//------------------------------// // A Wise Man Once Said... // Story: Marshmallows and Cotton Candy // by GentlemanJ //------------------------------// A Wise Man Once Said… A quiet morning. A piping hot cup of steaming, black coffee. A copy of Charming Quill’s latest novel, Remembrance of Forgotten Times. Cracking open the paperback, Graves settled into his armchair and began to read, a faint smile coming to his face that wasn’t completely from the quality of the words. Even after nearly a year in Ponyville, the marshal still wasn’t quite accustomed to having so much leisure. But it was a good kind of unaccustomed, like when you replace an old mattress with a much nicer one. Sure, it’s not what you’re completely familiar with, but it’s so soft and deliciously plush that after the first night, you start wondering how you’d ever managed to fall asleep on such a lumpy bag of small potatoes before. A sip of good joe. A quiet crinkling of a freshly turned page. His smile grew. “GRAAAAAAVES!” And just like that, the silence exploded in a cacophony of slamming doors and stomping feet. Sweetie Belle, the cotton candy headed youngster stormed into his living room, livid eyes flashing, sundress abillowing, and her squishy cheeks puffing out in barely suppressed outrage. “Graves!” she hollered at the top of her chirpy lungs. “Rarity’s being a big old poopy headed meany!” “I most certainly am not!” the incensed, but still beautiful lady in question exclaimed as she arrived hot on her diminutive sister’s heels. Amazing how even this early in the morning, her makeup was already flawless and her clothes elegant perfection, an effect only slightly marred by the lightning positively shooting from her sapphire eyes. “I am simply trying to keep my clearly misguided fool of a little sister from engaging in an unquestionable piece of pure buffoonery.” “I am not a baboon!” Sweetie Belle screeched as she stamped her little feet. “All I want is to try and get my cutie mark just like all the other girls in school!” “By summoning demons?!” the pretty dressmaker gaped, each word fully laden with twenty odd pounds of grade A exasperation. “You have got to be joking!” “It’s only a little one, gosh!” the little girl returned with equal, if not greater... furor? It was honestly hard to tell – she was clearly upset, but the squeakiness of her voice wasn’t doing her outrage any favors. “Mel Borgia’s only a demon from the eighth circle of torment. Eighth! That’s like, seven away from the first, and we all know that the most important things go first, so what’s the big deal?” “Sweetie Belle, there are so many things wrong with that statement, I don’t even know where to begin.” “You never do!” the younger sibling cried as her face began to turn a most remarkable shade of purple. “You always treat me like a little kid and never let me try anything new!” “I treat you like a child because you are a child!” Rarity shot back, hand flung high in the air with a fantastic roll of the eyes. “For goodness sakes, Sweetie Belle, you’re not even eleven yet!” “Yeah, and still without a cutie mark!” “But summoning hell spawn isn’t going to help!” “Well it might!” “Ooh… Graves, tell her how absolutely preposterous all of this sounds.” “Yeah Graves! Tell my sister how she’s being a complete dumb butt.” The marshal paused, looking for a moment into Rarity’s flashing sapphire blues and then for a bit into Sweetie Belle’s blazing emerald greens. It was fascinating really, how similar those two sets of eyes were. You could really tell they were sisters just from the way they glared icy death at the marshal, just daring him to make a move. “Well, Graves?” Rarity continued, a dangerous edge coming into her voice. “What do you say?” The marshal closed his book as he considered the situation, brow furrowing with deep thought. He scratched his chin for a moment before looking back to the ladies, fixing his gunmetal grey eyes on each in turn. Finally, Graves set the book aside, gave a slight nod, and simply said, “Nope.” With a loud bang, the soldier’s living room instantly filled with dense, gray smoke. Coughing and eyes watering, Rarity pulled out her wand and summoned a small gust of wind to vent the room. By the time the haze had cleared, Graves was nowhere to be found. In fact, all the two sisters could see was a gently creaking window pane and curtains fluttering in the breeze as the figure of a man in a long, brown coat disappeared into the horizon. Was it a cowardly move that Graves had made? Maybe. Was it a very smart move that had saved him from a certain, grisly demise? Absolutely, positively, and unequivocally yes. **********