//------------------------------// // No, You! // Story: Cutie Mark Camp Blues // by Moonbeam Thought Writes //------------------------------// Incident Response: 032A To: Parliament Member For The Party Of Equestrian Youth Safety, Scootaloo Re: Site 001: Everfree Scootaloo. I have been trying to reach you about your extended warranty regarding the most recent Incident I have had to deal with. This Incident is the latest of five specifically in Cutie Mark Camp Everfree. I’m sure you remember the very first incident, Rumble’s takeover of the camp. It was our early days of the camp, and far less complicated ones. In any case, I we need to talk to you about this incident. ‘We’ being Sweetie and me. And please, FOR THE LOVE OF CELESTIA, DO NOT BRING HONEY TONGUE I hope this letter finally gets a response finds you well, Applebloom Apple. Three weeks earlier Another day dawned upon the Everfree, the sun’s gorgeous light filtering through the thick canopy of trees. Trees that Foggy Bramble strolled through, humming. The Everfree truly was lovely during the day. All of the hard-to-see-through gloom dissipated under the glare of the sun and creepy noises seemed to fade into nothingness, leaving a sunny, peaceful congregation of trees and shrubbery. Foggy loved the forest. Even at night, she thought it was one of the most beautiful sets of woods she’d been in. The White-Tail Woods and Hayseed Swamp just couldn’t compare. Foggy may have been an earth pony, but even she could feel the magical energies running deep beneath the soil, like a song played loudly, though far away; like a tune carried across the breeze. Foggy Bramble had been in these woods at night before. Both when it was a normal night, and when the forest was lit by the mesmerising light of the full moon. A break in the trees allowed her to see the back of one of the cabins, standing out starkly against the snow with dark wood and shadowed eaves. The Mahogany Cabin. Crimson Thorn. The very mare Foggy so hated was standing with a snow-shovel gripped in her, frankly unnatural, magic around the side of the cabin. Just seeing Crimson set Foggy’s blood boiling. The sheer amount of bucking crap that awful mare put her through every camp was enough to have even the most patient of the ELEMENTS OF HARMONY furious. Not just snide remarks and potshots, either. Foggy had awoken one morning to discover her cabin swarmed with locusts, and on another occasion, all her winter gear had gone missing, before being discovered floating in a block of ice in the lake. Both times Crimson had vehemently denied any connection. Foggy knew it had been her. Both times Thorn had smelled like alcohol, treachery, and lies. ‘Chink. Chink.’ The snow-shovel hit the snow again, and again, and again. It was beyond aggravating. With a silent sigh, Foggy Bramble turned her back, and walked back into the Everfree. The two could butt heads later. She just wanted to enjoy her walk through the forest. I pushed my plate around tiredly. It was the second day of camp, and a reminder that the first day had been fruitless. No cutie mark. No mystical picture painted magically onto my flank. No discernible future. At least one pony had gotten theirs. An excitable sunshine-coloured filly, with an orange striped maroon beehive of a mane, and a fresh cutie mark of a fireball. She had asked to be sent home early, to show her parents, and so the Cutie Mark Express had chugged into the station, the makeshift platform reconstructed for it’s arrival. And with that, there was only fourty-nine young fillies and colts still searching for their purposes. How delightful. A pin-laden silvery-grey woollen beanie sat lopsidedly atop my head, and my blue scarf was once again settled snugly around my shoulders. Vig sat across from me with an oversized plum-coloured hoodie and a pair of cloud-shaped sunglasses. She had flopped forward onto the table almost as soon as she had sat down, the plate of maple-syrup topped pancakes sitting untouched beside her. I was tempted to nudge her with a hoof, but I figured ‘just let her sleep’. The both of us had stayed up the night before, as Bright Stream had insisted on taking a group out for a night-time hike. In the Everfree forest. Cobblestone had volunteered as well as Vig and I, but he was somehow as full of energy as always. And wearing a, frankly, odd knit sweater. It was a bright violet, with little crocheted blue butterflies flying across it. I didn’t have a problem with it, it was just odd on him, contrasting his reptilian eyes and sharp teeth. Plus the blue crocheted beret on his head was sitting at a disconcerting tilt. I gave up on my pancakes, of which I had only eaten half, and were now cold. Why had I opted to do that hike? It hadn’t been all night, but the forest was Twilight-damned hair-raising after dark. And the part I remembered with what may have been the most terror, the silhouette of a mare, a familiar mare, standing at the edge of the forest with glinting eyes and a mane flowing eerily in the biting wind. Foggy Bramble. Her words had echoed in my head at that moment. ‘You shouldn’t be leaving your cabin at night. The Everfree becomes especially dangerous when night falls’ And those same words had repeated in my head throughout the hike. When we finally got back, the words had followed me into my dreams. Resulting in a night of terrible sleep. Oof. “Goooooood morning Campers!” I slowly turned to the front of the hall. The platform that was usually constructed just for the Cutie Mark Express had been moved to the front of the hall, and put to good use by the Group Leaders, one of whom was standing on it, shouting to the rest of the hall. It was the griffon, Gybh, I think her name was? With a cheerful mustard-yellow poncho and another flower crown, this one made of large paper daisies. “I hope you had a restful night’s sleep, because today we are in for so many more exciting activities! First, we have pottery with Foggy Bramble out in the craft studio, stitching in here with Crimson Thorn, an obstacle course outside with Bright Stream-“ A collective groan rose up from the lunch hall at this, and Gybh waited patiently for it to finish, before continuing. “-and I’ll be taking a group for campfire storytelling!” She declared jubilantly. Vig raised her head at that, blinking blearily. Her sunnies were askew on her face, and the hood of her, well, hoodie was pulled up over her mane, which stuck out at odd angles under the hood. “Aight. I’m going for spooky campfire stories. Who’s with me?” She said sleepily. “Jeez Vig, what’s got you so tired?” I asked. “When my sleep schedule gets disrupted, my sleep schedule gets disrupted.” “Not really an explanation, but ok I guess” I muttered. Turning to Cobblestone, I saw that he was grinning excitedly. “Campfire stories?” “INDEED! I shall be a BARD!” He proclaimed. “Alright then. We’ll all do it together.” Vig faceplanted back onto the bench with a sigh. It had rained overnight, evident in the crunch of ice under Gybh’s talons in every step. Granted, it was only a thin layer over a powdery expanse of snow, but it did crunch. And it crunched, over and over, as she worked it in her talons, watching the fire flicker hopefully in front of her. The campers were still in the lunch hall, deciding what activities they wanted to do. Leaving Gybh out in the snow, with a slowly dwindling campfire, and nothing to do but wait. A thought occured to her, and she reached up to touch her flower crown, making sure it was still intact. The paper daisies used to make it were pretty fragile, even for a winter-blooming flower. Gybh could see the obstacle course from her position, Bright Stream was perched on one of the ropes, smoothing his mane in what appeared to be a hoofheld compact mirror. Bright was always so self-conscious, even if he tried to be confident. She knew he still blamed himself, even if Incident 031D had happened years and years ago; eight years to be exact. Tartarus, the memory was still fresh in the front of her mind. Shaking her head, Gybh smiled and turned to throw a bundle of kindling into the flames. They roared back to life with her offering, licking gleefully at the stones ringing the edge of the pit. Light and laughter spilled out of the lunch hall as the heavy doors swung open, and a crowd of fillies and colts drifted out, separating to their chosen groups. A steady rivelet of ponies walked on towards Gybh, so she put on her best smile, and threw another bundle of tinder in the campfire. Campfire stories was always one of Gybh’s favourite activities. The sheer amount of creativity that went into some of the stories was enough to have earned more than one cutie mark during all her experience at the camp. The fire was surrounded by logs, cut in half and polished to make seats around the campfire. They had been a gift from a colt who’d found his talent for woodworking at the camp, and had served their purpose dutifully ever since. And now a new set of campers took their seats, making small talk and sitting with their friends. Ten fillies, colts, and halflings gathering around the fire, ready to try for a talent in storytelling. “Hello and welcome, lovely ponies! Thanks for choosing to do campfire stories here with me! And to start off, I’ll go first, give you an example. Have you ever heard the legend of The Clockwork Witch? No? Then let me begin…” The Clockwork Witch It was a dark, stormy night. The wind howled and bit at the dark castle, looming high on a cliff top, lightning forking and striking the spires. Inside the castle, behind the stained glass window of the highest turret, was a mare. She was cruelly beautiful, and beautifully cruel. Her coat was black as pitch, and her mane brassy and shiny like copper. Her eyes shined with the light of forgotten knowledge, though they were as obsidian orbs in her skull. She had no mark upon her flank, save for a single image: A clockwork heart. It wasn’t her cutie mark, but had simply appeared one day, her actual mark fading into nothingness soon after. When she smiled, she showed titanium teeth, and when she laughed, it was high-pitched, metallic and hollow. When she cried, it was not tears, but oil flowing from her eyes. She couldn’t scream, not anymore. When she did, it came out as a weird clicking, clacking noise, like machinery breaking. She had once been a normal pony, just like you or me. That was before the clockwork heart had appeared on her, mirroring the change that had been made within, a heart of cogs and pistons, that couldn’t beat in a rhythm or have blood flow through it. Not anymore. Why did she have a heart of gears and metal? What did she do? How was she still alive? In truth, she wasn’t. A hollow shell of metal, lies, and pure, uncontrollable, magic. It was this magic that kept her heart going. This magic that had made her a cruel shell of a mare. This magic which with she tinkered every day, drinking bubbling potions and screeching eldritch curses. Curing plagues and hexing the innocent. Communicating with towering golems and breathing out noxious gases. Laughing, crying, grinning, and snarling. But never truly alive, beyond the foul magics she used to enact her dark will on the world. Living but not living, a breathing but not breathing, alive but terribly, irrevocably dead. A clockwork witch, in her fortress of dark magic and terror. She patrolled her castle, hordes of rats, each with their own little clockwork ‘augmentations’ doing her every piece of bidding. The storm outside never stopped, constantly brimming with lightning and deep, booming thunder. Guards stood deathly still at all corners of the castle, steam-powered golems of obsidian marble and gleaming metal. She was in control. Of everything that entered the castle, at least. The ponies that entered never came out. Her dungeons could always use a few more prisoners. The ponies ensnared within never lasted long enough. Gybh finished her story with a cackle, taking note of the wide-eyed stares and blatant shock. Why were creatures always so shocked when she showed off her love of the macabre? Didn’t everycreature like a little horror, no matter how cliché’d it was? Maybe she should stop wearing so many bright colours. “Ok then! With that little taste of what we’re doing, who wants to go next?” A filly with a plum coloured hoodie caught Gybh’s attention. She was asleep, her head lolled to the side and cloud-shaped sunglasses obscuring her eyes. But Gybh didn’t need to see her eyes to know she was asleep. “Ok, the filly with the purple hoodie, you’re going next!” She announced. “Huh- uh- what? Me? Um well.. uhhhh.” The filly awoke with a start, her head snapping forward and sunglasses sliding forward on her face. “Uhm… uh, have you guys heard of the Jungle Of Venom? This is that story.” Cobblestone wriggled in his seat, waiting for his turn. It had been eight ponies before him (and who he assumed was a half-zebra, based on her striped Mohawk), and he was more than ready to dazzle all of them with his story. The half-zebra finished her story with a shout, rattling the various gold bracelets and necklaces as she did so. “And he was never seen AGAIN!” The group clapped politely, even though it was, in Cobblestone’s opinion, pretty lacklustre. Nopony had gotten a cutie mark yet, and he was hopeful it would be his day, his time, his moment. This would be it. Time to shine! “I’ll go next. I’ll bet you haven’t heard about The Gate of The Elysian Fields. It’s a very… interesting story. That is, if you think you can handle it!” He looked around in anticipation, only to get a few bored nods and half-hearted smiles. Vig was asleep again. Her story had just been a mindless bloodfest, like a twelve-bit-entry Friday Night Slasher Showdown at the local theatres. His was going to be so much better! Lunchtime. Again. And not one bit richer in the cutie mark department. I picked at my meal, chatting with Cobblestone and Vig, but not really paying attention to anything. It was just small talk, anyway. I sighed. Campfire stories had been fun, but it had just turned into a competition to one-up each other’s scary stories. Group leader Gybh hadn’t exactly helped, what with her ‘clockwork witch’ story. Vig’s story had been survival horror. And a bloody story too. Cobblestone had told one about a stallion who made a deal with Tirek. Which, against all odds, had been pretty damn good. My ‘tragic romance between an alicorn and a mortal mare’ hadn’t been that good, but then again. The hall fell silent, save for two voices, loud and bitter above the rest. I stopped talking, and turned to the direction of the voices. Foggy Bramble and Crimson Thorn. “I CAN’T DEAL WITH YOU RIGHT NOW, BRAMBLE, I JUST CAN’T. JUST LEAVE ME THE BUCK ALONE!” “OH, EX-CAH-YOOSAH-ME MISS HIGH AND MIGHTY THORN! AFTER WHAT YOU DID TO MY CABIN ROOM, YOU HAD BETTER SHUT THE BUCK UP, AND SIT THE BUCK DOWN!” “PLEASE, YOU AND ME BOTH KNOW IT WASN’T ME, BUT YOU WOULDN’T KNOW, YOU’RE JUST A STUPID MONGREL!” “BACK THE BUCK OFF FOSSIL, I CAN SMELL YOUR LIES. DON’T THINK YOU CAN LIE TO ME, DUMBASS!” “Stop it! Both of you stop it! Take your stupid rivalry OUT. SIDE. NOW. I’m not going to say this again, Crimson, Foggy, get out of this hall, and don’t come back until you’ve cooled the buck off!” Sage Mercy stepped in between the two of them. In all honesty, there had been only a few times she’d been so scared for her life before. But fighting in front of the children? Unacceptable. Unharmonious. She had only seen the two of them fight like that twice before. She’d had to step in both times, and both times she had slept with her doors and windows locked, her lights on, and her sheets up over her head. Sage knew that she’d do it again that night. It couldn’t be helped, really, and the deadbolt on her door was just anther price of evidence testifying to this. She shepherded the bickering mares out the door, throwing an apologetic look to Bright Stream over her shoulder. He nodded appreciatively back at her. Sage pushed the pair a few steps further, before retreating back to the lunch hall and slamming the doors. “THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, BRAMBLE! WHY, IF IT WASN’T FOR YOU-” Sage put her hooves over her ears, and walked quickly out of earshot of the ponies beyond the door. Let the two fight it out. Let them settle their score, and intervene (again) if it came to blows. It’d be safer with them out there, and all the campers inside. Worst case scenario: they kill each other, and the camp hires less… dangerous employees. It’d be ok. It was just another tiff with no longstanding effects. At least, Sage Mercy hoped it would be. Time to leave lunch and set up the floodlights around the Residential Nurse’s Cabin. She could eat her daisy sandwich later.