//------------------------------// // 8: Cutie Mark Crusader Demolition Experts! YAY! // Story: Pony Versus Machine // by Smoker //------------------------------// 1:16 P.M. 47 hours and 44 minutes remain XXXXXXXX “What is it, Applebloom?” “I dunno… I think it’s a big monkey.” “You blockhead, it’s one of the humans who came to town yesterday!” “Yeah, but don’t they all have white skin?” Sweetie Belle poked the big sleeping thing. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. But what else could it be?” “Not only that, but why does it smell like that special brand of cider mah sister makes? The one she tells me not to drink till I’m older?” Applebloom asked, sniffing the air around the creature. “How did it get here again?” Scootaloo questioned Applebloom. “I dragged it here. Found it in the pigs’ watering tank. Took me all morning.” Applebloom answered. “HEY MISTER! WAKE UP!” Sweetie Belle squealed with a pitch that could shatter glass. The big thing just kept snoring. “That thing could sleep through the next robot invasion.” Applebloom commented. “Hey, look. It’s got something in its claw.” Scootaloo said, pointing at the big thing’s left hand. A brown bottle of some sort laid in it, emblazoned with three Xs. “Ooh! It’s shiny!” Sweetie Belle said, reaching for the bottle. No sooner had she laid her small hoof on the bottle, then a second brown hand clamped on top of hers. “Don’t touch tha’!” A voice roared. All three girls screamed, and scurried to the other side of the room. XXXXXXXX Demoman slowly woke up from his drunken slumber. He yawned, and looked around. “Cripes, tha’ was the weirdest dream I’ve had in a while… Spy musta slipped somethin’ inta mah scrumpy…” Then the Demoman noticed he wasn’t in his bed; he was in some sort of small wooden house. Sitting in the corner were three small ponies. “Bloody hell… It wasn’t a dream?!” Demoman cried. “Please don’t hurt us…” the white one whimpered. Demoman sighed; no man alive could possibly resist those faces. “Relax, lass, I ain’t gonna hurt’cha. What’s your name?” “I’m Sweetie Belle.” Said the white one. “Ah’m Applebloom.” Said the one with the bow. “And I’m Scootaloo!” Said the orange one. “And we’re THE CUTIE MARK CRus…” She trailed off. “Come on you guys, do the chant with me.” Straightening up, all three girls yelled, “and we’re THE CUTIE MARK CRUSADERS!” “Ah, cripe!” The Demoman said, holding a hand to his head. “Will ye stop yellin’ like banshees? I’ve got one hell of a hangover.” “Oh… sorry.” Applebloom said sheepishly. “Who are you, stranger?” Sweetie Belle asked. “Aye, M’name’s Tavish; Tavish Degroot. Everyone just calls me Demoman, though.” Demoman said, holding out his hand to shake. The three ponies slowly reached out their hooves to shake back; they were so small, all three hooves could fit in Demo’s hand easily. “So… Mister Demoman…” Scootaloo asked. “You wanna play a game with us?” The Demoman raised his good eyebrow. “A game, ye say.” “Yeah, see-“ Scootaloo began, but was cut off when Applebloom bit her tail and dragged her to an opposite corner of the room. “Ow! Applebloom, that hurt!” Scootaloo whined. “Scoots, what’re ya thinkin’?” Applebloom asked. “This thing could be dangerous, and you want to play a game with it?!” “Come on, it can’t hurt! We weren’t going to do anything else anyways, and it seems friendly enough.” Scootaloo explained. “Oh… okay.” Applebloom said, seeing the logic. “Okay, mister, here’s the game:” Scootaloo said to Demoman, walking back over. “We’re going to ask you a question, and you answer. Then you ask us a question, and we answer. This repeats over and over. Simple!” “Aye, okay, lass. Don’ see why not.” Demoman said, sitting down cross-legged on the floor. “Why don’tcha go first, then.” “What happened to your eye?” Sweetie blurted out. The other two smacked her upside the head, but Demoman only chuckled. “Aye, it’s okay, lasses. I’ve come to terms with me eye, and it’s a rather interestin’ story.” The Demoman hunched over, and adopted a dramatic voice. “I was but a wee lad, a’ the age o’ twelve. T’was all hollows eve, and the time was ripe for ghosts and ghoulies… and, accordin to me mum, jobs for a lad mah age…” XXXXXXXX “…and when I woke up, the castle was gone… the magician was gone… the book was gone… and me EYE was gone.” Demoman finished, straightening back up. The three fillies sat, jaw-dropped. “Wow!” Scootaloo said. “So, you never saw… merry-muss again?” “Merasmus, lass. And yeh, I actually did see ‘im again, the slimy rat.” Demoman said. “See, ‘bout two years ago on halloween, I discovered that Merasmus was my friend Soldier’s roommate. He slipped away back then, but I did catch him and rip him ta pieces the next year’s Halloween. Didn’t get me back me eye, though.” Demoman sighed. “Aw, poor guy.” Sweetie Belle said, patting Demoman on the back. “I dun’ need yer pity, lass.” Demoman muttered, shoving her away. Sweetie crawled back up and hugged Demoman on his waist. He tried to remove her, but she hung on like a leech. Demoman sighed again. “A’rright, ye had yer question. Now it’s my turn.” Demoman pointed at the fillies. “Why the bloody hell do you call ye’selves the ‘fruity bark grenadiers’?” “That’s ‘Cutie Mark Crusaders.’” Scootaloo corrected. “We’re called that because we’re constantly searching for our cutie marks!” They showed Demoman their blank flanks. “OCH! Get yer rumps away from me, lasses! Iss too early fer horseplay!” Demoman cried, shielding his eye. Then he chuckled. “Heh. Horses. Heh.” “So why do they call YOU the Demoman?” Apple Bloom asked. “Well, they call me it because I demolition things, lassie!” Demoman said. “’Demolition’ isn’t a verb…” Sweetie belle said. “What are ye, a dictionary?” Demoman asked the pony still hugging his waist. “Anyways, my nex question… Ehhh…” Demoman scratched the back of his head with his bottle. “Would you… care for a swigga?” Demoman held out his bottle. “I thought you told us not to have any!” Applebloom said. “Eh, jussa drop couldn’ hurt.” Demoman said, gesturing for her to come over. Applebloom nervously walked up, and Demoman shoved the neck of the bottle in her mouth. Applebloom took a couple of small gulps of the drink. “gragh!” Applebloom said; her throat felt like it was on fire. “That’s like my sister’s cider, but a bajillion times stronger…” She mumbled. “You got any water?” “Water? I never touch the stuff.” Demoman said, swigging down a few gulps himself. “A’rright, next question. Fire away.” “Are you a good Demoman?” Sweetie Belle piped; she’d finally let go of Demoman and was sitting next to the others. Demoman’s eye narrowed. “Am I… a good Demoman?” He slammed his bottle on the ground, causing the crusaders to jump. “If I were a BAD Demoman, I wouldn’t be sittin’ here, DISCUSSIN’ it with ya!” Demoman roared. “One wayward pinch o’ potassium chloride, one errant twitch… AND KABLOOIE!” The crusaders tried to get a word in, but Demoman was on a roll now. “All ye fine dandies, prancin’ aboot wit yer heads fulla eyeballs! Come’n get me, ah say! I’ll be waitin’ fer ya!” Demoman was just speaking nonsense now. “I’m a grim bloody fairytale, with an unhappy bloody end! They’ll have to glue the lot of ye back together IN HELL!” He took a long swig from his bottle. “That answer yer question?” Demoman said congenially, smiling. “Um… sure?” Sweetie Belle mumbled. “Okay then, well I’m outta questions, so you can just go next I guess.” Demoman said, eyeing his bottle as though he were considering taking another gulp. “Excuse us a second.” Scootaloo said suddenly, grabbing Applebloom and Sweetie belle and dragging them to the other side of the room. Demoman tried to hear what they were saying, but they were speaking in whispers. Eventually the three came back over. “Can we be Demomen too? Pleeeeease?” they all said together. “Wot?! Ye’re jokin’, surely!” Demoman cried. “Come on! It sounds like a lot of fun!” Sweetie Belle said. “It could get us our cutie marks!” Scootaloo added. “We’ll be super careful!” Applebloom promised. Demoman paused, thinking. “It’d be grossly negligent of me ta give ye three high explosives…” He mumbled. “But eh, what the bloody hell.” “CUTIE MARK CRUSADER DEMOMEN! YAY!” The three yelled, as Demoman winced and took another swig from his bottle. “A’rrigh’, let’s see here…” Demoman said, swinging off his backpack and rummaging through it. “A grenade launcher fer the feisty young lass…” He passed Scootaloo a grenade launcher, which she squealed with glee over. “…A sticky launcher fer the tactical one…” Demo continued, giving Applebloom a sticky launcher. “…and as fer you…” Demoman looked at Sweetie Belle. “Hmm…” He pulled out a large sword. “Nah.” He tossed it over his shoulder, and pulled out a golf club. “No.” He tossed that one over his shoulder either, and pulled out a fancy bottle. “ah, I been lookin’ fer this!” He took a swig from the fancy bottle before tossing it, too, over his shoulder. Then he looked in his backpack and gasped. “Perfect!” He smiled at Sweetie Belle. “You, m’dear, will have the most important role of all.” He pulled out a pirate hat, some fancy shades, and a frying pan. He set the shades on Sweetie’s eyes, and put the hat on her head. “I dub thee…” He handed the pan to her. “Demopan!” “Aw, they get explosives and I get a frying pan?!” Sweetie whined. “Oi! Don’ underestimate the power o’ the pan, lass! It’s a powerful tool o’ destruction!” Demoman reprimanded her. Sweetie looked at the greasy old piece of blunt metal. “Right.” “Now. If yer gonna be a Demopan, ye gotta know the Demopan battlecry. Repeat after me.” The Demoman cleared his throat, then shouted in a jerky, somewhat stuttering voice: “Stat Sha-KO! Fer two r’fined!” Sweetie Belle nodded slowly, then cleared her own throat. “Stout Shako for two refined.” Sweetie pronounced clearly. “NO!” Demoman roared. “Ye do it like this: Stat Sha-KO! Fer two r’fined!” “Stout… Shago? For two refined?” Sweetie said in a confused manner. Demoman smacked his face with his palm. “This could take a while…” He grumbled.