//------------------------------// // Entry Twenty-Eight // Story: Diary of an Aspiring Tyrant // by SugarPesticide //------------------------------// September 17, 1000 ANM The solution to the Micah Jayfill problem was … unorthodox. It was Blueblood’s idea, though of course it required my approval first. It involved the last of the Nitroglycercute, a large pet project of Blueblood’s which would properly be called a satellite yet he has dubbed an asteroid, and a conveniently large parade bustling down the cheering streets of Canterlot. We stared up through the hole in the cave’s ceiling, watching the Asteroid of Friendship shrink to nothing in the bright blue sky. I have little worry that anypony has noticed it; Sister Dearest has assured me that fireworks are still a commodity in this day and age, and I am reasonably certain that the blast of its takeoff was masked by the unrelenting cacophony of more colorful explosions. Yes, there is nothing at all to worry about. The odds of another pony noticing such an event as this are miniscule. “I trust you supplied the asteroid with canned goods?” I asked without looking at him, almost as an afterthought. The wonders of modern science have permitted certain foods the ability to be stored within cylinders of metal for indiscriminate periods of time, and I have taken to stocking the Bat Cave with scores of cans containing something called ravioli. This, together with dozens of packages of a wavy hay-like substance known as ramen, shall provide us with adequate sustenance in the unlikely event that our plans fall down around our ears. It is possible that at some point in the future, food sellers will dare to deny their rightful empress of partaking in their wares, so I am taking initiative of the situation before it happens. Am I not wondrous in my foresight? Such wisdom impresses even me! What was I writing of? The banishment of Micah Jayfill, yes. How could I forget? Sister Dearest has suggested that I should attend a class to improve my focus, but such a thing is unnecessary. My noble aim of subduing Canterlot to my whims claims my thoughts without effort. An anonymous notice taped to my door may have supported Sister Dearest’s claim, along with a note which states that I have “add,” whatever that may be; yet there is no doubt that I am not afflicted with add. And even if I were, I would take pleasure in the fact that I have not succumbed to the torments of subtract. “Indeed, Mother,” Blueblood replied to my illustrious question. (Take note, Sister Dearest! I am indeed capable of keeping my attention on something for more than five seconds! When I am empress, I will gloat in your face about my astounding ability to keep my mind on the task at hoof.) “Excellent,” I said. “She may be bothersome, but I do not wish her to starve. Let her spend the rest of her days in the vastness of our orbit, dining on naught but eternal pasta for the rest of her days. She shall never see another equine face as long as she lives!” And with that I chuckled, for it had been a long day and my bed had long since been calling my name. “Actually,” my pompous son pronounced, “I added in some video communication so we can contact her, if we wish. This monitor will show us everything she’s doing, and there’s a similar monitor in the asteroid so she can see us in return.” He gestured to a large screen that had been mysteriously been placed on the crystal-studded wall of the cave, which displayed that obnoxious unicorn standing behind a chest-high counter. She was eating a sandwich, which puzzles me now that I dwell on it. I do not remember witnessing her retrieve such a confection when we first lured her down into the Bat Cave. I suppose she slipped it into a pocket of the jumpsuit we equipped her with. It looks hideous, but that is what she deserves, so there is no mercy on my part. I shall take pleasure in her humiliation. What was I saying? Ah, yes, the Bat Cave. I questioned him as to how he could manage to construct such a metallic monstrosity without my noticing, for I pride myself on my powers of observation. “Grooming myself is my life’s work,” he replied, “but at times the stress it brings me must be relieved. That’s why I sometimes dabble in technology — it’s a way to relax, you know. Anyway, that’s not the problem, is it? With this video feed, we can view her and she can in turn view us, permitting communication with the first manned mission into the cosmos!” I blinked at Blueblood’s statement, considering how this might affect our schemes. “Yes,” I finally said, unsure as to what I was agreeing with. “I suppose we may remain in contact with her. Perhaps she can be an experiment of ours! We can monitor how her sanity erodes over the course of the next few years, and in return she can witness how we conquer the proud metropolis of Canterlot! Such is the nature of fair exchange!” “Mother, I’m not sure that’s how experiments work.” “Hush, Blueblood. It is genius! I cannot fathom how such an endeavour could possibly go wrong. In any case, this has been an interesting day. I shall now retreat to supper, where I shall put on a face of the utmost innocence. Sister Dearest will be none the wiser for it.” And I laughed, this time because I enjoyed the prospect of dining on fine vegetables with a new victory under my belt. “That sounds like a fine plan. But … perhaps we should patch this hole first?” I scrutinized the vertical tunnel that stretched from our glorious caverns to the ignorant outside. “It seems that this portion of our plan may have benefited from additional forethought. Well, not to worry. We can force Micah Jayfill to mend the damage for us.” “That’s not possible,” he said kindly. “She is in space.” “Ah.” I deflated slightly. “In my victory, I seem to have forgotten that slight detail. No matter. If we are swift, we may be able to make repairs in due time.” We rushed from our Bat Cave, out through the throne room and up a set of winding stairs. The concept was clear: with meticulous effort, we could likely gather every last particle of the Bat Cave’s ceiling and slip them into their rightful places, where they would hopefully remain without crumbling at the slightest pressure. So one can imagine our fear love when we encountered none other than Sister Dearest in the affected room, craning her neck upwards to examine the path of our destruction. She greeted us with a smile, which only made the situation worse. For a moment I wished to beg her pardon, plead her mercy. It was only the steel resolve of my empress material that allowed me to stand firm in the face of the sun. “Luna!” she exclaimed, embracing me in the shadow of a broad white wing. “I’m glad to see you’re all right. Apparently one of the fireworks ripped this hole in the palace, and when the Royal Guard notified me I came here right away. It seems lucky that nopony was hurt.” She blinked. “You are fine, aren’t you?” “I am, dear sister,” I replied, relaxing. “I was passing the time in my chambers when I heard the noise and came to investigate. However, it seems that you have the situation well in hoof.” “The repairponies are on their way as I speak,” she confirmed. Then she turned her gaze to the hole in the floor, and she looked mildly concerned. “I hope nopony falls into this dreadful hole before we can fix everything. If we can patch it up in due time, I’m sure that nopony will even realize it was there in the first place.” “I hope so,” I said honestly. “That was a close shave,” Blueblood breathed once we were out of earshot. “Maybe we should avoid making more Nitroglycercute for the time being.” “I suppose so,” was my response. “After all, it is not as if the sloths’ political situation would permit more clandestine nitroglycerin shipments in the foreseeable future. But that is no reason for distress, for I am sure that even more explosive materials can be easily obtained with little to no hassle!” He looked positively sick with glee at the prospect. Then again, that might have been simple nausea, though from what I cannot guess. “It is fortunate that Sister Dearest has failed to notice the Bat Cave beneath her very hooves,” I continued. “She never did have my powers of observation. However, it might be wise to oversee reconstruction and avoid reentering the Bat Cave until said reconstruction is complete. We do not wish to draw attention to our schemes, do we?” “Of course not.” I predict an uneventful week or so to dull my senses to my usual machinations. At the very least my duties as hopeful conqueror are only temporarily suspended. In the meantime, perhaps I shall catch up on sleep. The world of dreams is calling me.