//------------------------------// // 10: Spike Really Hasn't Ever Been Properly Educated About His Own Body And Honestly He's As Confused About This as You Are // Story: How Spike Kinda Sorta Maybe Married a Changeling // by somatic //------------------------------// Twilight sailed through the skies, several battalions of soldiers staying behind to guard Chrysalis. Her interview, while scientifically fascinating, had left her rather flustered, and collating her notes would take a while. Twelve more wing beats and she touched down on the castle balcony, books and quills floating behind her in a trail of her magic. By now, her guards had learned to leave her alone instead of giving her the full ‘Huzzah, the princess has returned’ treatment every time she landed. Instead, they simply took her books and scientific luggage off her hooves, one of them giving her a quick message. “Princess Cadance is here, your highness.” Twilight stepped through the double doors into the castle. “You don’t need to call me ‘your highness,’ Golden Arrow. I helped your daughter with her school paper, for star’s sakes, I don’t think we need to be formal.” A few blips of magic straightened out her papers and tagged each one for proper placement in her research archive. She offered a few thank-yous to the guards before speaking to Arrow again. “Now, you said Cadance is in the castle?” He didn’t need to answer. The pink princess trotted out to meet Twilight, wearing an outfit that was… interesting. And latex. “Um, hi, Cadance. What’s going on?” The former foalsitter was chipper as always. “Oh, Twilight! We’ve just been planning Spike’s bachelor party; it’s great fun!” Twilight blinked. Bachelor party. Well, her little dragon would have to grow up someday. “Well, that’s, um…” At that instant, a crystal pony galloped towards Cadance, his outfit labeling him as a student in her Love Academy. “Your highness, the minotaurs ate all their edible loincloths and we can’t find a Prench maid outfit that will fit the Smooze!” Twilight fainted. Ponies often walked around with no clothes on. This, Spike was used to. Yet somehow Cadance’s love scientists had found a way to design costumes that made ponies seem more naked, as if their clothing actually reduced their modesty below what could be accomplished with simple nudity. The unholy combination of socks, garters, and fuzzy articles of miscellaneous apparel, by means unknown and incomprehensible to Spike’s mind, managed to transcend nakedness and enter an entirely debauched realm of sensuality. There were mares and stallions, zebras and dragons, dancing seaponies in oversized fishbowls—a distant descendant of Maud Pie had even provided a few scantily clad boulders. If Spike squinted, he could distinguish a cloud of breezies. His eyes weren’t good enough to make out what they were doing with that dandelion, but he was sure it was lewd. A few griffons flew overhead, doing terrible things in interesting positions. Spike decided that this would be a bad time to tell Cadance that Twilight had never actually given him the Talk. While he didn’t understand most of what was going on, he knew enough to recognize that this party was the work of a masterful planner. A very crazy, slightly obsessed planner who Spike suspected was not using her godlike powers in the most beneficial way, but masterful nonetheless. In fact, the only party planner better than her would be— Spike’s ears perked as he heard an impossible sound. If he didn’t know it was impossible, he’d have almost believed it was… Pinkie Pie spronked around the corner, a keg of cider bouncing on her back. “Hi, Spike! Sorry I’m late!” She giggled in a way that suggested she herself had imbibed quite a lot of that keg. “Heh! Late! ‘Cause I’m dead!” The pony pranced around Spike, who became progressively more bamboozled with each squeaky boing. “Uh, Pinkie? I don’t mean to be rude, but aren’t you… a window now?” “Well, of course, silly billy. I’m not really here, I’m just an alcohol-induced hallucination.” She waggled her tail at the keg. “Seriously, this is powerful stuff.” “But I haven’t even had a drink yet!” “But you will, and this is special cider.” Pinkie contorted her hooves into air quotes as she spoke. “It gets you drunk before you drink it!” She merrily hopped around the dragon, little bubbles popping from her mouth. “I’m like a pink elephant, ‘cept I’m not an elephant! But I am pink.” She stopped moving and rolled her eyes backwards into her head, examining the inside of her own body. “Yep, I’m pink! Just checked.” “How…?” “Special cider.” “But…” “Spike, I’ve been saving this for your big day since I first met you. Stop questioning it and take a sip.” The keg was barely as big as as the tip of a fang—a dragon of Spike’s size could drain the whole thing without it technically qualifying as a sip. Still, it seemed like it meant a lot to Pinkie. “Or a quaff. Or a guzzle. A drinkeroo? A slurple? A…” Pinkie invented several new terms for ‘drink’ by the time Spike finally managed to wrap his claws around the keg and pop the stopper out of its bunghole. Pinkie chortled. “Heh. Made you read bunghole.” Spike looked baffled. “What?” “Nothing. Just take a drink.” Something blacker than black and sweeter than pie dripped out of the keg. It was only a tiny drink by Spike’s standards, but he could already feel it buzzing in his brain and destroying his liver. “Wow, Pinkie, this tastes really—” Spike woke up with an icepick of a headache. “Cadance, why are you wearing a Smarty Pants costume?” “Um…” “And why am I slathered in hollandaise?” “Uh…” “I’ll go see if Twilight knows any spells to erase photos.” “Good idea.”