//------------------------------//
// Equestrian Graffiti (Cutie Mark Chronicles) 
// Story: Scootaloo Dies a Bunch 
// by alexmagnet 
//------------------------------//

	Scootaloo breathed the thin mountain air in heavily. “Okay, not sure what I was expecting from yesterday, if I’m honest.” She stood, checking over her jumpsuit and backpack.

“H-how d’ya mean?” asked Apple Bloom, trying not to gulp too loudly as she stared out over the sheer cliff at the trees below. The filly pulled her beanie that much more tightly over her head, stuffing back in what little of her bow had begun to peek out.

Scootaloo nudged Apple Bloom and beckoned Sweetie Belle, who’d been staring up at the morning sky. The trio backed away from the edge, got a running start, and leapt. As they fell, Scootaloo yelled over the rushing wind, “I mean we probably should’a seen it coming. Applejack got her mark for being an Apple, Fluttershy for singing at animals, Rainbow for being awesome—”

“Chutes!” shouted Sweetie before yanking the cord on her shoulder with her teeth.

Apple Bloom followed suit.

Scootaloo’s cord stuck. No backup.







Sweetie Belle nodded, still staring up at the afternoon sky. “Basic logic. Circular, but basic. They get their mark for doing a thing they’re destined to do day in and day out, and then because they have that mark, day in and day out they do that thing.”

Looking up from the sword she’d just polished, Apple Bloom said, “That doesn’t help us know what thing we’ve gotta do, though.”

“Right,” said Sweetie. “Which is why we keep trying things, obviously.”

Scootaloo leaned back on her haunches with her own polished blade. “Alright, ready.”

Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle watched on as Scootaloo steadily, carefully lifted the sword with one hoof pressed on each of its sides. She brought it above her head and opened her mouth, eyebrows only now knitting into an unsure expression.

Not shutting her mouth, Scootaloo asked, “Hgh’ah do agh…?” But the sword was very well polished. “Gh’ck!”

Apple Bloom tossed the weapon in her hooves as far away as she could.






“Do you ever think…” Scootaloo eyed the gleaming point of the sabre-snouted tiger in the opposite corner of the ring. “Idunno, do you ever think this might not be the way?”

Apple Bloom passed her popcorn over to Sweetie Belle, both of them seated on the adjacent stands. “Nope,” they chimed together.

The torches at each of the ring’s corners flickered fitfully as they fought off the backdrop of dimming evening. The dancing lights reflected off of the biotic metal skewer on the tiger’s face, and off of Scootaloo’s shiny, shiny shorts. The combatants charged.

“That was disappointingly quick,” said Sweetie not five seconds hence.

Apple Bloom turned from the carnage. “So, what, are we shootin’ fer spectatin’ cutie marks?”

Sweetie Belle shook her head. “No, at this point I think we’re just letting her have her fun.”






“Hold up!” Scootaloo sat bolt upright, eyes wide. “I’ve been looking at it all wrong! What do I do day in and day out?”

Apple Bloom looked up from the oiled cloth she’d just affixed to her stick, her eyebrow raised. “You wanna get a cutie mark in dying?”

“No, buzzkill, I meant what do we do day in and day out?”

“Wait…” Sweetie Belle turned her head sharply from the bonfire, a horrified expression on her face. Voice trembling, she shouted, “Scootaloo, stop thinking about it!”

Scootaloo hunched over and shut her eyes tightly, pressing her hooves to her temples.

Sweetie rushed over. “I said quit it! You could kill two out of the three of us permanently!” She shoved her shoulder roughly against Scootaloo.

Scootaloo started humming loudly now, rocking back and forth. She scrunched her face up tightly.

Apple Bloom shot confused glances between her friends. “What exactly is happenin’ here?”

Sweetie Belle said, “She wants us to get cutie marks for—” Her eyes widened.

Scootaloo wore a god-slaying smirk as she stood. Shimmering and fresh on her flank was a cutie mark of the outline of a filly in profile. Shimmering and fresh on that filly’s flank was a cutie mark of the outline of a filly in profile. Shimering and frsh on that fillies’s flankk wasa cute mark of the outlier of an filled im profiles. Shnan frsflnk makfilprofe 011001010111001101100011011000010111000001100101

Scootaloo’s hooves rose up and tucked themselves at her sides in midair. Her head curled in close to her body. Vibrating, her front half began to compress towards her flanks until all was a diminishing mass of orange and purple. Sinking inwards into the centers of her flanks, her cu00100001arks soon met in space. Instantly, what remained of the lump formerly known as Scootaloo rushed in towards them and shrank until nothing was visible.

Sweetie Belle sighed. “I swear, every time I start thinking that I’m getting good at seeing them coming from a mile off, she brings things to a new level.”