guards descending the stairs, along with a chained captive. The prisoner, an amber-colored earth colt with a brown mane and three horseshoes for his cutie mark, was quickly divested of his chains and locked into the cell with Spike and the other prisoners. “Oh dear,” the pony said to the others in a melodramatic tone. “I sure have been a naughty pony!” The other prisoners immediately turned away from the creepy newcomer and started pretending they had something better to do. “Oh guards?” Spike called out to them sweetly as they began to leave. “What do you want?” replied one of them, a slate-blue unicorn with a white mane. As was to be expected, he was heavily dosed with Rarity’s diamond dust. “I was wondering if I could borrow some paper and a pencil—I’m trying to keep track of how many bits I’m winning from Poncho.” The pony Spike was referring to was indeed wrapped up in a plain brown poncho that completely covered his resting form, topped with a comically large sombrero. A worn guitar rested on the ground, with a long strap that wrapped around the pony’s neck. Set up next to him in a corner of the cell was a chessboard resting on a simple table, with an upended Apple Inc. cart for Spike to stand on. “Well, I don’t see any harm in that,” said the guard in a slow drawl, “but let me check my instructions.” He pulled a small folded piece of paper out of a saddlebag using his magic (accompanied by the sound of a silver whistle) and started looking it over. The items at the bottom of the list caught his attention: * I shouldn’t even have to tell this to you morons, but considering how incredibly dim you all are, do not, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, give any writing materials to the sending dragon who possesses the power to send messages to our enemies. — Applejack * P.S. Yes of course I mean Spike. Who else could I possibly mean? Idiots. — Applejack “Hmm...I dunno...” the guard pondered. “I don’t have to do anything Applejack tells me to do...” * P.P.S. Do it. — Rarity “Yes, Mistress! I mean...no paper for you, foolish traitor dragon!” Spike waited until the guards had left. “Well, I guess they aren’t as dumb as they look.” He turned around and walked back to the chessboard. “Now where were we?” Poncho replied by slowly getting to his hooves. He casually picked up his guitar, looked it over carefully, then brought it down forcefully on the table, smashing the latter to bits and sending little tiny horse figures flying in every direction. “The time for playing games is over!” he announced in a deep voice. Somberly he announced, “This cell...is full.” The other prisoners, who had acted like Poncho’s recent temper tantrum was a common occurrence, looked around and nodded as they confirmed that with the addition of the newest arrival, there were now ten occupants in the cell. “It is now time,” Poncho then said, “for us to introduce ourselves.” The stallion brought every note of drama possible into this sentence, like he was announcing the start of gladiatorial combat instead of a simple meet-and-greet. “What a lovely custom!” exclaimed the amber colt with a wide grin. “I suppose I’ll start. My name is Caramel, I enjoy goofing off when the boss isn’t looking, and I’m charged with disorderly conduct! Now how about you go next, little baby dragon?” Spike looked at Caramel like he was a being from another planet. “NO!” shouted Poncho. “That is not how you introduce yourself. In the dungeons, you introduce yourself by singing a little from the most depressing song you know. That tells the world all it needs to know about you. I will go first.” He tuned his instrument for a few seconds before suddenly belting out the following in a low baritone: I keep laffin’ Instead of cryin’ I must keep fightin’ Until I’m dyin’ And Ol’ Mare River, She just keep rollin’ along! The other ponies applauded politely in appreciation. Two things impressed Spike about this performance. First, the fact that this pony would use the word “laffin’” when it was obvious that laughter was his mortal enemy, and second that the word “Mare” could very well be “Mayor”, in which case the song doubled as political protest. Poncho removed the guitar strap from his shoulder and reverently passed the instrument to Spike. Up close, the dragon could see that the instrument had been used for smashing things at least as often as it was used as musical accompaniment. Although it was large, there probably wasn’t an instrument in Equestria that he hadn’t trained himself to play in Vinyl Scratch’s service. Slowly, Spike began to sing, plucking a complicated accompaniment on the guitar: Nopony knows the trouble I’ve seen Nopony knows my sorrow Nopony knows the trouble I’ve seen Glory hallelujah! The guitar was passed from pony from pony, although most of them just sang a cappella. “Amazing Grace” was heard, as well as “Danny Colt”. Finally Caramel got the guitar, and he began to sing in a sweet tenor voice: There is only one river. There is only one sea. And it flows through you, and it flows through me! “Come on, everypony!” he proclaimed, with a huge smile spread from ear to ear. He completely failed to notice the fact that in his enthusiastic playing he had knocked Spike over with the neck of the guitar. “May I?” asked Poncho politely, reaching for the guitar. “But of course!” replied Caramel. “After all, sharing is caring!” Poncho then picked up the guitar, and with a loud “KABONG!” used it to knock Caramel unconscious. The other prisoners nodded in approval. “Not that he didn’t deserve it,” said Spike as he got up, rubbing the back of his neck, “But wasn’t that a bit of overkill?” “You are new,” explained Poncho, as he turned towards the wall and examined his guitar for damage. “The mayor, she always plants one spy in every full cell, and the spy, he is always too happy.” “Well, if you say so,” said Spike to Poncho’s back. “But what do we do now?” “We escape,” announced the figure in the poncho, using a radically different voice from before. “Ooh, this is my favorite part!” one prisoner whispered to another. The pony turned and dramatically threw off the poncho, revealing a dark pink mare wearing an orange vest and flourescent-green bloomers, with a bright blue domino mask tied around her head. Her magenta-colored mane was long and straight. “Now who would like to ride to freedom...with the Dreaded Pinkamena Diane Pie?!” Her natural voice was at least two octaves higher than Poncho’s. The prisoners all cheered wildly, pounding their hooves on the pavement. “You’re the Dreaded P.D.P.?” Spike asked incredulously. If “Poncho” was a disguise, thought Spike, it had been so convincing as to stretch credulity to the breaking point. “The one and only,” Pinkamena replied, striding confidently over to the door of the cell and pulling a complete lockpick set out of her vest. At that moment, half a dozen guards rushed down the stairs, alerted by the sounds of cheering earlier. “Alright prisoners,” announced the slate-colored guardpony from before as he rounded the corner, “what do you think you’re doing with all this...the Dreaded P.D.P.!” Pinkamena dropped her lockpicks and attempted to buck the door open. Thanks to the general incompetence of the guards in not closing the door all the way last time, this actually worked on the first try. She then reared up on her hind legs, and turned against the Rarity-controlled guards the most powerful weapon in her arsenal: her choice in clothing. “The orange vest against the pink coat: it is wrong, so very, very wrong!” the chief guard cried out in agony. “A contemporary Appleloosan vest with Fifth Millennium bloomers! Why, Sweet Celestia, why?!” “Who would ever use that shade of green with anything???” Within seconds, the guards were so busy trying to rub the horrendous sight out of their eyes that Pinkamena was easily able to sprint past them to the stairs, followed by Spike and the rest of the prisoners. They kept running until they had escaped from City Hall altogether and had gone several hundred pony-lengths beyond the town’s border before stopping. Spike waited until all of the other escapees had thanked their rescuer and gone on their way before addressing her. “Who are you?” he asked in awe. “I am the enemy of all who would oppress the common pony!” she proclaimed proudly. “Wherever hungry ponies fight while the rich ones feast, I’ll be there! Wherever the police are beating a pony for saying things they don’t want to hear, I’ll be there! And especially, most especially, wherever one pony is telling another pony that they have to be happy even when they don’t wanna, I’ll be there! I stand for the right of every pony to be just as miserable as she wants to be!” As she said this, she removed the parts of her costume (except for the mask) and put them away in a sack she had grabbed from the hole in a nearby tree. “Oooh!” exclaimed Spike. “So you’re a masked avenger of justice, like the great Toronado!” “Something like that,” said Pinkamena. A sudden look of craftiness crept into Spike’s eyes. “You know, Toronado had a sidekick named Zorro who was always getting him out of trouble. Maybe I can be your sidekick!” The pony looked Spike over with a critical eye before turning away. “Sorry, kid. This masked avenger of justice fights alone.” “Aww...” Spike pouted for a few moments, before a new thought caused him to practically jump. “But wait! There’s somepony you need to rescue: my boss, Vinyl Scratch!” “Never heard of her,” said Pinkamena. “Has she fallen victim to the dust?” “Yes.” “She’s doomed. Better find yourself a new boss.” She turned to go. “But she’s Celestia’s personal student!” This caught Pinkamena’s attention. “Is that so? That changes things, that changes things a lot. I gotta warn you, though, she’s gonna be a regular bucking bronco from the moment we grab her until we hoof her over to the Princess.” “So you’re going to save her?” “Yup.” “Wahoo!” Spike exclaimed, jumping up and wrapping his arms around the pink pony’s neck. “No touching!” the pony yelled with a shrill voice, causing Spike to immediately spill onto the ground. She then sighed and reached out a hoof to him. “I’m sorry,” she told him as she helped him up, “I’m not used to the sorts of displays of affection everypony else uses.” “Oh...OK,” Spike said. He watched as Pinkamena pulled a pair of saddlebags out of the same hole in the tree she had used earlier, and then filled them with the sack of clothing and several other items he could not identify. “So do you have any idea where this Vinyl Scratch might be?” Pinkamena asked. “I remember hearing that she was being taken to see some pony named Applejack.” Pinkamena made a low whistle. “You sure know how to pick them, kid.” She quickly transferred some more items out of the tree. Spike could have sworn he saw a grenade or two. “Now come on. If we’re lucky, we’ll arrive just as news of the escape hits them, and they’re at their maximum state of disorientation.” “Can I ask you a question?” said Spike several minutes later as the lights of Ponyville started coming into view. “Well you can ask, but I don’t guarantee an answer.” “Why don’t you have a cutie mark?” And indeed, the pink pony was completely lacking any mark on her flank. Pinkamena snorted. “You sure know how to go straight for the jugular, don’t you, kid?” She walked on for a few moments before continuing. “I don’t have a cutie mark because I’m not following my true calling. My family...my family are rock farmers. They have a proud tradition of remaining apart from the world and never, ever laughing. According to them and the big book of theirs they had me memorize, Celestia doomed us all a long time ago, and they’re just waiting for the day of judgment, when they can point at all of the ponies who didn’t believe us and say, ‘I told you so!’ That’s where I came from, and that’s where I belong. “I came to Ponyville because of some bad luck. A pony had managed to break free of the Mayor’s control and was trying to flee to Manehattan to reveal what was going on. She just happened to stumble upon our home when she was too weak to continue. We briefly sheltered her, until Ponyville’s guards arrived and burned our farm to the ground. They succeeded in recapturing their fugitive. We all survived, but the fire...” A look of the utmost horror flickered across her eyes. “I barely made it out alive. I left the farm for the first time in my life. I went to Manehattan, and tried to get the authorities to do something, but without that fugitive, I had no proof, and my family’s reputation as prophets of doom prevented anypony from believing me without that proof. So I journeyed to Ponyville, to correct this injustice all by myself! And just as soon as I’m done, I’ll head back to my farm to spend the rest of my days, and within a week I’ll have three rocks on my flank like my mother and her mother before her, mark my words!” “And how long have you been fighting against Rarity?” he asked. “A couple of years. Wait...Rarity? Rarity the costumer? She’s the pony behind all this?” Spike laughed. “You didn’t think it was the Mayor all this time, did you?” “Well...hmm...” Pinkamena thought back. “She was always there on those times I got closest to being defeated...and I have wondered why the bad fashion thing works so well...you might just have yourself a point, there.” “See?” replied the dragon, “I’d make a great sidekick!” “Don’t push your luck, kid.” “And another thing: if you’re supposed to be a masked avenger of justice, why are you using your real name? Pinkamena Diane Pie is your real name, right?” The pink pony held her head up high. “Well of course it is! Hiding behind a fake name is dishonest!” “Then why do you wear a mask, if you’re not trying to hide something?” “Because...well, because it’s expected, that’s why!” Spike laughed. “If you say so, Pinkie Pie.” “That’s the Dread Pinkamena Diane Pie! Or P.D.P. if you’re in a hurry. That other...name, is a silly filly name!” Spike apologized for saying that name (which he had no business knowing!), and the pair continued on around the outskirts of the village.