//------------------------------// // The Parasprite Polka // Story: Feeding Problems // by ferret //------------------------------// The crouching orange filly known as Scootaloo was absolutely terrified at the moment. Oh no, it wasn’t being scared of Pinkie Pie, even though there were a whole lot of them and they were totally dangerous. But what Scootaloo was scared about was how the princess turned Pinkie into a... back into a... a whatever Scootaloo was, and then Pinkie went crazy all over town! What would everypony think of Scootaloo, once Pinkie has made such a mess of things? Scootaloo moaned in despair, planting her face on the seat bench, wishing she could understand what was even going on. Scootaloo was pretty sure there was no way in Tartarus Pinkie Pie could throw up this many times. At least, not if she was doing it like Scootaloo did. That took effort! And food, and discomfort, and embarassing yourself. Plus Scootaloo couldn’t remember ever throwing up the same pony twice, much less throwing up yourself. But these Pinkies acted like new ones, not the same, but they all looked like Pinkie. But weren’t they supposed to look different? It was the first time Scootaloo ever seen a pony who was like her, but hadn’t come out of her mouth. It should have been totally cool, to finally have that in common with somepony, instead of always having that one thing that makes you a freak. But instead, it was a disaster! Instead of partying, Scootaloo was following Spike’s example, and hiding under a picnic table. She couldn’t go out there. Soon as she ran out there into town, everypony would be like, “Oh no look, there’s another one!” and they’d go after her, and beat her up, and they’d be right to do so, because Pinkie gave them no reason to think differently! Scootaloo’s ugly self reflection was interrupted by a more literal reflection, when Archer’s head popped down from over the lip of the picnic table. Archer had apparantly quietly landed on top of the picnic table, and was now looking at Scootaloo upside-down-ly. “Is this picnic bench taken?” Archer asked softly... too softly, so it was hard to hear her above the tumult. But Scootaloo got the gist of what she was saying. Scootaloo slid back, allowing Archer to wiggle her little blue butt down, until they were both underneath the picnic table side by side, hooves perched on the seat, peering out fitfully at the unfolding disaster that was Ponyville. “This is terrible,” Scootaloo groaned, “We were so close to having friends again, and now everypony thinks we’re monsters. Again!” Archer turned to face Scootaloo with a concern bordering on skepticism. Scootaloo blushed, and added, “Yeah, I know it’s only Pinkie Pie, but I mean, why couldn’t we do something like this? First you make a filly, who makes a filly, and soon they just start running on auto-pilot, making more and eating everything in sight!” “I think they would want to go back inside me, instead of making more,” Archer offered forgivingly. “Princess Celestia did use a lot of magic on Pinkie Pie too, so it’s different than if we just tried to do it on our own.” Scootaloo rolled her eyes, saying, “Of course it’s different. When we do it they’re not all Pinkie Pie.” “It’s like she’s trapped in the past,” Archer speculated, “Just the same, over and over again. I wonder why.” Scootaloo didn’t answer, but just turned to look outside their little flimsy wooden fortress. “So...” she said at last to her blue other, in a pleading tone of voice, “Any ideas? What’s our strategy here?” Somewhere in another universe, Applejack adopted a disapproving glare, while Twilight just facehoofed silently. “Twilight said we should warn everypony,” Archer said, “And something about reconnasense.” As she spoke, she watched—for instance—a Pinkie charging noisily down the street on two hooves, with the other two hooves holding a chicken above her head, a giant flock of angry chickens hot on her heels. “I think everypony already knows what’s going on,” Archer concluded unhappily. “We gotta think,” Scootaloo said, bonking her head with a hoof, “She’s like us, right? So we have to know something about her that other ponies don’t. How do we stop her?” “I think the grown-ups are doing that,” Archer mumbled. Scootaloo shook her head. “I know, I know,” she said, “But maybe they’re not like, special or something. If we could figure something out, we’d be heroes!” It looked from here like Twilight had some kind of magic cage thing that they were dropping Pinkies into, and the last thing Scootaloo wanted was to get dropped in there. She should just stay where she was in hiding, and not make trouble. She didn’t want to though! She hated feeling so helpless! Where was her scooter? Where were her killer moves? She couldn’t go karate chop the Pinkies back into each other though. What to do, though? “I wonder...” Archer whispered thoughtfully, staring off at something up across the square. Scootaloo joined her gaze trying to see what Archer was looking at, but all Scootaloo could see was just ...Ponyville. Well, what’s left of Ponyville, anyway. “What do you see?” Scootaloo asked Archer, searching around, violet eyes following violet eyes. Archer answered her with a hopeful question. “Do you remember that song?” A bitter laugh burst out of Scootaloo before she thought better of it. “How could I forget?” she asked, the memory of it alone relieving her foul mood. “It was such an awesome song,” she sighed wistfully. “If only we didn’t have to not listen to it.” Scootaloo started bobbing her head to the tune, kind of sort of thinking about humming it even though she shouldn’t. “Well, what if we could play that song?” Archer asked. Scootaloo smiled patronizingly and started to answer, but stopped when her eyes widened in realization. “They’re just—!” she spat out swiftly. “I know!” Archer agreed, “And if we did then,” “Right!” Scootaloo responded, “So she’ll also” “We just have to...” Archer trailed off thoughtfully. “But where are we going to get four hundred pounds of flax?” Scootaloo protested, brows knitted in confusion. Archer shook her head, “No, not that. Look!” She pointed her hoof across the square again, and Scootaloo looked, but there wasn’t anything unusual aside Pinkies causing destruction. “I still don’t see it...” Scootaloo muttered abashedly. “Her instruments!” Archer finally clarified. Sure enough, the one pony band musical harness was still stuck there abandoned up in that tree, by the branch puncturing the accordion and the sousaphone hooked over the top. Scootaloo’s eyes widened even more, but then she blinked and looked at Archer in even more confusion. “I don’t think either of us can play all those instruments,” Scootaloo said skeptically. “Well, you know how to play percussion, remember?” Archer prompted. “And I took recorder lessons. I’m sure I could figure that harmonica out.” “But 12 instruments at once?” Scootaloo exclaimed. Archer smiled, closed her eyes and shook her head gently. “Well?!” Scootaloo demanded. She knew Archer had never done anything like play that many instruments before! Archer explained patiently. “Scootaloo, when Pinkie Pie played them, there was only one of her, so she had to play 12 of them all at once. But if there are enough of us, we would only need to play 1 instrument, each!” Scootaloo’s reaction ranged from delight to concern. Finally she uttered in dispute, “How are we going to stop from going all... Pinkie Pie, though? Why should they listen to us to not make more?” “I think we can do it,” Archer said with determination. “It’ll be harder than we’ve ever done before, but I think we can do it.” “Maybe, maybe if only we make the new ones...” Scootaloo admitted reluctantly, “Since we’re best at it.” “That could work,” Archer nodded. “How many will we need?” “We won’t know until we get that harness,” Scootaloo declared, crouching low on her hooves as she gave it over there a determined stare. “If anypony sees us together...” Archer said uncertainly. “You just have to keep a lookout, while I get it down,” Scootaloo responded. “If anypony comes after us, just yell and we’ll run.” “How about under the south bridge?” Archer said, “If we get separated.” “That’s as good a meeting spot as any,” Scootaloo admitted. “Now come on, we gotta hurry.” With that, Scootaloo leapt out from her picnic shelter, shortly followed by Archer, the two little fillies spreading out, running across the square with their target set in their sights. Anypony who would have noticed them were far too busy dealing with Pinkie Pie to do so. Though Scootaloo was worried, they didn’t attract any attention. For the moment, they were just another two unknown fillies running about and getting underhoof. Scootaloo jumped into the air as they neared the tree, trying to remember the lessons that Rainbow Dash imparted on her, mostly consisting of Rainbow Dash spending the entire lesson trying to figure out how the hay Scootaloo’s wings worked. Scootaloo was a fast learner though, and with careful control of her buzzing wings and straining her levibud to its limit, she followed a shallow arc through the air and her hoof managed to snag the bottom of the musical harness. Scootaloo pulled herself up into it. It was far too big for her to wear, of course, but she could use it to pull herself up into that tree. Clambering over it, Scoots made it onto the branch that it was impaled on, and perched there, looking down woozily. Scootaloo was not used to being this high, and certainly not in such a precarious situation. She kept telling herself she could catch herself if she fell but, well, there was a whole lot of tree sap in support of the fact that she’d overestimated her capabilities before. “I’m going to push it off the branch!” Scootaloo called down in a shaky voice. “Don’t catch it, it’s too heavy!” Archer nodded and backed up. Scootaloo butted her head up against the flexible side of the accordion and heaved, inching it forward in little jerks until it slipped off the branch. She didn’t get to see what happened next, because the branch flipped up when the harness fell off, tossing Scootaloo off of it right into the air. With a loud cry, Scootaloo tried to remember the confusing lecture on ailerons and updrafts and get her uncooperative wings to catch her uncontrolled fall. She did almost succeed, but she still hit the dirt face first, her muzzle smarting painfully as she slid to a halt. Picking herself up, she looked around and saw that Archer was already heading towards the harness, which having slipped entirely free had fallen heavily to the earth. Between the backsides of both Scootaloo and Archer, the two of them could lift the musical assembly together. They were a little wobbly, but all they had to do was coordinate their movements and they wouldn’t drop it or anything. That was one thing Scootaloo was really good at with her... others, was coordination. It was kind of unsettling really, just another reminder that she and Archer were too close to each other to regard one another as friends. Normally Scootaloo deliberately tried not to sync with Archer, sort of hoping to distinguish them from each other, but it did come in handy now at least. Two normal fillies would totally have dropped everything, especially when somepony shouted behind them, “There’s another two!” Scootaloo couldn’t turn to see who was talking or if they were talking about her, but she was pretty sure what was going on when another voice exclaimed, “Those are the originals!” “Cheese it!” Scootaloo shouted, she and Archer charging off as one, with a ludicrous amount of instruments balanced on their collective backs. It was kind of pointless to hide really, because every step made the tamborine clatter and the symbols bang when they skipped along the ground beside the fillies. So Scootaloo was pleasantly surprised when, collapsing panting in an alleyway, she and Archer were not immediately met with pony pursuers rushing around the corner. She peeked around the corner, but ponies were just chasing Pinkies, still. She looked back at Archer, who just shrugged and turned towards their hard-won prize. “Okay, so what do we have?” Archer asserted, as the two of them hurriedly huddled over the instruments and got to work. They counted carefully, and it turned out that it was 13 instruments, not twelve. Scootaloo was sure she could put the cymbals on her hooves, while working the bass drum on her back, and Archer could play the harmonica, and probably the tamborine on her flank, that left one filly who needed to play the banjo, and one to carry the accordion, and one to play the tuba. Scootaloo frowned, “But that means the new ones will outnumber us.” “It should be okay, though?” Archer offered consolingly. Scootaloo shook her head though. “I just don’t want it to get all crazy if we’re wrong,” she said, resisting. There was a pause, then Archer said, “Maybe you could play the tuba? If I played the cymbals, that would let you push the keys.” “But then you’d be playing three,” Scootaloo protested. “The cymbals, the harmonica and the tambourine?” Archer shrunk back at that, looking uncertain herself that she could do such a thing. “I-I guess we’ll have to make three then,” Scootaloo admitted. “It’ll probably be fine,” Archer said. Scootaloo sighed, mumbling, “But I really wanted to play the cymbals...” But alas, a cold, unforgiving universe denied her this one simple joy. Such is the terrible sacrifice of a tubaist. While Archer messed with the stuff, Scootaloo kept looking nervously around the corner of the alleyway. “I wonder why nopony is following us,” she muttered. Perhaps they just hadn’t been pursued at all, perhaps ponies were clearly too busy with a townwide disaster to go after a few fillies. Perhaps it was just dumb luck. But despite feeling like they were being watched, Scootaloo had to admit they remained unmolested. “You’d think somepony would at least be curious,” Scootaloo said, looking back to Archer. “What do you think ArcHOOOSHI!” Archer blinked at Scootaloo’s jumping backwards reaction, only to nearly jump out of her skin as somepony said, “Oops, sorry!” about 3 inches behind her shoulder. Archer spun around and reflexively tried to hide behind Scootaloo, even though both of them were the same size, shocked at the sight of a maizy looking orange haired earth pony. “Heeey, what are you fillies doing out here?” the older mare accused hesitantly, lowering her head to Scootaloo’s level. “Don’t you know i-i-it’s dangerous, with those things running around?” she announced, to those things running around, with a straight face. Scootaloo looked at the pony sideways to her, leery as all get-out. “Who are you?” she asked testily, not sure why the pony seemed familiar, or whether she was just one of the mob that chased them. “I-I’m Junebug,” Junebug said with a noticeable stutter, “One of the CCP who was at the library.” Scootaloo continued to stand warily sideways to Junebug. “You’re not gonna dump us in the cage with all the Pinkies?” she asked. Junebug just shook her head. She appeared confused at the question, as if it wasn’t an obvious thing Scootaloo should be asking. “Because we-we’re the things, like Pinkie Pie?” Scootaloo continued feeling a little irate at Junebug’s uncomprehending head tilt. “Shouldn’t you be scared that we’ll– we’ll do that?” As if to punctuate her point, several Pinkies flew past the alleyway right then, except they weren’t flying, but rather riding, on other ponies, who clearly hadn’t been asked permission to do so, from how they were all yelling and bucking. “Oh!” Junebug said, holding up a hoof to look at it modestly. “ I-I..I would be, buuut,” she frowned, “You haven’t before, and I don’t think i-it’s natural. Something’s wrong with Pinkie Pie, for her to swarm like this.” Junebug snapped her mouth shut and awkwardly planted her hoof then, and backed up a step, looking all flustered suddenly. She said, “I-I mean, not that I mean you’re bugs or a-anything buut, I-I mean just I don’t think you’re like Pinkie Pie.” “That’s what I’m saying!” Archer exclaimed excitedly, in apparant ignorance of Junebug’s agitation. It calmed the older pony right down though, so maybe Archer had the right idea. Well, Scootaloo clopped over and plopped down by the musical harness, back to getting them loose again. “Right,” Junebug said confidently behind her, “So I’ll just take you h—” She paused. “... to the library, and... y-you can wait in there until the older ponies have this all settled out.” “What? No!” Scootaloo exclaimed twisting around to look up at Junebug. “We’re gonna help, too!” Junebug shook her head, saying “It’s not something you should worry about. The grownups will handle it. I-it’s just too dangerous for little fillies like you.” Scootaloo glowered angrily at the big orange pony. “We’re not scared!” she told her. It came out sounding way too defensive though. Scootaloo scrunched up and turned aside, adding more calmly, “We’re doing just fine.” “Youu should get back to the library...” Junebug continued to suggest. It really was hard to take any demand coming from her as anything but a suggestion, with how she kept hesitating at every little thing she said. “There’s something we need to do,” Scootaloo replied insistently, ignoring Junebug to pull on the pile to try to get them loose. “We’ll be fine,” she assured over her shoulder confidently. She and Archer started fiddling with the straps, unfastening them and separating the instruments out. “How are you going to play all those instruments?” Junebug asked curiously. Scootaloo winced. Of course this grownup would be more confident when they weren’t paying attention to her. But it was so the wrong question to ask. It was the wrong question to ask, because Scootaloo was totally going to get in trouble if she told the truth. She didn’t want Junebug to think that she was like Pinkie Pie. But this pony already knew Scootaloo was like Pinkie Pie, so how could it hurt more? Junebug said she wasn’t going to throw them in the cage, after all. Junebug even saw Scootaloo make Archer last night, so she knew it wasn’t exactly the same as Pinkie Pie, right? “We... need to make three more,” Scootaloo mumbled very reluctantly. “Three more wha–oh,” Junebug’s face grew uncertain at the belated revalation. Scootaloo could practically feel her uncomfortable stare burning into the back of her head. “Y-you sure you aren’t going crazy like Pinkie Pie?” Junebug asked. “We’re not going to eat all the food,” Scootaloo said quickly, turning over her shoulder to look up at Junebug seriously. “Just enough so we can carry all these instruments, and make Pinkie Pie stop doing bad stuff.” Junebug’s alarm didn’t decrease as she backed up a step, saying “But what if they run amuck?! Yours I-I mean, not Pinkie Pie, I mean.” “They won’t,” Scootaloo assured her, not feeling half as assured herself. “Me and Archer will be real careful so they won’t come out all nutty.” “Can you control your o-o-others?” Junebug stuttered searching for the right word that simply did not exist in modern pony vocabulary. Scootaloo shook her head, “No, I mean like... they know everything I do, but you still have to convince them to use it, and I can help them be easier to uh, convince, when they come out.” She frowned and added, “...I think.” She felt like she was explaining it wrong, and Junebug just didn’t seem to quite get it. “Please miss Junebug,” Archer asked emotionally, putting a small blue hoof on her upper foreleg, “It can’t hurt any more, can it? If it goes wrong you can just put us with the Pinkies. I think we could save them, though!” “I-I-I never said you couldn’t,” Junebug blushed flusteredly, “J-just that it’s too dangerous. N-normal.. I-I mean, not... “not you” ponies will ask for help from the grownups, before trying crazy things like making more of you. Why can’t somepony else play the instruments? I-I could play a tambourine.” Scootaloo gave Junebug a long look. Archer piped up with a reluctant, “Do you even know the song?” Junebug lifted a hoof, her face looking confused even through the shifting shade from the buildings on either side of them in the alleyway. “The song?” she repeated, with that blank stare. Scootaloo felt a chill even just trying to talk about it. She knew it was dangerous to let Junebug know her plans, but she just had to impress this on Junebug. Scootaloo couldn’t afford to get in trouble now. Junebug’d just throw them in the cage, and they wouldn’t save anypony, and that would be an experience Scootaloo would never want to remember again. “The one Pinkie Pie was playing,” Scootaloo explained, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice, “That m-made us follow her.” Junebug rubbed a pastern on her chest, saying dubiously, “I guess so? It went sort of like hmm-hmm-hmm-hmmmm-hmm-hm-hm” “No,” Scootaloo interrupted in exasperation, “It went like this: ~~~~” and a trill came out of her mouth that sounded almost like an accordion, before she clapped her hooves over her own muzzle. Scootaloo blushed in the silence, and crossed her eyes as if she could see what was going on with her weird mouth. “Didn’t know I could do that,” she mumbled. “You uh, sure you need the i-instruments at all?” Junebug asked curiously. “What other cool noises can you make?” “P-pretty sure yeah, I mean I don’t really–” Scootaloo cut off as Junebug’s words started to hit her, saying, “Hey, it’s not my fault! I didn’t even mean to make that weird noise.” “I-I thought it sounded cool,” Junebug smiled. “I wish I could sound like a-a cicada.” “What’s a cicada?” Junebug winced. “N-nothing.” “She could just follow along, though!” Archer exclaimed thoughtfully. “It’s just a tambourine it only needs to keep the beat. That means you could play the tuba, and we only need to make two fillies then. We can do that!” Scootaloo started to nod, but giving Junebug one more suspicious look said, “So, me and Archer need to make two more fillies in order to play these instruments. That’s okay, right?” “No,” Junebug answered easily. Before any alarm could be raised, she added, “But I-I don’t got any other ideas. I-if... if you know the song, the only other pony who knows it is, well...” She gestured to the catastrophe of pink outside the mouth of the alleyway. Scootaloo followed her hoof, looked back at her, then sighed and nodded. She still didn’t feel comfortable with not being all by herselves, but if Junebug really wasn’t going to hurt her, then it would be alright not to hide from her, just this once. Archer pulled at the accordion, its punctured bellows stretching open at a touch, with the merest whisper of what should be its true sound. “We need something that can fix this first,” she said. “Everything else is fine, but this is... really broke. I don’t think we can tie it with cloth, because it needs to be airtight. I don’t know how to make it airtight though.” Archer huffed in frustration, sitting down, while Scootaloo cheerfully exclaimed, “Oh, I know something that will work for sure!” “Really?” Archer asked, both her and Junebug turning to look at Scootaloo with questioningly hopeful gazes. “You bet,” Scootaloo said puffing out proudly. “I could get some easy I just have to go to the hardware store.” “Oh, that’s um...” Archer looked aside. “That’s in the same direction the Pinkies came from...” Junebug said uneasily. “I-it would be really hard to go through that...” “It’s right in the middle of all this,” Archer agreed to Junebug less than happily. “Right at the epicenter,” Junebug said down to her. “Well... you two stay here,” Scootaloo mused, having just walked to the mouth of the alleyway while they were sitting there prevaricating. “I don’t care about the pinkiecenter or whatever,” she said, “If I can get my scooter, I can totally make it, no problem.” Her scooter, she spied miraculously unmolested where she’d left it leaning against a tree for the impromptu party, whom Pinkie even more impromptuly crashed. Scootaloo chuckled at that. It’s like Pinkie really can’t miss a party after all. “Wait—” Archer said to her cautioningly, but Scootaloo was already at a gallop. She jetted across the square, dodging rolling barrels, and at one point a giant wad of cotton candy with Pinkie stuffed in the middle of it. Leaping on her scooter, Scootaloo pushed off with her hoof and engaged her wings. As the familiar acceleration picked up, the world seemed to reach a greater clarity somehow, even though things were moving by her faster. Scootaloo wasn’t going to waste any time with tricks, but it was just easier to pay attention when things were flying toward you, instead of all around you. It gave her breathing room to think on the curious experience with the Junebug, and the ponies of Ponyville in general. They sure were weirder than the ones in Whinneapolis, but maybe weirder was good? Scootaloo sure knew she was weird, and maybe if ponies were just used to weirdness, she might stand a chance at not having to move again. She’d only done it once before and... she really didn’t want to lose all her friends and have to do it again. It was useful to run into Junebug it turns out, rather than disastrous, because she could watch Archer while Scootaloo went and blasted off towards the hardware store. There was one thing that Scootaloo needed before she could solve all their problems. She only hoped that she hadn’t blown all her credit on scooter parts again. Scootaloo had just this terrible memory for that sort of thing, and a tendancy to need a lot of scooter repairs. But that was why she did jobs there most of the time, so she would probably be okay. As she careened through the streets, Scootaloo couldn’t help but notice that the streets were a lot emptier. Everypony she was dodging was Pinkie Pie, not any of the other ponies in Ponyville. Where had all the other ponies gone? Was everypony fleeing the area? Scootaloo firmed her jaw and picked up the pace. She had to get this done quickly or there wouldn’t be a town left to save. Her progress down the hellish landscape that Ponyville had become was hindered by several obstacles, most of them currently in the process of falling. Scootaloo rode up a toppled over plant potter to catch enough air to make it through the window of a passenger cart flying through space, using the other window as a springboard to leap out before it landed behind her, and shattered into a million pieces. From there, she had to duck and twist through a series of clotheslines that had been taken down from their runners and stapled haphazardly to walls back and forth across the street. She landed on her still travelling scooter, with just enough time to dodge another rolling barrel, only to look up with alarm as the entire detached roof of one of the buildings came down on top of her, with a terrible crash of finality. Seconds later, she emerged from beneath the sagging peak, her head ducked low, just enough space for her tiny body to fit underneath, with only the mane on top of her head looking worse for wear. Thinking fast as a toppled food cart loomed in her vision, Scootaloo did a forestand, flipping upside down to propel her scooter up above her, travelling over the fallen frame in a gentle arc, and then expertly dodging the tumbling cabbages rolling out of it, her hoof coming down hard on the soft plush flank of the Pinkies who were hot on the trail of those cabbages. Ignoring that, Scootaloo looked forward and saw it. There was the hardware store, right in front of her. It was a warm oak building with shutters for doors. A scooter model that Scootaloo could never afford was always displayed prominently in the window, one of those fancy lightweight scooters currently that you could fold up when you weren’t going around. Inside were an array of tools, wheels, screws, lumber and knicknacks that were a joy to just browse among in more peaceful times. The store’s unique, sturdy oak construction was complicated by the fact that it was currently on fire. Scootaloo squinted at the flames licking from a lower window of the building, and without slowing down, she drove in anyway. The smell of phosphorous and magnesium were heavy in the smoky air, somepony having set off the entire fireworks display. A more soot black than pink Pinkie Pie was curled beside them crying, but not doing anything else about it. Scootaloo jumped off her scooter just in time to clear the counter, and landed at a gallop, running into the employee room she had become rather familiar with during her exploration of mechanics over the past year. The reason Scootaloo ran into a burning building became apparent, because in the employee break room she knew there was a certain tank of fire extinguishment, very useful for putting out fires. Only problem is, the fire extinguisher was as big as she was. Scootaloo ended up having to scramble out of the way when kicking it loose from its stand made it topple over, almost landing on her with a clunk. She grabbed the rubbery hose in her mouth, bracing and walking backwards, dragging the tank ponderously along with her. Every second it took made the heat in the air more oppressive. The sweat trickling down Scootaloo’s brow was both from that, and from the fear that she might be too late. She wasn’t too late. Pointing the broad cone at the growing fire, Scootaloo pulled out the pin in her teeth, and turned the valve just like they said it would work. She was rocketed back by the violent blast of foam picking her up off her hooves. She returned step by step, training the blast on every bit of flammable or flaming material she could see. There was a ridiculous amount of foam in this thing. Scootaloo thought it was just a tank of liquid, but it just kept expanding, like soap suds sort of! It was like nothing she’d ever seen. It ended up practically covering half of the entire display floor, not just the fireworks display. Scootaloo wasn’t sure she got all of it, but already the air was clearing. The foam even seemed to capture some of the smoky smell, leaving only a clinical, sterile smell behind. A very confused looking Pinkie Pie emerged from the dusty foam, with it clinging to her face like a generous beard. Scootaloo ignored her for now, taking a moment to catch her breath and looking for any other signs of fire or smoke. Then her eyes widened in realization that, even here in the store, Pinkie Pie was the only pony to be seen. “Mister Breezy?” Scootaloo called out, less than hopefully, walking a few steps. “I need to buy something!” No answer. Why was nopony around? She chewed on her lip, then danced on her hooves, but there was nothing to be done about it. Pulling her prize off the hook with her teeth, Scootaloo was blushing hard with shame as she jumped on her scooter, tossing it to the board with a clatter then zipping out of the store. Her shame was short lived though, because when Scootaloo looked at the war-torn street she came down, her ears fell as she realized that she was going to have to go back through that all over again. Rather more shaken, bruised, somewhat singed, with flecks of fire retardant clinging to her fur, Scootaloo scooted exhaustedly back to the alleyway. There, a little blue filly named Archer was still waiting, along with a tannish mare with orange hair and a beetle on her flank known as Junebug, and of course the all important instruments. “G-got it...” Scootaloo panted, taking only enough time to toss the roll of duct tape at the piled instrument medley, before collapsing face first onto the ground. Scootaloo was only out for a few minutes, she was pretty sure. When she caught her wind and struggled to her hooves again, Junebug was still holding up the accordion, while Archer carefully wrapped layers of duct tape around it, in alternating angles to match with the accordion’s natural folds. “Is it working?” Scootaloo asked walking up to them. “Scootaloo!” Archer exclaimed in relief and delight, turning to face Scootaloo. Well, she more exclaimed “Schooha” spit out the duct tape, and then exclaimed “Scootaloo!” The blue filly, whom Scootaloo knew more than well, jumped down from where she was perched on the bell of the tuba, her tiny wings a-flutter as she exclaimed in uncharacteristic excitement, “I think it’s working! The accordion makes noise again! I taped over both the holes, and Junebug is helping and I think everything else isn’t broken!” “Awesome!” Scootaloo said with a hoof pump, “I think we might have this one in the bag!” “Now we just need two more fillies who can play the song,” Archer agreed. Scootaloo nodded excitedly. “Yeah! Let’s all go get something to eat right away then.” Archer gave an uncomfortable non-answer at that, and the grown mare Junebug put in unhappily, “Y-you should take a look at this, Scootaloo.” The three of them crept to the mouth of the alley leading into the market square, where an open air market had been inconveniently interrupted. It was completely empty. Empty stalls, empty carts, empty barrels. A single lonely apple was rolling along the dirt, whereupon a Pinkie Pie leaped through the air to devour it in one bite. Pinkie stood there, looking around unconcernedly, then got an alarmed look as she began to choke up, and with a heave through her whole body, a goopy pink blob came out of her distended mouth. It didn’t rocket out as it had done before though, just plopped to the ground, unfolding after a moment into a second Pinkie Pie. The first had a relieved look on her face, and ignoring the second, just went bouncing off out of the square. The second just kind of stood there, looking bored. Yawned after a while. And Scootaloo was having second thoughts about all this. Third thoughts. No wait, fourth thoughts. She looked beside her at Archer also perched there on a crate, then up at Junebug worriedly. “They ate all the food already!” Scootaloo urgently hissed. “There’s got to be something...” Archer murmured thoughtfully. “There have to be food stored somewhere, that we can get to but Pinkie Pie can’t...” “Where could we go that Pinkie Pie couldn’t?” Scootaloo exclaimed in a harried tone. “Maybe you...” Junebug offered hesitantly, “Could e-eat a Pinkie Pie?” Scootaloo looked up at Junebug again, and her eyes widened with alarm. “No,” she said definitively, paling at the very thought. “I am not eating that.” Archer also looked up to Junebug, adding, “We don’t know why she’s acting so weird.” Scootaloo nodded to Archer, saying, “If we went and ate one of her,” and they both faced Junebug, telling her together with a concerned, “We might catch what she has!” Junebug backed up a step at that. She blinked in mild confusion and pondering, and finally just shrugged on the spot with a sorry smile, saying, “I-I got no ideas then.” Scootaloo sighed, and added, “Plus I kinda don’t wanna know what goes on in Pinkie Pie’s head.” That actually made Junebug grow pale. “Say no more,” she agreed. So Scootaloo didn’t. “M-maybe ponies around here know where food is hidden?” Junebug suggested, peering out again around above Scootaloo. “What can y-you eat?” “I’m not pi–” Scootaloo glanced at Archer, then said, “We’re not picky. Pretty much anything. My favorite are roasted marshmallows.” “You can fly, Scootaloo!” Archer announced. Scootaloo raised an eyebrow saying, “Yeah maybe after another three months of practice.” “No I mean... you can reach things that are high up,” Archer clarified, looking at her own wings and buzzing them demonstratively. “And I’m a wimp who can’t reach anything!” she said cheerfully, turning to face the two of them again. Scootaloo blinked, and said slowly, “So... how is that a good thing?” “Well we’re phys... physio...” Archer’s muzzle scrunched in frustration, “Physicalifically the same,” she said, “But only you can fly. I mean, it takes a long time to learn how to coornidate when you’re new, so you can, but I can’t do it yet.” She pointed out of the alley, concluding with “And the Pinkies are all new.” “So how does that get us food?” Scootaloo asked uncertainly, feeling a bit self conscious at Archer’s praise for some reason. Probably because Archer was saying it was good to be a bad flyer, so being a good one was bad, right? “Well, um,” Archer toed the earth, and admitted, “I don’t know but, if we can find some food that’s high up out of reach, then you can get it and Pinkie can’t, so it will still be there.” “So, like a cupboard or something...?” Scootaloo said with a dubious head tilt. “What about an apple tree?” They both turned to Junebug. “Wow, you’re right, but... look at them.” “I know, weird...” Junebug insisted on accompanying the two, if for no other reason than they were two fillies in a war zone. The war seemed oddly like it was winding down though. Their first impression of this was when they got to the Sweet Apple Acres, where apple trees had been picked clean, below 20 feet or so. All the apples higher were still sitting there on their branches, glowing healthily in the afternoon sun. They didn’t... look exactly ripe, but Scootaloo wasn’t about to be picky at this point. It was close enough to Apple Bucking season, so they’d just be a little tart is all, and she was concerned more about saving the day than settling her stomach. Though once she thought on it, settling her stomach might have been the very key to saving the day. What she and Archer were remarking on wasn’t the apples though. “Wow, you’re right, but...” Archer said looking over the handlebars she clung to of Scootaloo’s scooter and gesturing toward the Pinkies she could see. Scootaloo looked over Archer’s shoulder and reversed the polarity on her wings to slow them to an abrupt halt. There were Pinkies here, but instead of trying to eat things they were lying around, leaning on the trunks of trees, not unconscious nor in pain, but just lazing about. “Look at them!” Archer emphasized. “I know, weird...” Scootaloo agreed. Junebug galloped up behind them, breathing hard for an earth pony. “You... fillies are... fast...” she panted. “Sorry Miss Junebug,” Scootaloo, said with a half grin, “Not every pony can be as awesome as me.” At Junebug’s silent stare, Scootaloo’s grin faltered and she explained herself with, “That’s what Rainbow Dash says when she is doing awesome things and going really fast.” “Right, well...” Junebug looked up at the trees, to which the Pinkies around here didn’t seem to be leaping at persistently. “You want to try to get those apples up there?” Scootaloo nodded, and released her tight hug around Archer’s midsection, hopping off the scooter so the blue filly too could dismount. Crouching and spreading her wings, Scootaloo said, “OK now watch me do this!” and then, Scootaloo leapt into the air, rocketing into the atmosphhaha, no actually she rose slowly from the ground, quickly buzzing her wings and gaining altitude more from her leap than any aerodynamic lift. She did manage to orbit the tree though, kicking her hooves off it to push herself higher with every turn. “Watch me!” she repeated, “I almost got it!” And then she got it, and her hooves hooked right over the lowest branch on the tree. Scootaloo’s back legs and wings pedaled furiously until she had scrambled up onto the branch entirely. It was about 10 feet off the ground, one of the ones without apples, but the ones with apples were now within reach! “I can reach the apples!” Scootaloo called down. She looked around for any ripe ones and there were a few that looked good at least. Biting the stem and pulling, she got the apple to snap right off, sticking her head out to look down at the woah, the ground was really far away from up here... “You okay Scootaloo?” Archer called up at Scootaloo’s sudden hesitance. Smiling not-truthily, Scootaloo snapped up her head just enough, that when she released the apple, it arced right towards Archer. Archer caught the thing fruit-first in her mouth. “I’m fine!” Scootaloo said with a false confidence, clinging tightly to the branch she was trying to perch on. She tried to remember how she felt when Rainbow Dash took her flying, with the rainbows falling all around. She just had to get the apples and maybe some fresh leaves and get down from here as soon as possible. This high was nothing like that waterfall. N-nothing like it at all. Scootaloo hastily started pulling off apples and sending leaves scattering down, where Archer zipped around collecting them. Scootaloo didn’t look at that though, since there was no way she was going to look down again, not until she had all four hooves on the ground. Some of the apples might not have been ripe, and some might have been better left alone, but at last Archer shouted out, “I think this is enough! Hurry the Pinkies are looking at us!” Scootaloo gratefully slid right down the trunk of the apple tree, thumping her plain butt on the earth, before flipping to her hooves with a steady relief. She saw um, Archer crouched protectively over a pile of apples and leaves, and Junebug with a big discarded branch in her mouth, using it to shoo away the two Pinkies who decided to come over and see what was going on. Repeatedly. Archer threw an apple, a very tiny green one, and one of the Pinkies caught it in her mouth. She immediately winced at the powerful sourness and backed off sputtering, now clearly uninterested in what was to be had if it tasted like that. These Pinkies were pretty easy to read, unlike how Pinkie usually was, which Scootaloo found kind of... weird. Pinkie always had that air of mystery about her, where you couldn’t tell how she felt about something or how she’d react, but these Pinkies were a lot simpler. Not spending any more time on that thought, Scootaloo hurried over to Archer, sliding up beside her on the earth, saying, “Okay so we’re really going to do this.” “I–I just think about playing instruments, right?” Archer asked a little uncertainly. Scootaloo frowned inwardly, thinking maybe Archer really didn’t have all that much experience with making new fillies. She just usually spit out ones that were already there. “You think about what’s important to you,” Scootaloo said to Archer. “If we can play the song that will make the Pinkies stop um...” she looked around at the snoozing Pinkies. “I guess maybe we don’t have to–” And that was when the shockwave from a giant pink explosion blasted past them, a distant cloud rising north of town. “That!” Scootaloo pointed emphatically. “That was scary. We don’t want that. You think about how you don’t want that, and how good playing music is going to make you feel. And how sc-how you feel like it’s dangerous. And then they’ll come out of you better, I think. I think it’s what you want for you, not anything somepony wants for them.” “Makes sense,” Archer said, deep in thought. “I think you’re right,” she concluded. “Every time you did that in the past, they came out the way you want–not how you wanted, but they came out so they could help you.” “I hope it’s right,” Scootaloo said a little nervously. “I don’t wanna–” “Wll you fllies gt eatn?!” Junebug champed out around her stick, still being circled warily by an inquisitive Pinkie. “You heard her,” Scootaloo said, brandishing an apple. “Bottoms up!” This would have to be one of the first times she ever had any need to eat more than her fill. The fillies they made would be a necessity this time, not just a necessary evil. Feeling a little indulgant at that, Scootaloo tossed the apple up and caught it in her mouth. With a crunch, the thing dissolved into a tart mush, certainly not anything as tart as what Archer gave that Pinkie. There was plenty of sugar in this apple, even if some was still locked up in the tartness, and between that, the other apples, and the leaves, there was plenty of building... stuff. Stuff for making fillies. Scootaloo was surprised by how much she had to eat to get it right. Their little stash diminished between them, and Scootaloo’s belly filled up swollen. It was like it was... it was harder to do, when you were trying to do it right, so she had to eat more maybe? She didn’t really understand, but finally she felt some threshold crossed, like a switch being flipped in her, and suddenly she went from wanting to put things in, to wanting to put things out. “I’m (BURP)” Scootaloo blushed and stood on all fours, repeating, “I’m ready I think. I-it’s... hold on it’s... yeah– ugh...” Discomfort swept over her, as there was something forming inside her that she really needed to get out of there. She knew exactly what it was, but that didn’t stop it from being disconcerting. She was glad to start heaving, just to expel the thing, the... the new filly that she was creating. That was kind of coo— and then her whole gut squeezed down and her mouth opened, in that way that it did when fillies came out. The ball of filly stuff inside her stretched her wide, as she urgently shoved it up through her throat and out. Scootaloo only paid half attention as it plopped to the ground. She swallowed wetly once it was out of her; doing so helped close herself up faster. Her eyes then rested upon the filly who had come out of her. It wasn’t Dizzie again, that’s for sure. No, Dizzie was thankfully long gone, just a memory of sadness. The quivering ball of fur and feathers in front of Scootaloo now was an icy blue color, much lighter than Archer, with an even lighter stripe of electric blue in her emerging mane and tail. She unfolded uncertainly, standing one hoof after the other, until she was eye to eye with Scootaloo. Her short mane naturally parted into slicked back spikes, going from gleaming to soft textured, as she absorbed the last of that weird stomach goop stuff. It looked kind of windswept, like those cool ponies uh... Scootaloo didn’t really want to speculate. Scootaloo sort of hoped the new filly would say something, but she was just sort of... there. Oh well, she’s new, so it’s to be expected. “Hello!” Scootaloo said to her in a friendly tone. “I’m Scootaloo, and I need your help to play something.” Getting no answer was fine, because now Scootaloo had the new filly’s attention, and that was what she needed to get. Now just have to think of something to call her... Had Scootaloo not been focused on her new “sister” she might have felt unnerved by Junebug’s strong stare of utter fascination, not so much at the process, but at their little one sided exchange at the end there. It was an attention only broken, when Archer scrambled to her own hooves more hastily and said, “I’m I-eugk-it’s h-hh” and with her eyes bugging out and her throat and mouth stretching wide, out from her came a second goopy ball of filly. This one was a bright yellow green, all swirled with red. The swirl turned out to be her hair color, with the resulting filly standing up having a golden green coat of fur all over her, and a pinkish red mane and tail. The mane and tail sort of bunched up roundly, in a way that sort of looked like... Scootaloo chuckled. “Good job,” she said in honest praise to Archer, “I like her. You did real good, but... you really want to be friends with Apple Bloom, don’t you Archer?” Archer just blushed, and turned from her own creation. Scootaloo shook her head chidingly, and put a hoof on Archer’s cheek, pushing her back towards the second new filly that came out of her. “You have to say hello,” Scootaloo instructed, “That’s what I always do and it helps them.” “R-right,” Archer said, fidgeting self consciously as she faced the silent green filly. “Hello, um... Tart Apple I just made you um... I need your help to play some instruments.” The newly christened Tart said nothing, but as Archer looked her eye to eye, a gentle smile touched the fourth filly’s face. Scootaloo hauled around the new blue... Newblue? No that was too obvious. Light Archer was too hard to say. She hauled around the new blue pony to distract Junebug from watching Archer and Tart, saying up to Junebug, “See? No problem. Neither of our fillies are going to destroy the town. We’re just gonna play the song, and save the day!” Junebug peered at blue... Bluey... Snowy, yeah that works. And Snowy peered back at Junebug impassively. “This is Snowy,” Scootaloo explained. “She’s new—I mean, really new, not from any time before. That means she won’t really see you for a while maybe. I bet she can play a mean accordion, though!” “This i-is just more than I-I can imagine,” Junebug said in a tone that bordered on wonderment. “This is i-incredible. You could do so much with this.” “Um...” Scootaloo thought about it, but she couldn’t really think of any applications besides if you needed more fillies for your band. “I guess so,” she admitted, “I mean, if you ever need another filly, it’s pretty quick and easy. That’s um... I mean, if you ignore all the throwing up and gooey stuff it’s kind of... convenient I guess?” Junebug firmed her muzzle neutrally, saying to Scootaloo, “Well yes it... it’s probably just convenient. Maaybe we should just show them the instruments.” “Good idea,” said Scootaloo, heading to the wagon that she had previously tied to the scooter all along in which she had, previously, as before mentioned and not totally forgotten about, placed all the instruments haphazardly. Taking special care with the accordion of course, as it had been the most damaged, and seemed to be the most easily damaged of the instruments. Scootaloo lifted out the accordion complete with barrel mount, carrying it on her hindquarters over to the new Snowy, where without asking she just placed the accordion atop Snowy’s back, and tightened up the straps. Tightened them really far since they were sized for Pinkie Pie, but they managed to cinch up enough. Putting the accordion bellows pump line over Snowy’s rear left hoof, Scootaloo stepped back to look at her handiwork. Snowy stood there looking over her shoulder at the accordion strapped to her back. When she took a few steps, it began to wheeze sounds as she did so. Then her hoof shot up to the valve keyboard, and she deftly turned the discoordinated wheezing into a sequence of familiar notes. And even just that part of the song made Scootaloo smile, like she felt like she had come home, and everything was going to be okay now. “Alright Snowy,” Scootaloo said to her, “Now that you’re settled, we’re going to have to go save Archer from having a meltdown.” Archer only needed a few... tips, of course. She wasn’t used to taking a leadership role, to say the least, and her new filly really really needed to be led, so Scootaloo had to make sure Archer was together enough to do it. Between that and fielding Junebug’s questions it took a minute or two, but not that long before they were all assembled. Scootaloo took the front, with her right hindleg easily tugging on the mallet of the bass drum on her back, a deep thump with her every step, more or less depending on how she angled it. Her torso was wrapped entirely in the sousaphone tuba, making her need to stand a bit stiffly to avoid it dragging on the ground. Then came Snowy, with the accordion strapped onto her, walking in a three legged gait that set the pace for the four of them. She didn’t have any problem playing it, and in fact seemed to have more of a problem with anypony who wanted her to stop. Scootaloo really hoped she hadn’t overdone it there in making Snowy. Well, as long as she wasn’t going crazy and destroying Ponyville it was a success in Scootaloo’s mind. Third was Tart, who had the banjo strapped around her neck. It was too big for her, but they had to work with what they were dealt, so it didn’t bump on the ground too badly. It was sort of ironic how Archer’s wishes ended up, since the one they had playing the Apple family’s instrument sort of looked like she could be an Apple herself, if she wasn’t a pegasus. Pega-something. Archer took up the rear, allowing her to keep a closer eye on Tart, and buoying her confidence by not having to always worry about whether a filly behind her had wandered away. She had the harmonica on its stand right in front of her face, and a quick run over its span of notes showed that playing a harmonica was a whole lot different than playing a flute. Archer insisted she’d almost got the hang of it though, once she figured out to use her tongue to block the unwanted holes. Her forelegs were ensheathed in the cymbal holders, allowing her to crash them together mid-step if the music called for it. Archer would have strapped the tambourines to her flank, so they jingled with her every step. It probably wouldn’t have interfered with her use of the harmonica. But Junebug really wanted to help, so she got to take the tambourines instead, following along behind all of them, promising that she’d do her best to keep with the pace of the song. “Alright, everypony, here we go!” Scootaloo shouted, then as music started to swell behind her, she blew into the tuba to start them off. She stopped. The harmonica died when Archer ran into the bass drum on her back. Heedless of that, Scootaloo blew into the tuba again. “It’s not working!” she said in a panic, the tuba sounding like nothing but air going through a big metal pipe. “I can’t make it play!” “I can’t sing those low notes!” Archer said in alarm. “How do you get a tuba to play?” “I don’t know! I only ever played the drums before!” Scootaloo moaned. No matter how she fiddled with the keys, it just wouldn’t make music. Bitter tears started to come to her face as she sat down, trying so hard but it just would never work. Why wouldn’t it play?! She— She was nose-to-nose with Pinkie Pie. A Pinkie had stuck her face in Scootaloo’s face, holding an oddly cheerful expression for a pony who was supposed to be unemotional and new. Then the Pinkie started trying to steal Scootaloo’s tuba. “Oh no, they’re trying to stop us!” Scootaloo shouted, pulling back at the insistent pink pony in desperation. “Help she’s gonna steal my tuba!” When no help came, Scootaloo got even more upset. Archer shouted behind her, “No wait, let her have it!” “What?!” Scootaloo exclaimed, turning her tear stricken, puffy eyed face to look at Archer in shock. And that distraction alone was enough for Pinkie Pie to finally get the tuba out of Scootaloo’s hooves. “Now look what you did!” Scootaloo said angrily to Archer, who wasn’t getting any of her instruments stolen. In fact neither was Junebug, and no Pinkie was going after Scootaloo’s bass drum. In confusion, Scootaloo turned forward to see where the Pinkie had fled with her tuba, only to come face to face with the tuba’s broad bell. BWOMP After Junebug and Archer helped Scootaloo get to her hooves again, instead of being toppled upside down on top of the bass drum like a turtle on its shell, Scootaloo looked again at the Pinkie with the tuba. As if on cue, the Pinkie played two broad, low notes in succession. “You... you can play the tuba?” Scootaloo asked. Pinkie’s willingness to give another BWOMP seemed to answer that question. “You want to help us?” Scootaloo asked dazedly. BWOMP BWOMP was Pinkie’s answer. Once only three, now the twelve ponies started marching around the apple trees, uncertainly at first, but growing with confidence, as everypony played the music without making trouble, and even Junebug was still pretty good at making rattles at the right times, even if she didn’t know the song. And the Pinkies paid attention, and the Pinkies began to follow behind. At first one, two, and then a dozen, Scootaloo soon found herself the head of an impressive marching troupe. And she couldn’t have been happier to do so, because all the while she boomed her drum and crashed her cymbals, that beautiful song was playing. They were making it themselves! And Scootaloo knew that with her in front, she would never ever, ever take anypony to the river, nor make them go into the water and never come out again. They headed to the north side of town first, where the big explosion had been, and as they did, they soon found that their little endeavor turned out to be very, very big indeed.