A long time ago, I asked Clover a question. “So, what’s the plan?”
“Plan?”
“You know,” I said, “the plan. How are we going to take back the Crystal Empire? I mean, I like living a life in wealth and luxury as much as the next pony, but I want to know what we’re going to do when it reappears.”
To my great offense, Clover fell over laughing at this. When she got up, she still couldn’t banish the smile on her face, as if she knew an inside joke. “I never plan anything!” she said through heavy breaths. “Only failures plan. Supervillains plan to conquer the world with a giant laser before the heroes show up to take to jail. Bank robbers plan to break into a vault before they trigger a tripwire that’s part of the new security system. Spies plan to gather enemy intelligence before they get caught red-hoofed!”
She had calmed her suppressed laughter now and went back to the stoic sidekick I knew. “I never plan, Platinum, because plans go awry. Instead, I strategize. I adapt. This world is always changing, and I intend not to be left behind. So to answer to your question, there is no plan yet, because that’s the greatest plan of all.”
I have to admit, at the end of day, that bit was kind of inspiring. It’s pretty much the damn smartest thing I’ve ever listened from Clover. That speech helped through some rough times. It gave me the confidence that Clover would always have my back, no matter how much I pushed her around.
And let me tell you, I needed her at my back. Constantly. You’d be surprised how many close shaves she’s pulled the both of us through.
But then, I learned that there are some things you just can’t rely on one pony to solve. There are some problems that can’t be placed on the shoulders of one pony, no matter how brilliant they are.
Gather round, my listeners, because this is the greatest story that was never told. The public probably will never be ready to hear the story, but for you, I’ll make an exception. Be warned, this tale is not a happy one.
This is the story about how it all went wrong.
This is the story about how my world got shattered like a glass house in a hurricane.
This is the story about how Princess Platinum cried real tears for the first time in five millenia.
This is the story about how Clover the Clever died.
Eighty years ago...
I tossed my mane and gave a glance at the wonderful Trottingham evening sunset. I levitated my two tons of shopping bags with the horn of my latest body, named Spoiled Rotten. She was a golden-well, I was a golden-yellow unicorn with snow-white locks of hair that I often tied in pigtails.
She wasn’t exactly the prettiest face I’ve owned when she first put my soul gem on, but I changed that. I always do. Every time my choker gets inherited, I immediately get to work on the way I look. I diet. I exercise. I buy the largest makeup kit I find. I throw out my wardrobe and go on a shopping spree big enough to fuel an economy of a small country. I get a plastic surgeon on speed dial. I transform myself into a beauty queen, no matter what body I have to work with. Sometimes the makeover is so drastic, the father I have at the time does a spit take when he sees the new me. Clover says its a bit self-absorbent of me, but what does she know?
I walk up the steps to my enormous house, whistling a tune. The butler gets my bags, despite breaking his back trying to lift them. I never really knew his name, but then again, I never really cared.
“I’m home!” I said into the barren halls of our house. It’s awfully hard to keep track of my official age these days, but I believe I was thirteen at the time, judging the way my voice cracked. Nasty business, going through puberty. Absolutely horrid. I try to avoid it at every chance.
“You’re late,” said a voice. It’s Clover. She was currently living the body of my biological mother. I’d rather not explain how we came to those circumstances, mind you.
...
I sort of... lost a coin toss.
“Correction,” I retorted with a smirk, “I’m fashionably late.”
“Don’t give me that lip, young lady,” said Clover with a convincingly stern look. I think she was acting in-character because the butler hadn’t left the room yet, but I couldn’t help but suspect that she was relishing the privilege of bossing me around. “This is the third time this week that you’ve arrived home past curfew. It’s a school night, you know. Don’t think just because I have a career doesn’t mean that I’ll let you run wild every other day.”
I rolled my eyes. Clover didn’t have a career. She had a “job” where all she had to do was be famous. You see, the video camera was recently invented at the time, and Clover was one of the first silent-movie actresses. She even had a color scheme composed of shades of black and white, so she transferred onto the screen beautifully. She had the name of Guest Star, which was pretty ironic since she essentially took the leading role in every movie that she signed up for. Of course, you never had to memorize any lines for silent movies, so all she had to do was make the right faces at the right time.
And yes, I was a little bitter about it. Just a bit of harmless envy between friends.
...
Okay, I kinda hated her for it.
“Now, get dressed,” she told me, “we’re going to a dinner party hosted by my director. Let’s hope you’ve got yourself some age-appropriate evening wear.”
Actually, I bought dresses for the both of us. I levitated them out of the bags to show her.
“Why thank you, Spoiled Rotten,” she said, flashing me a smile with the perfectly-white teeth that she knew that I wanted for myself. “You’re such a sweet little angel!” She took her dress and went away to change. “Oh, and before I forget: Try not to put on too much lipstick this time. You’re still too young to look like a slut.”
The party was mediocre at best. You know that awkward feeling when your parents dragged you to one of their get-togethers and the only other children there are those of your parents’ friends, so you don’t know anypony there?
Yeah, imagine being subjected to that after you grow up.
Fortunately, Clover slipped me a juice box or two filled with champagne, so at least I didn’t have to go through it sober. Clover, you’re a lifesaver. I seriously owe you one.
Nice house, though. The director had a taste for classic architecture, making every room and hallway a marvel to look at. The carpets were decorated with maroon and gold. The mahogany tables were spotless. A candlelit chandelier hung above the buffet table. Everything was undeniably perfect.
Although, the trouble about the place was that I couldn't imagine anypony actually living here. Yes, I know how ridiculous that sounds coming from the likes of me, but even from my standards, everything was just. Too. Damn. Fragile. Don’t get me wrong, I loved living in a castle for all of my foalhood, but a castle is built to last. If you go through the trouble of spending billions of bits on your living space, you might as well make sure nothing in there breaks easily. Any one of those kids there could’ve broken everything in that house in twelve seconds flat, and they wouldn't even have to do it intentionally
As the guests with actual pubic hair ignored my attempts at small talk (presumably because they thought it was cute that I was trying to be a “big girl”), a colt stepped up to me. He was a pegasus with a baby-blue coat and a mane that flawlessly matched the color of carrots. He was wearing a white sweater-vest that he obviously didn’t want to wear and a black clip-on bowtie that was crooked enough to make me gag.
“Hey,” he said with a smile, showing some of Equestria’s first braces, “you looked a little lonely there in the corner. Whatcha name, sweetheart?”
Oh, great. He was flirting with me. I forgot that I was at the age where the colts stopped hanging a ‘no fillies allowed’ sign on their clubhouses and started listening to their hormones.
“My name,” I said, “is Spoiled Rotten. Remember it, so you can avoid it.”
“Oo, saucy,” said the colt. “I like my mares with a little spice in them. My name’s-”
“Filth.”
“...What?”
“Filth,” I repeated. “Your name is Filth. That’s all you’ll ever be. Now get out face, you worthless blank-flank.”
Okay, maaaybe I was a bit too harsh on the ‘blank-flank’ part. I guess it might be pretty rough for him, going into his tween years with no cutie mark.
Still don’t care, though. If you’re stupid enough to not figure out your special talent by then, you DESERVE to be called names.
“Wha... Duh... DO YOU KNOW WHO MY FATHER IS??” screamed ‘Filth.’
“What’s all the commotion?” said a voice from across the room. A larger, adult pegasus trots over and gives me a glare, as if I had just announced that his grandmother blew up orphanages in her spare time.
“Dad, this filly was being disrespectful to our family name!” accused the colt.
“Was she now?” the stallion said. I then recognized who he was, and mentally slapped myself for not noticing the family resemblance. The stallion was the host of the party and Clover’s current boss, Live Action.
And I just dissed his firstborn son. D’oh!
“Young lady, we’re going to have a little talk,” he said, grabbing me by the foreleg. For somepony that worked behind the camera, he really had a firm grip. With little choice in the matter, I followed him into his study. He shoved me down in his desk chair and began barking at me a mile a minute. “Just what in Celestia’s name did you think you’re doing? Who’s your mother? Do even have any idea how much trouble you’re in?”
With a calm breath, I disregarded the fact that he didn’t even know whether or not I had actually insulted anything remotely about him or his son. He wouldn't have listened to me, anyway. I knew the ponies of this part of society. Their minds were narrowed with prejudice, pretentiousness, and the delusion that they were smarter than everypony else. There was absolutely no way to reason with this dolt, so sucking up was the name of the game.
“Forgive me, Mister,” I said, putting on my ‘I’m the most innocent thing since newborn kittens’ face. “I was just seeing how pretty your house was that I bumped into your son. I’m oh-so-very sorry. Please don’t be mad at lil’ old me!” I even managed to come up with a single fake tear to trickle down my face.
Live Action stared at me with a stunned expression. I silently giggled at the look plastered on his face. I think he was in shock from being forced to feeling sympathy for the first time in years. Unfortunately, it didn’t last long.
“Who are your parents? There’ll be Tararus to pay!”
Craaaap. Clover was going to be sooo fired.
Unless...
I lit up my horn.
“What are you doing?” said an irritated Live Action. “Listen to me when I’m talking to you!”
You see, getting my soul gem from one host to another is especially tricky for me, since once I take my choker off, I lose control of my body and I’m left as a helpless piece of rock. But in recent times, I’ve been practicing a certain move where I fling the collar to another neck in one swift move. It took some practice, and I always needed to find a completely new host when I miss, but after a couple centuries, I perfected it.
I activated my levitation and made my move, aiming at Live Action’s neck. Next thing I knew, I was staring back at the other end of the desk at Spoiled Rotten, who was waking up and looking around for the first time in a long while.
“Googoo-gaga!” she blubbered.
A very long while. Better not leave her wandering around. I searched Live Action’s desktop and found a fountain pen. Perfect.
I looked at Spoiled Rotten for a moment, who in turn sucked her own hoof while a warm, yellow liquid ran down one of her back legs. Without another word, I walked over to Spoiled Rotten’s seat, quietly raised my foreleg, and brought it down with all my strength, stabbing her in the eye.
Her good eye went wide with the sudden pain. She opened her mouth to scream, but it took too long for her to comprehend how much agony she was in. Nothing came out of her throat except a small gasp of air. Within another half-second, she fell from her chest and slumped onto the floor, dead as a doornail.
“That’s for pissing in my brand-new dress, you piece of manure,” I muttered as her blood began to stain the carpet. I coughed. It was while since I had been in a stallion’s body, and the deep voice was still new to me. Oh, well. I’ll get used to it eventually.
I threw the bloody pen into the garbage bin and picked up my old body. Wow, was I really that heavy? Better lay off the cake next time. I surveyed the room, looking for a closet to store the corpse. No such luck. I pondered my options. I couldn't drag a dead, bleeding filly out of this room without anypony seeing me, couldn't I?
My eyes met an open window. I walked over to it to take a closer look. The twilight sky cast a shadow over dimly-lit lawn of Live Action’s manor, but I could make out a thick line of shrubbery surrounding the household. I was in the second-story window, so I’d have to aim carefully.
I took the body of Spoiled Rotten and dropped it out the window without a second thought. The corpse make a soft thumping sound as it hit the soil of the garden. I checked my work, seeing to my satisfaction that the body was nicely hidden among the bushes. I made a mental note to get a plastic bag and pick up Spoiled Rotten at a later time. Maybe I could dump her in a lake somewhere. Also, it might be a good idea to do it before sunrise. The neighbors might be a tad suspicious if they spot a dead filly in the bushes.
Suddenly, I heard a scream from downstairs. “CELESTIA’S FLOWING MANE, I JUST SAW A FILLY FALL FROM THE SECOND-STORY WINDOW! SOMEPONY CALL AN AMBULANCE!!!”
Buck.