//------------------------------//
// Dirt. Salt. Ashes. 
// Story: Failure of a Funeral 
// by TambourineBlossom 
//------------------------------//

Weddings. Births. Funerals. These were the only times they wanted Mr. Waddle the priest instead of Mr. Waddle the-

Well, there were only three times Mr. Waddle was really needed anymore.

He looked over the viewing room at the Ponyville Funeral Home. There were rows of pews, enough room for dozens of ponies, but currently the room housed only one: namely, himself.

And the body of Pipe Down, but he was closer to an ex-pony at this point. The viewing wasn't scheduled for another ten minutes, but Mr. Waddle was surprised to see such a low turnout.

Funerals were really for the living, and there wasn't much point in performing one if he would be the only one to see it.

Dirt. Salt. Ashes. Three small bowls, each symbolic of- Well, he supposed they were once symbolic of something, but now they were just sort of generally symbolic. Symbolic of symbolism, he supposed. No matter.

Mr. Waddle placed the bowls in the casket next to the deceased and tried not to notice how alike the two of them were. Perhaps all ponies looked like this if they lived long enough; Pipe Down had been ancient when he was a young stallion, and until today had shown no plans of giving up his status as oldest pony in Ponyville.

Enough delays, he thought to himself. Time to do what you came here for.

"Dearly beloved, we gather today in memory of a stallion who was dear to us all," he said to the empty room.

"Sorry I'm late!" Pinkie Pie yelped as she dashed into the room. She wore a purple and black dress with fishnets and a feather in her mane. It was probably the closest to somber funeral attire she owned.

"You're on time, Pinkie. I just got started a little early because I didn't think anypony else would be showing."

There were only a few funerals a year in Ponyville, and Pinkie went to every single one of them. She was friends with everypony in Ponyville after all, and what kind of friend doesn't say goodbye when a friend leaves?

Mr. Waddle stepped down from behind the podium next to the casket and walked over to Pinkie Pie. She was a fixture at funerals, almost moreso than Ponyville's only priest, and he knew how to deal with her.

"Pinkamena," he said sternly. He stretched out a hoof and gave her a knowing look.

"Yeah?" She grinned nervously, eyes darting from side to side. "I don't have anything this time!" Honestly, she was a worse liar than Granny Smith's granddaughter. Mr. Waddle paused for a moment, trying to remember a name, then shook his head. He could worry about that later.

"Are you sure? It'd be a first." He gestured with his outstretched hoof again. "Hoof it over."

"Alright..." Pinkie sighed and reached behind her, swinging the party cannon into view. She pushed it over by the door. "There, I'm clean now."

"Really?" Mr. Waddle looked at the party cannon. "You just brought the cannon?" He snorted. "Drop it. All of it."

"Well... not just the party cannon." She shook out her mane--Mr. Waddle thought it looked especially poofy today--and all sorts of party supplies fell from it into a pile on the floor nearly as large as Pinkie herself. Streamers, ribbons, whistles, balloons, an accordion, and after a few shakes, an oven joined the party cannon in the newly established quarantine zone.

"That's everything?"

"Well, no." She reached into Mr. Waddle's collar and pulled out a large packet of balloons, then threw them on top of the oven. "That's everything, I mean it this time." She pouted the saddest pout she could muster. "I don't know why I can't just bring a few things. This party is really dull. I just wanted to liven things up a bit."

Mr. Waddle pushed the pile out into the hall, then turned back to Pinkie. "I know, child." He patted her on the head comfortingly. "Sometimes, though, ponies need to feel sad. Grieving for loved ones helps us get over their passage; it helps us find closure. So really, throwing a party is actually unhelpful in the long run. Do you understand?"

"Yup!" She looked over the empty room. "Hey, there's nopony here besides us. Are you sure we can't have a teensy little party this time?"

"Hrm. Didn't he have any friends?"

"He did, but he outlived them."

Mr. Waddle walked back to the casket and took his position behind the podium, gesturing for Pinkie to find a seat as well. "Children?"

"He outlived them too."

Mr. Waddle frowned thoughtfully. "Grandchildren?" he hazarded.

"Them too."

"Well, what about great grandchildren? He wasn't that old. Don't tell me he outlived them too."

"Okie-dokie, I won't tell you." Pinkie smiled for a moment, then thought about what she had just said. "Sorry, that was way too dark. He has great-grandchildren, but I guess they just never got to know him. Which is even sadder if you think about it."

"I'm not used to giving a eulogy to an empty room."

"You'll do just fine. You don't even have to worry about stage fright this time!" Pinkie straightened Mr. Waddle's collar and combover, then took a seat on a pew in the front row. "Knock 'em dead." She winced. "Ooh, sorry. I didn't mean to do it that time."

Mr. Waddle sighed a heavy sigh and braced himself against the podium. "Dearly beloved, we gather here today in memory of a stallion who was dear to us all. Er, both of us." He thought for a moment. "He was..." He wracked his brain, trying to remember something good about the former oldest pony in Ponyville. "He grew good tobacco, I'd say the best in all of Equestria. He requested to not be buried with military honors, though as a three-time veteran and four-time sergeant he was more than eligible. He was... good with foals... good-ish..." Mr. Waddle brought out his reading glasses and began looking over his notes. "I'm sorry, give me a moment."

"Inspiring. Really," Pipe Down grumbled as he sat up in his coffin. Mr. Waddle looked at him astonishedly. "The hell you gawking at? You don't look any better."

With a stretch and a yawn, he hopped down onto the floor, looking himself over. He was in his best suit, which somepony had cut open along his spine for some fool reason.

"Ugh." He had a headache from Tartarus, his best clothes were torn, and his eyes felt like somepony tried to glue them shut. Over the years, Pipe Down had gotten quite adept at piecing together mysteries upon waking up, and all the signs pointed to one thing. "Is it cider season already?"

"Er, no, you see-" Mr. Waddle began, before he was interrupted by a loud ding.

"Hold that thought!" Pinkie dashed out the door and returned moments later with her confiscated party supplies. She bucked the coffin off the table, then she threw open the oven. She grabbed the cake from inside and slammed it down on the table. "What?" She raised an eyebrow at Mr. Waddle. "Don't look at me like that."

Moments later, another ding went off and the party cannon fired, depositing trays of sandwiches, cookies, snacks, and a bowl of punch beside the cake. "Seriously, close your mouth, you'll catch flies that way. And that would be gross, like can you imagine? Blegh!"

"Did you..." Mr. Waddle composed himself. "Did you know he was still alive?"

"Nah." She loaded the streamers and balloons into the cannon and covered the ceiling with her handiwork. "I just always come prepared for party emergencies. Hm..." She frowned; it was still missing something.

"Aha!" Pinkie Pie dug around in her mane for a few moments, lost in concentration, before producing a Welcome Back! banner. She hung it on the wall above the spread. "Yup, always prepared."

"Good to know at least one pony in this town has faith in me." Pipe Down stripped off his ruined coat and tossed it onto a pew. "I wasn't sure I was gonna make it this time." He sat down on the pew, stretching his legs out with a satisfied groan. "How long was I out?"

"Out? You mean... you were asleep?" Mr. Waddle gawked at Pipe Down. Pinkie helpfully shut his jaw for him, but it fell open again. "A doctor had you proclaimed dead!"

"Was it Hippocrates?" He waited a moment for Mr. Waddle to nod. "I thought so," he said with a harrumph. "That quack couldn't tell the difference between an eggplant and a mule if you gave him three guesses." He grabbed his ruined coat and began rifling through the pockets. "Did nopony read my damn will, I specifically said to bury me with my pipe."

"It also said you were of sound mind," Mr. Waddle reasoned. "We ignored it because we found it in your attic next to a contract with 'Death'."

"And the bastard cheated, too!" Pipe Down yelled to the room in general. "Tried to get me in my sleep again, the coward. All it took was one haymaker and a long walk..." He gestured proudly to himself. "And here I am." He glared at Mr. Waddle. "Now, where's my pipe?"

"If I had to guess, I'd say it's in your house, where you left it." Mr. Waddle hoped he was right. "With the rest of your personal effects."

"Things. Dead ponies have effects."

"Right. Sorry."

"Eh," Pipe Down said with a sigh. "No use yelling at you for it." He looked over the buffet table. "Oatmeal-raisin? Wonderful." He grabbed a cookie and viciously gummed it. He stopped for a moment. "Wait, where are my teeth?" He grabbed Mr. Waddle by the collar. "They'd better still be at my house."

"They are! They are," the priest insisted. He sighed as Pipe Down released him.

"Good." Pipe Down nodded to Pinkie Pie and Mr. Waddle. "I'm going home."

"Wait!" Mr. Waddle blocked Pipe Down's path with a foreleg. "Mr. Down, this is..." He scratched his head. "Well, it's a complicated situation."

"Not from where I'm standing," he said with a laugh. "I'm going home, taking it easy for the rest of today, and in the morning I get up bright and early to sue a doctor for malpractice." He snorted. "That sound complicated?"

"Well... moreso than you might think." Mr. Waddle adjusted his glasses and straightened his collar. "Are you familiar with what a priest actually does?"

"Yes." Pipe Down smiled. "You can go ahead and tell me, though." He sat down on the pew again. "I'll humor you."

"Well, there are three major functions I perform for Ponyville. I show up at weddings, births-" he lowered his head "-and funerals. I make everything nice and official, just by being there. I also make things nice and official by filling out official forms for the mayor's office." He took a seat beside Pipe Down. "You see... I already filed your death certificate." He scratched his balding head in thought. "Officially, you're dead. That... complicates matters." He shrugged. "I fill out birth certificates, wedding certificates, and death certificates. They don't make, er..." He looked up at Pinkie's banner. "Welcome back certificates."

"I do!" Pinkie Pie burst up from the pew behind them and passed Pipe Down a bronze plaque that commemorated his return from the dead. "Always. Prepared. Always." She retreated back into the shadows.

"Huh." Pipe Down looked over the plaque; the engraving was done quite well. "So I'm officially dead as of now?"

"Yes, and I don't know what we can do about it."

"I do." Pipe Down rose to his hooves with a look of determination. "Tax evasion just got a whole lot simpler." He walked over to the buffet, and piled a plate high with oatmeal-raisin cookies. With a parting nod to Pinkie, he left the funeral home as the happiest dead stallion ever.