//------------------------------// // *Alternate POV* That Same Winter Evening // Story: Living in Equestria // by Blazewing //------------------------------// That evening, as the snow swirled outside, swept by the winter winds, Scootaloo and Dinky sat in their bedroom, reading a comic book adaptation of Daring Do and the Cloudcrown Tower. It was part of an ongoing series of adaptations, faithful to the original books, with certain changes here and there that only served to enhance what was already exciting, or helped fill in certain plotholes that may have arisen in the books. Scootaloo was an avid reader of the series, and had recently gotten Dinky interested. Scootaloo was still giggling to herself about the trick they had played on Dave with the snowballs, and had even joked about the possibility of dropping one on his head from above, since she could fly now. However, Dinky seemed unusually preoccupied. Whenever Scootaloo looked at her, she appeared to be only half-listening, and kept losing focus as they read. Eventually, the elder sister stopped altogether. Dinky was looking at her with a little smile on her face. “Dinks? You all right?” “Yeah,” said Dinky. “You sure? You seem to keep spacing out a lot.” “Yeah, Scoot, I’m fine. I was just thinking.” “‘Bout what?” “Lots of things.” Dinky didn’t elaborate, earning her a raised eyebrow from Scootaloo. “Things?” “You know, just stuff,” Dinky said, shrugging. “Uh-huh,” said Scootaloo, nonplussed. “Like how awesome it is that you can fly.” Now that Scootaloo could understand. She grinned. “Heh, yeah. I’m still having a hard time getting over it myself.” She flexed her little wings for emphasis. “Oh, the things I can do with these babies,” she said to herself. “And there’s something else I’ve been thinking about too,” said Dinky. “What’s that?” “Forts!” “...Huh?” “Forts! You know, like snow forts! Only, it’s too dark outside to go make one now. If Mama saw us outside this late, she might not be too happy. Silly, huh?” “Nah, nah, Dinky, I get where you’re coming from,” said Scootaloo. “A snow fort sounds like an awesome idea. We could get Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle in on it. We could be…” She paused for dramatic effect, then said, boldly, “Cutie Mark Crusaders Fort Protectors!” “Yeah! I like the sound of that!” said Dinky. “That’ll be cool!” ”But, we can get some practice in first,” said Scootaloo. “Huh? But we can’t bring snow in here.” “Blanket fort, you silly filly,” said Scootaloo, noogying her head. “We’ll make a blanket fort!” “Ohh! That makes lots more sense!” “Here, gimme a hoof with this.” The two got off the bed, and Scootaloo dragged the blankets off the mattress. Then, per Scootaloo’s instructions, they set out the chairs in their room, throwing the blankets over it to make a tent-like shape, lining the inside with pillows. “It’s a start, at any rate,” said Scootaloo. “Besides, with snow, you can do anything.” Dinky didn’t answer. Instead, she crawled inside the fort and plunked herself down on the pillows. A devious grin was on her face. “What’s with you, Dinks?” Scootaloo asked. “Dinks? Who is Dinks?” asked Dinky, in a humorously poor imitation of Ahuizotl’s voice. “You dare speak to Dinkyzotl that way, Daring Scoot? You are already on the top of my ‘To Eliminate’ List, without you trying to take over my fortress!” Comprehension finally dawned on Scootaloo, and she smiled as well, crouching in a stalking manner. “If anypony does dares, Dinkyzotl, then it is me! Your fortress, and all of its booty, is mine!” “Just try it, Daring, and I’ll kick your booty before you steal mine!” As Scootaloo pounced, the room was soon filled with the sound of their giggles as they battled for supremacy over ‘Fort Dinkyzotl’. *** Filthy Rich, like many parents, was not one to miss the signs of his child of having an off day, but the gloom Diamond Tiara was currently in was particularly unsettling to him. Ever since the end of the derby, she had withdrawn into her bedroom, refusing to come out or to speak to him. Even at breakfast the following day, she didn’t engage in the usual morning chit-chat they had before she went to school and he went to work. She just morosely ate her oatmeal and then went off to school. As soon as she got home, she went straight to her room again. Rich needed to talk to her. That evening, he knocked on her door. No answer. “Diamond, honey,” he called. “Can I come in?” At first, there was still no answer, but eventually, “Ok, Dad.” Rich opened the door. There was his little girl on her bed, staring glumly at the opposite wall. He crossed over and sat down beside her. “What’s the matter, darlin’?” he asked. “You know what the problem is, Dad,” said Diamond Tiara, gloomily. “The Panther didn’t win.” “Now, don’t make such a fuss about that, Diamond,” said Rich. “You did well enough. 3rd place out of 6 racers ain’t so bad.” “But it doesn’t feel right,” Diamond Tiara huffed. “You paid good money for professionals to make my cart, and you even bought me a racing outfit to go with it. And what happens? It lost to a hoofmade cart driven by that bl-” She stopped. She was about to say ‘blank flank’, something she’d gotten in trouble for when her father had caught wind of how she’d been using that term. “Driven by Miss Hooves’ daughter,” she substituted. “Hooves’ girl is that little pegasus, ain’t she?” asked Rich. “The one who saved ya when you crashed?” “That’s her,” said Diamond Tiara. “Is that what’s got you so glum?” asked Rich. “I know you kids ain’t exactly the best of friends, though I wish you would try to make a bit more of an effort.” “It’s not that, Daddy,” said Diamond Tiara. “I just wish I hadn’t lost in a cart you put so much into. I feel like I let you down.” Rich’s tired face softened at this, and he put a foreleg around his little girl, drawing her in close. “You haven’t let me down, Diamond,” he said. “You did a fine job at the race. I’m still proud of you.” Diamond Tiara’s glum expression slowly melted away, and she nestled contently against her father. “That’s my girl,” Rich muttered. “Feel better?” “A little, yeah.” “Good. By the way, you know that human fellah who was part of the pit crew?” “Mr. Dave? What about him?” “Well, Hearth’s Warming Eve is right around the corner. If he’s got a hankering for some shopping, you could let him know that Barnyard Bargains’ll have what he needs and more.” “I’ll try, Dad.” “Good. You ready to come out now? I’ll get dinner started.” “All right.” Both got up from the bed and left the bedroom, Rich glad to see a smile back on his daughter’s face. *** “Huh, sweet. Looks promising.” Vinyl, having returned home from another night at the club, had rifled through her mailbox and found a party invitation among her usual junk fliers. It came as no surprise to find that it was from Pinkie Pie. Moreover, it was an invite where, for once, her DJ skills weren’t included as part of the package. Usually, party invites were a means of hiring her services, but this time, she was invited as a guest, to unwind and enjoy herself. “The Pinkster better have some good entertainment lined up if she’s asking me to take five,” she muttered. Then, after a moment’s consideration, she said, “Wait, why am I talking to myself out in the cold? I oughta at least get inside first.” So saying, she hurried into the warmth of her abode, the pulsations of her bass beats still throbbing through her veins. With a ‘phew!’, she took off her winter scarf and shades. “Man, what a night. Is it me, or do the clubsters get crazier when the holidays roll around? Maybe I oughta beef up bouncer security to keep the nutties out. Bah, who am I kidding? They always find a way to slip in.” Her stomach let out a loud gurgle at that instant. “Ugh. I’m famished. What have I got to eat around here?” She went over to the fridge and opened it up, finding, among half-empty soft drink and condiment bottles, a container with pasta inside. She popped the lid open and sniffed it. “Eh, still smells ok.” She tossed it into the microwave and poured herself a glass of grape soda as it heated up. Once it was finished, she plunked it into a bowl, took it and the soda with her to her couch, and plunked herself down, turning on the TV as she did so. It was the evening news that appeared. “Tonight’s top story,” said the monotone-voiced anchor-stallion, “parasprite infestation in Hoofington. Pony biologists attempt to answer how they are able to survive the winter cold.” “Boring,” groaned Vinyl, stuffing a forkful of pasta into her mouth. She added, after swallowing, “This killjoy can’t even make parasprites sound exciting. What a snooze-meister.” She stuffed another chunk of pasta into her mouth. “Eh, this stuff isn’t bad,” she said, “but it doesn’t taste as good as when Octy cooked it. How does she do it when I can’t? Must be some super-secret snob skill.” She took a swig of grape soda, letting out a hearty belch after doing so. No Octavia to tell her to say ‘excuse me’ this time...but what was the fun in that? She actually chuckled to herself in imaging Octavia’s disgusted face saying ‘Vinyl! You have the manners of a goat!’ She chomped down on another forkful of pasta, but almost spat it back out. “Ech, that part of it was still cold,” she groaned. “Hate when that happens.” When the pasta was finally gone, and her belly sufficiently full, she put the empty bowl aside and stretched out on the couch, stretching so that her joints cracked noisily. “Wonder if Dave’s doing ok, livin’ the bachelor life,” she said, putting a hoof across her stomach. “He’s moved out of Pinkie’s room, so he’s on his own. Heck, he’s been on his own for weeks. Seems like he’s taking care of himself, though. He had the bits to help those kids in the derby. Maybe I oughta swing by his place and see what it’s like.” She then added, with a slight laugh, “I could even give him some pointers on how a bachelor lives.” “And tonight,” came the voice of a younger, fresher on the TV, “the testimony of a unicorn trying to fly with the use of ‘rocket horseshoes’!” “Ooh, sweet!” said Vinyl, twisted herself over so she could see. “Now that’s the kinda news I like.” *** Meanwhile, far off in the city of Baltimare, the skies were alight with dozens of fireworks. The streets were packed with cheering ponies, crowded around a single spot. Word had spread like wildfire over the past couple weeks that the Great and Powerful Trixie, more magically fabulous than ever, would be arriving and performing in front of the Bronco Seltzer Tower. This rumor was substantiated by the loud and triumphant arrival of the showmare’s caravan. News of her spectacular return to her old profession had intrigued the populace, making them anxious to see what she had in store for them. As the preliminary fireworks began to die away, a cloud of smoke billowed from the stage, and there, in its center, appeared Trixie. “Greetings, Baltimare!” she said, loud and proud. “You were wise not to stay at home, for tonight, you shall see, first-hoof, the new and improved magical majesty of the Grrrreat and Powerful Trrrixie!” Another burst of fireworks lit up the evening sky, causing many to ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’. That was nothing, compared to what Trixie had up her sleeves. She employed many of the tricks she had pulled off in Ponyville: making objects appear and disappear, transmogrifying them into other shapes, or making multiples from one single object; her magical neon, twisting into shapes and images in the sky, culminating with another ‘Neon Theater’ performance, this time of a hapless stallion trying to escape from a bomb with an ever-shortening fuse, only for it to keep popping up no matter what he did; and her enchanted balloons, glowing, morphing, and musical, awe-inspiring in the eyes of the audience. She even did her vocal alteration trick on another volunteer, who sang ‘Mustangian Rhapsody’ in a chipmunk voice, a metallic-toned voice, a French accent, monkey-like jibbering, and then all four at once, much to the amusement of the crowd. “Thank you, thank you!” said Trixie. “And another round of applause for our gracious volunteer, Mr. Winchell. For the final act of the night, turn your attention to this basket of vegetables Trixie has placed on the stage.” A basket full of gourds, carrots, and celery was sitting on the stage beside her. She fired her magic at it, and the vegetables rose up, twisting and turning in the air until the linked together to form a vaguely equine shape, with an upturned carrot for a head, a gourd for its body, and celery for its limbs. All at once, it began to perform a soft-shoe tap dance, followed by a traditional Stalliongrad dance, then some acrobatic ballet maneuvers, ending in a twirling pirouette that went faster and faster, until Trixie shot her magic both at it and the basket, sending more vegetables into the spin, creating a kind of mini-tornado. All eyes were fixed on this sight, until at last, the tornado dissolved, revealing more veggie-dancers standing in a row. As one, they bowed to the audience, which exploded into applause. “Thank you!” shouted Trixie, bowing in turn. “You have all been a magnificent audience! Trixie shall miss you when she leaves, Baltimare. Thank you and good night!” With a whirl of her cape and a flash of smoke, Trixie and her vegetables disappeared from the stage, amid exclamations of admiration from her audience. Many swarmed to her caravan in the hopes of giving her flowers or gifts, or ask for autographs. Of course, Trixie was ready to receive her fans and well-wishers, the first of which was a little unicorn filly with a picture of the showmare clutched in her mouth. Trixie summoned a pen and wrote her name across it in elegant, bold cursive, dotting the ‘i’ with her cutie mark. “There you are, little one,” she said, grandly. “Thanks, Trixie!” said the filly. “I wanna be as great and powerful as you when I grow up!” “Not an easy feat, my dear,” said Trixie, “but one that Trixie admires. She would be honored to see you on the stage someday.” The filly’s eyes lit up with joy, and she scampered off to rejoin her parents, as Trixie began ‘magical multi-management’, using her magic to accept gifts and write out autographs at the same time. Even her setback hadn’t taken away this knack. (Some days, you can’t help but love being great and powerful…) *** The newly-arrived winter weather was doing nothing to dampen the diligence of Minister Ironmane. Holed up in his office, he continued to pore over his usual stack of official documents, deciding which were deemed acceptable to send to the princess for review. Among all of these papers, he was waiting for the one that would spell out a declaration of alliance between Equestria and the dragons, but, as of yet, none such article had appeared on his desk. Brutus still reported weekly of conditions in the diplomatic stalemate, as the draconic hierarchy were arguing over an agreeable gemstone minimum that would appeal to both sides. They had vehemently stated that Equestria’s dirt was a gem-breeding ground, so there should be no issue on the matter, but Princess Celestia had made it perfectly clear that a portion, and not all, of the gemstones in Equestria would be offered, and refused to budge on the maximum she had set. If there was one thing that tested even her vast patience, it was the overpowering greed of the dragons, but she persisted. There came a knock at Ironmane’s door. “Come in.” Hermes, one of his pegasus sentinels, stepped in, his helmet in his hoof. “Ah, Hermes. Any news?” “Yes, Minister. First of all, the dragons are still trying to push for a higher gem maximum. They’re a tough lot to compromise with, sir.” “No surprises there,” muttered Ironmane. “The longer this transpires, the more I begin to appreciate Brutus’ more amicable attitude. What about the ponies collecting from the Rambling Rock Ridge?” “Well, sir, you know how fertile in gems the soil is there, but the aggression of the Diamond Dogs is another thing entirely. Our scouts there only barely managed to evade their countermeasures.” “I see. Anything else?” “Er, yes, sir,” said Hermes, looking nervous. “But the thing is…” “Yes? What is it? Speak.” “It’s...merely a rumor, sir, but one that’s spreading from the ponies living in the North.” “Yes?” Ironmane asked, leaning forward to listen. “A rumor that...the Crystal Empire might be returning.” A pony less stoic than Ironmane, but possessing the same knowledge of historical disasters, would have felt their heart slam in their ribcage. Ironmane, however, merely gave a start. “What?! Are you certain?” “According to citizens’ reports, they’ve been seeing ‘the image of a royal city’ appear and disappear several times. The curse may be lifting, Minister!” “Are they certain it wasn’t just an illusion? Mirages are not uncommon in the Crystal Mountain region.” “They contend that it may have been, but will keep you posted if anything proving otherwise arises.” “Good. That’s all we can hope for for now.” “Should I alert Princess Celestia, Minister?” “Not yet. Let’s get confirmation first, but send a message to Princess Cadence.” “And Shining Armor, sir?” “That won’t be necessary, as he will see it when his wife receives it.” “Yes, Minister.” Hermes bowed and exited the office, while Ironmane rested his bearded chin on one hoof. “Can it be true? It’s highly unlikely, but then again...if the Empire were to fall into the wrong hooves...I’ll have to alert the other delegates if this is more than a rumor.” It is a remarkable thing to note just what matters can worry even the most steadfast of minds. This information, scant as it was, was enough to trouble Minister Ironmane, and that was saying something.