Flim and Flam are Trying to Sell You Your Bed, Which is Definitely Not a Changeling
whizzball1
You yawned slowly as you stuck your head out of your car idling at an intersection. Today had been an especially long-feeling day at work, with some very insufferable customers that seemed to have been upset by the loss of small everyday objects (and not-so-small objects, like chairs). You shook your head at the coincidences.
But now was not the time to think about that; it would just make you more stressed out. Heaven knows the troubles with the ponies
Oh, great, it was Monday again. Joy. You wondered who would show up this time. Or maybe you would be lucky and your bed would be untouched.
Like that would ever happen.
You decided to look at the sunset, but then the light turned green, so you moved forward, and, lucky you, the sunset was obscured by multiple tall buildings.[1] You sighed and continued forward, making your way back home.
[1]: In retrospect, you knew that would happen. But the prospect of looking at what was probably a beautiful sunset distracted you.[2]
[2]: It was not actually beautiful, but you would forever (meaning “until the next day”) regret not seeing it, thinking that it was in fact quite beautiful. Life isn’t fair.
You unlocked the door sluggishly and entered the house, seeing nothing out of place--no odd sounds, smells, or objects strewn about. Maybe you would be okay.
You walked over to your room and squeezed your eyes shut, opening the door and poking your head in. You took a whiff to see if it smelled like ponies. It certainly smelled… Clean, clean like fresh metal. You tentatively opened your eyes, to see your room, completely normal.
Except for the lack of bed.
You rubbed your eyes. Still no bed. You scowled and turned around, stomping back to the kitchen to see two tall, thin unicorns that you had somehow missed standing in front of the table.[3] And they were holding your bed in their magic.
[3]: A simple spell to divert your attention and to make their non-entrance more dramatic, obviously.
“Why do you have my bed?” you asked, deadpan. You don’t have the mental processes to be surprised.[4]
“Weeeeell,” the one with a moustache (Flam, you remembered[5]) began, with instrumental music fading in. “He’s Flim-”
“No,” you interrupted. “I know who you are. Answer my question. Why do you have my bed?”
“Prudent question,” Flim replied, smiling shiftily. “But this bed is not, in fact, your bed.” You frowned. It certainly looked like your bed. You took another whiff, and then you reached out a hand to touch your bed. It was your bed.
[4]: Despite having the mental processes to ask why they have your bed, to remember what their names are, and to recognise that the bed is in fact your bed.
[5]: You had one day seen which pony was which on a website, and it had just stuck. Now it was useful, you saw.
Before you could open your mouth to reply, Flam interrupted you. “It may look exactly like your bed, smell exactly like your bed, and feel exactly like your bed, but it is not, in fact, your bed, good sir.” You deadpanned harder than you had before (if that was even possible).
“Stay a while and listen,” Flim continued, noticing your sceptical look.
“This is not your bed, because your ‘real’ bed--”
“--the one you have been sleeping on, is…”
They each put on a bit of a scared face, for dramatic flair. “A changeling.”
You frowned. “My bed’s been a changeling before, but she left a long time ago.” Seriously, why were they so desperately trying to sell you what was clearly your own bed? But you didn’t have the mental processes to be assertive about your own bed at the moment[6], so you decided to roll with it.
[6]: Despite having the mental processes to remember which pony was which, remember that your bed had been a changeling, be sceptical about these two ponies (you only recognised their names, not what they did), and wonder why they were trying to sell you your bed.
They were surprised you even knew what a changeling was. But, being the sleazy, slick businessmen- businessponies? Businessstallions? Businesscolts? Whatever--they just rolled with it. “Well, it just so happens that it is a changeling, again!” Flam replied, without hesitating.
“Changelings are very dangerous, but we successfully--”
“--and bravely--” Flam added, smiling innocently.
“--got rid of the changeling, before remaking your bed.” They both pointed toward the bed they currently levitated, the one that was exactly like your bed.
You said nothing for a minute or two, thinking about their story. “So,” you began, having assembled a coherent summarisation. “You somehow found out that my bed was a changeling, bravely defeated it, remembered exactly what my bed looked like, smelled like, and felt like, and then exactly replicated it, all within today.”
They hesitated and nodded nervously.
You paused. “I believe you.” You did not have the mental processes to realise that the story was quite obviously extremely fake[7], which left them very relieved.[8] “So, how much for the bed?”
[7]: Despite having the mental processes to assemble the story in the first place.
[8]: They later wondered why they had not stopped to think of a better story than the one which was clearly one of the worst they’d ever told.
“So, how much for the bed?”
“500 bits,” they said, simultaneously.
“We’ll throw in this assortment of various objects for another 250 bits!” They levitated up a group of many random objects that you vaguely, almost incoherently remembered matched the objects that the raging customers had lost. It didn’t last long enough in your mind to make a difference, though.
“When you say bits, do you mean those gold bits?” you asked, remembering the joyous day you had where you were introduced to 100 coins of solid gold.
“Just the ones,” they replied.
That wasn’t good. Maybe they knew about and took cash? “You take cash?” you asked, hopefully.
“Cash?” Flim asked, confused. Darn.
“Then I don’t have the money. I probably don’t even have the money for one of those items.” You didn’t have the mental processes to lie.[9] “Why didn’t you bring those to someone who looked richer? Why would you sell them to me?”
[9]: Despite having the mental processes to remember that bits were made of gold, offer cash as an alternative, and notice that they could have brought their stuff to someone richer.
“We felt drawn to this house, you know,” Flam replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Probably the curse on your bed.
“When we wanted to sell the items. And lucky for you, we discovered that your bed was a changeling!” Flim finished.
It was at this point that the bed suddenly flashed green and turned into a lamp, which fell out of the brothers’ telekinetic grip and then turned into a cat before it hit the ground, landing gracefully onto the ground and then scampering back to your bedroom.
You moved enough to the side to see it disappear into your room and turn into your bed again with a flash.
“It’s actually a changeling?” the brothers exclaimed, horrified.
Suddenly, it clicked, and your mental processes returned in full strength. “Wait. What do you mean ‘it’s actually a changeling. Didn’t you “bravely” get rid of my bed? Isn’t this a totally new bed?”
“Oh, um, of course,” Flim quickly began, trying to rectify the situation. “We were just… Surprised that this new bed we created was also a changeling!”
“But if you created it, how could it be a changeling?”
“Oh, well, we didn’t create it, you know,” Flam added, but you stopped him, holding up your hand.
“I’ve heard enough. It’s obvious that you just stole my bed and tried to make some quick money off of it by trying to sell it back to me.” Your mental processes began to fade away again. “But I’m too tired to deal with you, and I have my bed back, so goodbye.”
You left the dumbfounded salesponies back in your kitchen and stomped back to your room, flopping on the bed despite the fact that it was actually a changeling, and then instantly drifted off to sleep.
As you slept, Chrysalis wondered what had possessed her to become your bed again.