//------------------------------// // Twitter & Torch Mobs // Story: Unity // by Admiral Biscuit //------------------------------// Twitter and Torch Mobs While Chell was catching up with Derpy, Sparkler, and Dinky; while Torch Song was reconsidering some of her recent life choices; while Jean-Louis Hardouin Michelin de Choisy and KitKat were coming to an agreement; while Rarity and Twilight were on their way to investigate a murder scene, the news of said murder was being tweeted all over Ponyville. No, Fax Machine Spike wasn’t being gossipy: he hadn’t even been home at the time. Starlight Glimmer and Trixie were talking about kites—euphemistically—and all the servants who logic would suggest must live in the castle or at least work in the castle to keep things functioning, keep things clean, etc. keep their muzzles shut if they know what’s good for them. Owlowiscious was fast asleep on his perch. In Ponyville, ‘a little bird told me’ is often quite literal. A chickadee overheard and told his mate, which other birds overheard, and the news spread quickly in the non-pegasus avian community. For some it was a trivial bit of gossip—as long as there were seeds to be had, the chickadees could really care less what the ponies did. When the news hit the vultures, it reopened a philosophical debate. Was it okay to eat a dead pony? The general consensus was yes, but with criteria attached. Other ponies should be notified (but a few quick mouthfuls were okay before notification, gotta have some strength for flying, after all), the body should be treated with decorum, unattached parts were fair game but anything attached to the main corpse should be left alone, etc. Crows and other corvids were of the opinion that as long as there were more of them than ponies, a body was fair game, so while the vultures were philosophizing they simply flew off to feast while the feasting was good. 🦅🦅🦅 Fluttershy wasn’t the only pony who could understand the birds. There are at least two ponies in G4 canon who have a bird in their cutie mark, others that have feathers, or eggs, and as we’ve well-established by this point, what a pony’s cutie mark means is kind of vague and open to interpretation. Fluttershy’s got insects, she can talk to birds; so would a pony named ‘Natural Deduction” who has a bumblebee also be able to talk to birds and put the pieces together, so to speak? Whoever it was that first heard the news, it wasn’t long before it became the gossip on everpony’s ears. Who was dead? Who had killed them? By the time Rarity and Twilight Sparkle got back to the murder scene, there was a list of a few dozen local ponies that nopony had seen in a while, along with a few false alarms: the boutique was closed; was it Rarity? Torch Song had gone off into the wilderness to look for flowers, and she wasn’t home. . .  💢 Jean-Louis Hardouin Michelin de Choisy, as he called himself, wasn’t worse than the wizard. His name was a mouthful; KitKat just rolled off the tongue, even “The Wizard” wasn’t bad (the wizard was bad, but ‘The Wizard’ wasn’t bad to say, even if it was describing the worst wizard KitKat had ever known [sample size: 1]). There were a half-dozen shorter names he could have chosen if he’d not wanted to monologue any time he introduced himself. “Jean,” maybe, or “Michelin,” or even “de.” She never introduced herself by her full given name: KitKat Trademark Nestlé S.A. His biggest flaw was his enthusiasm for his fossils, and the fact that just when she thought he’d run out of pockets full of fossils he produced another pocket and it had fossils in it, too. One could argue that as an adventurer (probably a Ranger in D&D rules) she could be involved in the first stage of fossilization: a dead body. After that, though, it was beyond her interest, unless that body later produced vengeful kin or a torch mob. Finally, KitKat could take it no more. “What do you want?” He blinked. Academic fund-raising was never this much on point. “Uh, I guess a guide to get me back home, maybe carry some samples for me.” She’d heard his tale of how he got here (the very brief version, before he started showing off his swag). “Last time I went to your planet, I got chased by a Kum and Go clerk with a shotgun, so it’s gonna be a hard pass on any more portal-jumping. I can toss rocks after you, though. And I can guard you while you’re here.” “It’s a deal.” Jean-Louis Hardouin Michelin de Choisy stuck his sample bags back into one of many pockets and bumped her hoof. 📝 While at first, speculation revolved around who was dead, it quickly turned to who dun it? Certainly not a pony, that was what some of the quickly riling up crowd thought. A monster! Maybe it was a pony, others thought. Not a Ponyvillian, of course, nopony in Ponyville would murder a pony. However, those bastards in Pearville, well, that was just like them. [One might speculate that some of the Apple clan started that rumor, but that’s not true. They just didn’t do anything to stop it once it was started.] Thus it was that two torch and pitchfork mobs began forming. One had their sights set on the nearest thing to a monster that they’d seen recently—Chell. The others had their sights set on Pearville. Torches and Pitchforks did brisk business that afternoon. It was run by a Lithumaneian mare named Molotov; she had the only business in town that was built of three layers of brick, had a slate-tiled roof, and steel shutters for the windows and doors. Some thought that was overkill; she thought that was just good business. Also not judging ponies when they felt the need to visit en masse and buy up torches and pitchforks. She did mark up prices when there was a run, though. Somewhere on the outskirts of Ponyville Speaking of mobs, there was an angry mob of crows around the 'murder scene' Twilight regarded the murder scene with a frown. On occasion, she’d direct that frown in Rarity’s direction. She was gathering evidence, and in the process of gathering evidence she was coming ever closer to being her own one-mare torch mob—when she could set herself aflame, kirin-like, there was no need for a pitchfork. Like the kirin, Twilight had learned to control her emotions. That was one of the hallmarks of a good leader. Only let the beast free when it was absolutely justified; in all other times be as placid as a stone. A stone. She ground her teeth and snorted then took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and shoved her raging emotions back inside, to be dealt with later in a more productive manner. A moon-cursed stone! One more breath, put it all inside, the placid smile on her face ready to shatter at any moment. Much like . . . well, like a stupid REDACTED REDACTED rock that her good REDACTED friend—her REDACTED overreacting drama queen friend had claimed was a space for rent murder victim because some REDACTED REDACTED with tassels had cursed her to think it was a huge REDACTED diamond and apparently that REDACTED curse had never quite worn off, who cared if it was a diamond or a rock or a Faust-REDACTED peach. “Rarity?” Her voice was dangerously sweet. “You see, Tom is—” “Tom is a redacted rEdAcTeD REDACTED rock! Not a defunct pony, not a REDACTED other sapient, not even a REDACTED snake, a ROCK. With chips out of it.” “Him.” “With chips out of him. He’s a rock, he’ll be FINE.” Rarity scoffed. “Easy for you to say, you don’t have chips out of you.” With an audible screech and a very distinct smell of burning metal, Twilight’s mental processes came apart, one final fweeeee tapering off as the machinery of her mind dynamically disassembled. She stood stock-still for an entire minute as Rarity prattled on. The sounds came in one ear, and then just bounced about in the void until they were totally lost. Her eyes were unblinking, unfocused, and she even forgot to breathe. For that minute, it was as if Twilight were stone as she mentally ascended to a higher plane or perhaps a lower one. Finally, her mouth opened. Not in the manner of making speech; it just dropped open and words came out from somewhere, as if she’d swallowed a Bluetooth speaker and the latest hit song from Countess Colortura was playing and she just wanted to share it with you. What she intended to say was: “Rarity, I love you like a sister and we’ve been through a lot together and I feel like we have a mutual trust and respect for each other; as such I am not cursing you to tartarus or worse for leading me to believe that there was a dead pony when in actual fact it’s your pet rock who has a few pick-marks in him. Had you not lured me her on false pretenses, I would have been more inclined to ask around and see who was fossil-hunting on what is debatably your property and also debatably imbued with chaos magic, and I might ask you why you keep him out here if you value him so highly, but that’s neither here nor there. I’m a smart pony and sometimes an empathetic pony, maybe you felt he’d fare better with his rocky kin. I don’t fully understand it, but then I don’t fully understand the Pies either and they seem to make it work . . . well, all their daughters have different issues but then don’t we all?” What she actually said was “Gaaaah.” Which we all know is a phrase Rarity has used.