Chapter Nine: The Tempest, Part 2
“Schenk mir ein Wunder!” Gear barked, leaping backwards and avoiding a strike from Cauterium. A layer of dust fell from the ancient rafters, prompted by his voice.
“Here's the deal,” Cauterium replied through bouts of panting. “You're not gonna win, and this fight is going to irritate me. So you're free to head off now, if you want.”
“Funny. You. Here's my deal: you give up, I turn you in, I then swim in money for many a good year until I spend it all on useless knickknacks, as is my custom.” Smiling, Gear pulled out a small pineapple-shaped copper device out of a bag.
Cau's eyes focused on the device. “Wait... that isn't what I think it is, is it?”
“This thingy? I built it during a fit of sleepwalking.” He brought his teeth to a pin at the pineapple's top, proceeding to bite down and pull the pin off. “One... Two... Three...” Gear launched it through the air, shouting, “Puttin' the pineapple in there!”
The pineapple clattered upon the stone floor, rolling across long-ago mothballed carpets until it stopped at Cauterium's hooves. Rolling his eyes, Cauterium picked the device up in his magic – “Sometimes it's really great to be a unicorn” – and hurled it back. It sailed through the air before clobbering Gear on the forehead.
A flash of white light and a bang followed as the device hit the ground. Cauterium smirked. But as the purple spots disappeared from his eyes, he beheld Gear still standing exactly where he had been a second earlier. Expression blank, the pegasus stared at his hooves, stared at where the pineapple had exploded. A white ball of feather clucked as it looked back up at Gear.
“What,” Cauterium deadpanned.
Like rusted clockwork, Gear turned his attention back to Cauterium. “You know, in a weird way, this makes sense.” Cauterium's eyes twitched. “This explains where my cyber chicken went.” He poked at the chicken. “No, wait. This explains where my eggs went and why I need to run to the grocery store after this. The cyber chicken is still on the loose. Probably involved with a murderous rampage, knowing Cluckers.”
“I... am going to pretend that made sense.”
“Cool.” He picked up the chicken and put it in his bag. Satisfied, he flashed Cauterium a toothy grin as he flared his wings out. “Seid ihr bereit? Seid ihr soweit?” He uttered a single sinister chuckle as he jumped into the air, hovering five feet from the earth. “Willkommen... in der Dunkelheit.”
Horn coursing with emerald-colored magic, Cau asked, “Why do you insist on speaking that barbaric tongue?”
“It's my mother tongue,” Gear replied in a tone so calm that it almost sounded insane.
“Ain't that great. Perhaps if your peoples could unite as a single nation, then you'd have a tongue worth knowing.”
Gear chuckled. “Yeah–no. You can't unnerve me or stuff. I'm immune. Know why?”
“Enlighten me,” Cau replied in a dry tone.
“'Cause I have a jetpack powered by cola,” he remarked, pulling out a backpack out of his bags and putting it on.
“What.”
“Veni-” he activated a small switch on his pack “-vidi-” like a rocket, he aimed his body at Cauterium “-vici!” Nothing happened. “Well then,” he said, tossing the pack to the ground, “I don't suppose we can settle this like gentlecolts?” Gear landed on the ground.
“You mean: armed with heavy sticks on a rotating plate above a pit?”
“We could discuss country matters?”
“Mine, yours, or Equestria's?”
“I was thinking the one neither of us have.”
“As in, cunning stunts?”
Gear shrugged. “How quaint.”
“A dual of wit? With orchid backing?” Cau asked, rolling his eyes. “Then I insist that we get thee to a nunnery.”
“But then my queynte honor goes to the dust.”
Cau blinked. “Are we making archaic puns?”
“Dude, don't ruin the joke. I was having fun.” He leapt into the air. “Back to a physically brawling, eh?” Gear pulled out glowing T-shaped object. “Don't know what this does.” He shrugged. “T-shaped thingy, bring forth doom!” Gear yelled, throwing the thing at Cau.
Hitting him in the chest, Cau grunted. “How... annoying.” After clattering to the ground, the T began to hiss for the sum of three seconds. Cau took a breath. “Why does it smell like blueberry mango? The hay kind of T-shaped thing is this?”
Gear blinked. “Suddenly so much makes sense.”
“What?”
“You see, dude, that T apparently held a fast-acting and short-lasing but highly-effective neurotoxin. I was wondering where the songs were coming from.”
“Neurotoxin? What kind?” Cau asked, backing away from the T.
“You know how when you go to the dentist and they give you laughing gas?”
Cau cocked a brow. “Yes.”
“You know how it doesn't make you laugh, like, at all?” Gear asked, to which Cau nodded in response. Gear licked his lips. “This is laughing gas' more powerful cousin. Although this also does what its name implies.” He smirked. “I've got a gadget for everything – though seldom do I know what it does do I know 'till after the fallout has cleared. What do ya think?”
A pause. Cau's left ear twitched as his right eye did much the same. “I must admit your little tricks are amusing. I bet you've a gadget that serves tea. Now here's you chance to take a shot at me,” Cau sung. A pause. “Wait... where did that come from? And why did I sing it?”
Gear put a hoof to his goggles, smirking as he adjusted them. “You know of laughing gas, now meet singing gas!” He geared into his bag and pulled out a gas mask. After putting his goggles away, he slipped on the mask. “Let's dance!” he bellowed, charging at Cauterium.
“Hope your hoof is hot! Come on, clown, let's see what you've got!” Cauterium sung, dodging out of Gear's way. The pegasus pulled out a monkey wrench with a myriad of buttons on it. Pressing a button, the wrench exploded into a swarm of mechanical monarch butterflies, all of which then charged at Cauterium.
“Worst wrench ever,” Gear muttered through his mask. “Of all time.”
Cauterium summoned up a field of green energy. “Think you'll beat with with but a single shot? I'll have to think on that – not!” He threw forth a bolt of green, powderizing the butterfly swarm. “For this moment you'll have to wait!”
“Why?” Gear asked, putting out a sword with sawed teeth for edges. “Wait, how'd this useless thing thing get in here?” he inquired, tossing the weapon aside.
“'Cause you're only second rate!”
“That so?”
Cau laughed. “You might think you can beat me, yet you're so tame. For you know nothing of the inventor’s game. You've built nothing great to date. You’re only second rate!”
“I think I'll sit back and grab some popcorn as I wait for him to finish,” Gear muttered.
“Look coward: magic power beyond your grasp in either hoof. Even my mood is cool, my affect cool and aloof. But if you’re not convinced that I’m invincible, put me to the test! Just use your gear to put me to final rest! I'll lie here and wait on your crucible.”
“I do not think you know what that word means,” Gear offered. “But I've got means so keen.”
“Put me in the trap. But you'll never land your name on the map! I’ll make a great escape. Your head over my mantle will I drape. You’re only second rate!”
“Keep talking like that and I'll call this a date. Celestia knows it's already going better than most of mine. (Which, for the record, often end with me on fire and the mares demanding I never so much as look at them ever again).” He tightened his gas mask, then tore through the air at Cauterium.
“Abra-kabra-dabra,” Cau shouted, casting a wave of green magic. “This one's gonna swipe ya!” He shot the wave at Gear. “You'll end with a puff. It'll be just enough.” Gear shot up at the last second, dodging the attack. “Missed by the breadth of a hair. But for the next attack, say a prayer!”
“Who to? Is your head full of air?” Gear remarked, eying Cauterium.
Crimson Thunder flew up from a hole in the floor, proceeding to land in the rafters. “'Sup guys? Where's that music coming from?”
Cau laughed. “Keeping coming 'till you faint! Then I'll do to you as I do a maiden's quaint!”
“But in the aftermath don't they all say a complaint?” Gear asked.
“Yo!” Crimson whistled. “Why are ya singing? Show some restraint.”
“I'll do it here and tell it straight: You're only second raaate!” Cau threw a hoof up. “You'd better be prepared for pýrini-kólasi savages, because you're only second rate! So, you poor unfortunate soul, you need some self-control. You should have stayed home, you're momma knows best!”
“Es ist mir ein Fest,” Gear replied, shrugging.
“Still think you've got what it takes to play with the big boys? Ready to abandon your mechanical toys?”
Gear tightened his mask. “Zum Glück bin ich verrückt!”
“Let me pontificate upon your sorry state: You're only second raaaate!”
“Du sagst, bin ich anders. Ich sag Du hast Recht,” Gear sung in response. “Du sagst Dir gehts praechtig. Das heisst Dir Gehts schlecht. Ich bin unersaettliche, Krieg neimals genug. Fass in Deine Wunden, und schuere die Glut!”
***
Spike paused, staring at the brown duffel bag before him. “So... is this?”
Twilight, after biting her lip, replied, “Yeah, I think that's the Doc's. Why?”
“It's filled with... stuff.”
“Spike!” she snapped. “Don't go through other ponies' things! What's wrong with you?”
He gave Twilight a dry stare. “He teleported away, Twi', and during the process he forget his equipment.”
“This... thing... kicks... FLANK!” Pinkie yelled, her eyes darting about her small mechanical dog. She poked it on the head, prompting it to yip. “OOOOH! IT YIPPED! IT YIPPED!”
Rarity, struggling to hold back a grimace, said to Pinkie, “Uh, darling? Perhaps you could stop toying about with your... thing, and instead-”
“It's not a thing!” Pinkie snapped. Picking the dog up and holding it in the hoof with something akin to reverence, she whispered, “It's like a way of life...”
“Anypony else a mite bit disturbed by that?” Applejack asked, rubbing the back of her neck.
“Just imagine,” Pinkie continued, her tone a little too close to madness for anypony's comfort, “if we could mass produce these things. Think of it... What if we could make on of me?” Her eyes went wide, sparkling with tiny stars. “Think of it: me, Pinkie, being everywhere at once through robotics... The possibilities-”
“Are terrifying,” Spike offered.
“-are endless,” she cooed, stroking the dog. “What if – and just go with me on this – we could build a giant one of these? One whose partying potential could very well go down in songs, plays, movies, and ballads for eons to come?”
“Well, that's more than just mildly disturbing,” Spike stated. “A-anyways,” he said to Twilight, “all I'm saying is that maybe we could find something to help us in here. I mean, you can hear the fighting through that... thingy, and it doesn't look like they're winning out there.”
Twilight cast her eyes to the mechanical device held aloft by her magic which was broadcasting two song both sung in two different languages, only one of which she understood. “That still doesn't give you the right to go through his things.”
“Ich bin auf Bewaehrung. Nein, gut bin ich nicht. Dein haesslicher Bruder, ein Schlag ins Gesicht.” the device sang. “Was ist schon normal hier. Und wer ist hier... Wer ist hier Krank!”
“What are they saying?” Dash demanded.
“Hay if I know,” Spike muttered.
“Spike, watch your language,” Twilight said in a flat tone.
“Look, I don't give a flying feather about any of this, I just want to-” Dash gritted her, her words coming out as nearly a growl “-ram my hoof up his... Argh! I hate feeling useless!”
“How come she gets to do it?” Spike asked.
“B-because she's, uh, well, she's...” Twilight stammered.
“Hypocrites, one and all,” he muttered. Spike continued rooting through the bag he was standing next to, eventually pulling out a card. “All hope abandon, ye who enter here,” he read aloud.
“Twilight, how do we go to wherever it is they are and help out?” Dash demanded.
“Wir brauchen feuer. Wir atmen Benzin...” the device continued. “Schampus, Schlitten, Zitzen, und wir in!”
Another voice from the device rhymed with, “Second rate, on here or any scene!”
“Seriously, what are they sayin'?” Applejack questioned. “It don't make a lick of sense.”
Rainbow Dash, prancing in place, as if preparing for a fight in the most nonsensical way possible, hissed, “I don't care. I just want to... Grgh!”
“Sugarcube, would you just calm down?”
“No! I. Hate. Not. Doing. Anything!”
Applejack rolled her eyes. “Same goes for me, but ya don't see be prancing about in place, now do ya?”
“Well, no,” Dash replied, slumping her wings. “But-”
“Dearie, why not just take a deep breath?” Rarity offered.
“She's not... urh,” Spike mumbled, pulling out a book from the Doc's bag. “Huh. 'The Beast and The Harlot' is its name.” He flipped it open to a random page. “She's a cage for every unclean spirit, every filthy bird; and makes us drink the poisoned wine to fornicating with our kings,” Spike read under his breath. He frowned, looking up at Twilight. “Twilight, what does 'fornicating' mean?”
Twilight blinked, her cheeks going red. “When you're older,” she hastily said in a nervous tone, using her magic to lift the book out of Spike's hands.
“I was reading that,” he groused.
“You don't read half the books I give you. So why are you so upset by this one?” Twilight asked, not actually expecting a satisfying answer. A smug smirk crossed her lips as Spike opened his mouth, only to close it and cross his arms.
“Giant action fighting robots of party,” Pinkie muttered, winding up the mechanical dog again.
“Because...” Dash growled. “I-I-I just hate feeling useless... you know?” She shrugged her wings. “It's just...” Dash gritted her teeth. Then she sighed.
Spike sighed before scanning the room around him. It was some sort of underground command center of some sort, like in those Con Mane comics. Now, granted, to his chagrin there was no nerd around to produce super cool spy gadgets, instead there was just stone. In fact, the more he looked at it, it looked part crypt. There ceiling were unusually high and vaulted, like in Princess Celestia's throne room, though the floors were a super cool light-bluish gray tiling, which is what really made it look like Con Mane's layer.
Though glancing around, he was a little disappointed by the lack of self-propelled carriages that all really cool super agents were supposed to have. For a brief moment he wondered how a carriage could drive itself, only to forget it as he remember an old mantra related to fiction: “Just relax.” Continuing to observe his surroundings, he noted that the only entrance and exit was located in an obscure door in the Treowth Cerchen building, which was located in the government quarter of the Canterlot City. He recalled how once, when he was a hatching, Spike had built a large structure out of building blocks, and Twilight had come along and freaked out over how unsafe it was that the building only had a single entrance. (Apparently it was a fire hazard; thus Twilight had to fix it and then instruct Spike as to why a building needed multiple entrances/exits.) Spike rolled his eyes at the memory as he snapped back into the present.
Ignoring the discussion between the girls, as they had mostly been ignoring his anyways, he turned his attention back to the duffel bag. Cocking a brow, he came upon a small inscription stitched into the interior of the bag. “Goth withra uns,” he muttered. “Wonder what that means?” A pause. “Goth with... us? What could that mean?” He looked beneath the inscription, where another one lain. “Sunno withra mik? Uh... Let's see... Sun-no... Sunnie boy? Maybe it just means sun?”
Spike blinked, phasing out to a time when Twilight had been studying ancient history. All that night she had been mumbling things related, in some way, to ancient mythology. But to the then young Spike, he only reminded a few tokens names, like “Juno.”
He shook his head. “Focus, Spike. Focus.” Spike looked back at the second inscription. “Maybe it means 'Sun with Mike'? That kinda makes sense, I think.” He frowned, puzzled. “No, no it doesn't make sense in the least bit. And what does 'Goth' mean? Maybe those weirdo ponies that dress in black that Twilight tells me to stay away from?” He furrowed his brow. “Why is this so confusing...? And more importantly: Why do I care?” Spike facepalmed, groaning, “Look at me, I've become Twilight.” Eyes moving down, he noted a third inscription. Looking with a detective's eye, he noted that the final inscription was stitched in a lot more recently, as the other ones were slightly discolored with age. “Mena withra uns... Why does the Doctor put stuff like this in here?”
Moving his face out of the bag, Spike asked, “Twilight, what does 'Mena withra uns' mean?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “I don't know, sorry.” Twilight went back to discussing whatever with her friends,.
“Have any guesses? Or maybe you know what 'Goth withra uns' or 'Sunna withra mik' means?”
Twilight looked back at Spike. “I really have no idea, I'm sorry.” A moment's pause. “Though, if it helps, Equestrian is one of the only – if not the only – modern language that uses the 'th' sound.” Smiling, she looked back at her friends.
Spike opened part of his mouth in disbelief, shaking his head and shrugged. “The flying feather is that supposed to help me?” he said under his breath. Cracking his knuckles, he muttered, “Alright, so we have an ancient language that kinda sounds like modern but isn't, and the guy who left it here is...” Cocking a brow, he reached into the tag, pulling a wrapped object out. “A... muffin,” Spike said, unwrapping the object. “He had a muffin in here?” He glanced at Pinkie, who was winding the clockwork dog up again. “She'd so probably kill me if she found out I was eating something that's not hers.” Gritting his teeth, he continued with, “Buuut I'm kinda hungry and... apparently talking to myself like a crazy pony.” A pregnant pause. “Eh.” Spike's teeth sunk into the muffin, gouging out one huge bite.
Mulling over the taste, he mumbled, “Blueberry? No. Banana? Kinda, but no... A-apple?” Using his tongue, he swished the muffin around his mouth. “Has a bit of a grape... flavor... Tastes kinda like the smell of wine and... cat litter? I know I taste of a bit of fire ruby.” Swallowing, he took another bite. “Whatever it is, it's good.”
Twilight glanced at Spike. “Where did you get that muffin?”
Spike stared at Twilight as he finished chewing. “Found it.” He took another bite, chewing it as slowly as molasses.
“Found it where?” she asked, eye narrowing.
“Around,” he replied through a mouthful. Twilight pursed her list to the side, glaring at Spike. “What?”
“Spike, you didn't steal that, did you?” she inquired in a steely tone.
“Nope.”
“Then where'd you find it, huh?” Twilight demanded.
“Randomly just sort of appeared here. So I ate it.”
Disbelief awash in her tone, Twilight said, “It just appeared there, all by itself?”
Spike's stomach let out a ferocious roar. He glanced down at his stomach before he shot Twilight a deadpan expression. “Well, forgive me for starving. I missed breakfast, you know.”
She blinked. “You did? But I could have sworn-”
“I was on my way to eat the food I'd lain out when the girls appeared. I spent the time with the story, intending to eat afterwards. That never happened...”
“What's gotten into you just now? You're acting... well, acting rather odd.”
Spike's stomach growled again as he finished the muffin. “I think it's something I ate, or lack thereof.” He blinked. “Since when do I say 'thereof'?”
“I don't know. I can't recall you ever using it.”
Tilting his head to the side, Spike groaned, “My stomach feels off.” A pause. “And my diction does too.” His eyes fell to his hand, where crumbs of the muffin still stood. “Twilight, are you pondering what I'm pondering?”
“Um, are you feeling okay? Aside from the stomachache, that is.”
“Allow me to pontificate,” Spike replied: “the perimeters of my assignment was described to me without significity, Twilight. I was lead to understand that I was to deposit myself upon the ground of which I now lie. It was likeways implied without due clarity that any embellishments of said perimeters would not be advisory.” He blinked. “I don't know what most of those words meant,” Spike groaned, rubbing his head.
“I don't think you-” Twilight shook her head. “What exactly did you eat, Spike?”
Spike's head twitched to the left. “What it is that I have consumed, and it even now as we speak is pursuing the offending foodstuff is on its way through my stomach or perhaps, if it went down fast enough, my intestines, was none other than a solitary muffin of some variety unbeknownst to the dragon who stands before you plainly and humbly... Twilight! I don't know what these words are!”
Twilight closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as she ran a hoof through her mane. “Give me a moment to think, Spike,” she said in a calm, collected tone.
“I am most dubious of your methods, Mistress Twilight,” Spike groused. A pause. He groaned. “The one before you wishes to lay his head upon the ground sullen with dirt; however, methinks this shall be nigh unproblematic,” Spike said, lying down on the ground. “There is a hotness in my gut, Mistress Twilight; it pursues through flesh and sinew to create fire, like eating those peppers specifically designed with the intent of being so spicy that one is forced to reconsider eating them lest the consumer perish... I hate big words.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Spike spied Rarity cantered up to Twilight, whose eyes were still closed, as she was still in deep thought. Rarity cocked a brow at Twilight, only to have her attention drawn to Spike, who by now was curled into a fetal position behind Doc's bag.
“Er, Twilight, darling, is Spike alright?” Rarity probed, staring at Spike.
“I'll get back to you on that – I'm trying to fix this,” Twilight hastily replied.
“Err, okay then... Spike, dear, are you okay?”
Spike sighed. “My liege, and madam, to expostulate. What majesty should be, what duty is, what day is day, night night, and time is time, were nothing but to waste night, day, and time; therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, and tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I shall be brief. Ego nocere.”
“Um, Spike?”
“In quintessential summary: I am less-than fine,” Spike groaned, rolling onto his back. He took his left arm, grabbing at the ceiling. “A poison, a virus by the ancient word, have I ingested; even now, the scourge burrows into my flesh, seeps into my wounds-to-be, and flourishes without predator within mine stomach.” Left hand still extended to the sky, he closed said hand into a fist, bringing to his face and closing his eyes. “O, to gaze up at the heavens with my head upon thy breast. To be able to long for such privileges, yet to be struck down by the brand of fate's cruel joke... Oh, the irony.”
Rarity blinked. “So, you have a stomachache?”
Twilight facehoofed, sighing, “It's worse than that.”
“Worse? How do you mean?”
Blowing a stray hair from her face, Twilight turned to Rarity. “I'm going to avoid being passive-aggressive here, but Spike ate a strange muffin... and a strange sort of one he took from the Doc's bag.”
“Alack the day, he's dead, he's gone! Is Heaven so cruel?” Spike muttered.
Twilight blinked. “Have you been reading my Shakestallion stuff? I'm pretty sure that's the second time you've pseudo-quoted him.”
“Ah,” Spike groaned, “to bold her dead in my lap.”
“Sweet Celestia,” Twilight muttered, facehoofing again. “I'm not even going to explain just how perverted that it, at least once you understand the ye olde euphemisms.”
“Is there anything we can do for him?” Rarity asked.
Frowning, Twilight replied, “It depends on what's the cause of his illness. If it's a toxin, there’s not much I can do. If, however, it's some sort of magical effect, I might be able to help him... if I can, uh, remember the spell.”
Rarity blinked. “Why, you forgot a spell?”
Rubbing the back of her neck, Twilight replied, “Well, I, uh, it's sort of a spell I never really used... and it's a foreign spell... and not not my native language... and I might have only skimmed it in the book... and it's technically classified as combat magic... and I-”
“Twilight,” Rarity said, holding up a hoof, “it's okay.”
Twilight took a deep, steadying breath. “Okay, here goes the spell. Let's hope it's some sort of magical side effect.” She took a step forwards, then knelt down and put her forehooves on Spike,who grunted. Again, Twilight closed her eyes, focusing with all her considerable wit on recalling her chosen spell. A pregnant pause passed without incident. “Abzug-Bedienung, Mittelstark,” she whispered. Her forehooves glowed with a light raspberry-like color, the aura coursing into Spike's stomach, where her forehooves lay upon. A minute passed as Twilight took her forehooves from Spike, standing back up.
“Anything?” Rarity prodded.
“Were I to answer 'yes', my nose would grow three feet,” Spike groaned.
“Why is he talking like that?” Rarity asked.
Twilight sighed. “Side effect of what I'm now sure is a toxin. The question is: what kind of toxin, is it deadly, and can it be cured? Because I don't know of anything that might do this to a dragon.”
“Not to point out the obvious yet likely impossible, but I think I might know who might be able to answer those questions.”
Flashing Rarity an arched brow, Twilight stated, “Shoot.”
“Wouldn't the good Doctor know?”
Twilight blinked. “He... It was his muffin, so if anyone would know, it'd be him...”
“Twilight, is there any chance you could teleport us – or at least Spike and yourself – to him?”
“Why are they still singing‽” Dash demanded from afar. “Sweet Celestia, I can still hear them from the talky-thingy!”
Gritting her teeth, Twilight replied, “That might work... but how would I teleport us to him?”
“If I may be so brash as to offer my two bits, madam,” Spike groaned, clawing to his feet. “You require a certain personal object in order to track any one pony, am I most correct?” Twilight nodded. “Then forgive my boldness, but-” he pointed to Doc's bag “-our compatriots has misplaced the vast majority of his work-related belongings. Thus I presume we can apprehend one of his more intimate belongings from yonder container, then use said fetish to track his whereabouts down to a T. And being that you're unmatched in sorcery, save for dearest dames Princess Celestia and Luna, I'd wager the cockles of my heart that you could transport us seven comrade-in-arms to the location of the battle royale taking place, which we can hear from the loquacious device left by Azure. Excuse my brevity.” He collapsed to the ground. “The burns seeps into places I wasn't aware I possessed, turning from magma to icéd crystal within a matter of nanoseconds – zounds! O Anointed One, why does it antagonize me so?”
Twilight blinked. “I... want to say that made sense, but...”
Rarity put a hoof to Twilight's shoulder. “Twilight, try not to over-analyze it. I think he made a good point.”
“The first time always hurts the most, but tonight you'll see... it hurts even more the last time,” Spike murmured.
“Twilight, dear, perhaps we should hurry before Spike begins reciting poetry... other than Shakestallion.”
“Yeah, yeah...” Twilight replied, grabbing Doc's bag and opening it. “Hold on, Spike. This is more-than likely a terrible idea, but... I hate to see you like this.”
“The paroxysm of torment now afflicting me, or my sesquipedalian loquaciousness?” Spike groaned.
“Either,” Twilight replied. “Now, what can I use to-”
Spike held up his hand; enclosed within was a prescription bottle filled with small green pills. “These capsules I do present are his favorite. Refrain from requesting how I came to comprehend this, though suffice it to say that it came with the territory.” Spike coughed, tossing the bottle to Twilight, who caught it in a field of magic. “Have at it, my Mistress.”
“Mistress?” Rarity asked, inched her head back and raising a brow.
“My implication is that of the archaic use, meaning that Twilight is my feminine equivalent of Master, which itself is the origin of 'Mister'. Thus, Twilight is my keeper, my friend, and, for brevity's sake, I'm calling her 'my lady', though in a more formal sense.” He rolled over onto his stomach before rocking back onto his back. “Words... What do they mean? I get the feeling that I'm not even using them correctly,” he moaned.
Twilight, holding the bottle in her aura of magic, focused her eyes on said bottle, her eyes like a hawk watching a mouse sauntering through a field, the bird intending to kill and eat the rodent. Then, her eyes shut as she focused her whole concentration onto the bottle. “Tracing,” she murmured. Spike and Rarity merely stared as Twilight's lips moved with sound. When at last her eyes opened, her pupils were glowing as bright as the sun, emitting a self-contained aura of night blinding light. “Location: 8.7 kilometers, or 5.4 miles, due east by southeast of Ponyville, in the vicinity of a–no, at the old ruined temple to an unknown deity. Condition: stable but injured. Diagnosis: a broken rib, a dislocated shoulder, and... a blown eardrum..?” A pause, the air still humming with the sound of her magic. Even the other girls had stopped what they were doing, staring too at Twilight. “I've enough energy for a one-way trip, at least a safe one with minimal chances of false dematerialization.”
“So, shall we be off, Twilight,” Rarity prodded.
Twilight's eyes ceased their glow as she set the bottle into its bag. She then picked the bag up, put it on, then levitated Spike onto her back. “I can. Are you sure you want to do this, Rarity? Who knows if this is even a good idea? You might get hurt. In fact, we could all get hurt.”
“The sensation of incendiary ichor torments me without mercy,” Spike griped. “It is not unlike before torn apart, body shred from ashes to ashes and dust to dust, by a blade so fine and sharp as I've never known.”
“Woah, woah, woah – what’s going on?” Dash demanded.
“Perhaps it would be in poor taste of me to mention this, but I no longer am receiving any sensory input from either either my eyes or the promontories of my claws... Bugger me.”
“Girls,” Twilight said with as much confidence as she could muster, “seems like we're going on another trip today.”
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My last thing to do before mah trip :D I expect to see many comments when i'll return :D
I like where this is going
Woot for German pony kicking flank!
Spike has suddenly turned into a Old-Equestrian scholar.
Sweet Celestia wasn't that an amusing chapter.
Chapter
Two things made this chapter for me:
1. Gear and his gadgets; these just had me giggle like an utter idiot when the butterfly wrench, cyber chicken inside a pineapple bomb and a device filled with singing gas. Reminds me of those cliche comic book villains like Joker and Penguin etc. other villains. Am I wrong to guess that you have tried to refrence that 'villain-with-lots-of-equipment?
2. Spike's Formal Speech; perfect example of awkwardness ensued with Spike refrencing Shakestallion speech. I've always had a love-hate relationship with an Olde English, it's just hilarious and very presentable if done right. Sadly I haven't had that much of a luck with my meager attempts.
Text
Hmm.. kinda mixed opinion.
It's very good, but I'm a nazi when it comes to descriptions. There's in my opinion too little of it in the Gear/Cauterium part, especially on the surroundings, however those were explained on Part 1, so guess it's skippable.
The Deustch parts are odd at first, however after revising my old skills (used to read german in intermediate school, been about two years from that), I managed to scrape some sense of what they said. I assume you, Crushric, are responsible forthese parts.
Can you tell just how this “Du sagst Dir gehts praechtig. Das heisst Dir Gehts schlecht. Ich bin unersaettliche, Krieg neimals genug. Fass in Deine Wunden, und schuere die Glut!” translates out to?
“Just imagine,” Pinkie continued, her tone a little too close to madness for anypony's comfort, “if we could mass produce these things. Think of it... What if we could make on of me?”
Mised out the 'e' on that.
Other than that, I guess we'll have an interesting scene looming ahead with Twilight's gang teleporting.
But I do have a bad feeling they'll end up n a totally different place, away from Equestria.
-Hydkore-
Were those references to Little Mermaid and Tangled I spied in Cauterium's singing gas-induced singing? If so, I am pleased
Some of the dialogue among the Mane 6 (and Spike) seemed a bit choppy, but it wasn't too bad.
Nice chapter, all in all. Happy writing
more!
I... I can't comprehend spelling or grammar right now... my head hurts from the combination of a different language and spike speaking 'old equestrian... just... ouch... Great chapter though. I really like where you're going with this.
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I've been "learning" German for only a few months now. But that liens translated roughly into: "You say you're doing magnificently, which means you're doing horribly. I am insatiable, I can never get enough.Touch your wounds and stroke the embers!"
I actually bothered to try leaning actual Old English (AKA Anglo-Saxon, an utterly-unrecognizable to Shakespeare, who uses "Modern" English). And I can tell tell you a helluva lot amount of similarity with English, German, and the Anglo-Frisian dialects. More to the point, those words I all actually know (though used somewhat incorrectly) because I'm a super nerd.
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Aladdin 2, to be exact (Stalin demanded that we add a Disney song reference
Though by "choppy", how do you mean?
Another good chapter. Can't wait to see more!
“'Cause I have a jetpack powered by cola,” he remarked, pulling out a backpack out of his bags and putting it on.
“What.” - This made my day.
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"So, you poor unfortunate soul, you need some self-control. You should have stayed home, you're momma knows best!”
I'm fairly certain this is Little Mermaid (poor unfortunate soul) and Tangled (momma knows best)
As for the choppy-ish dialogue, it was mostly the various conversations taking place simultaneously without saying who exactly was talking. For the most part, I could figure it out, but it seemed a little choppy. It wasn't so much that it bothered me, though, so it isn't too much to worry about
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Heh, did all of you guys havent noticed MAIN shoutout of WHOLE song :D it's "Second Rate" from "Aladdin 2"
And thank you all. I am back :D
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Link's broken.
Other than that, welcome back and hopefully you had a good trip.
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As expected from Reviewer Chief :D You're GREAT help as always! Crushric will fix everything when he'll return
So, i guess i need to make more description during action, huh? When you will have time, check next chapter. I think it has better action
Thanks again :D
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While technically a reference to an American admiral, the phrase means, more or less in this context, "damn the consequences, do whatever".
Not sure myself. This is basically what Stalin wrote, and I just sort of touched it up.
The contradiction was blatantly on purpose -- an attempt at ironic humor.
This is actually explained later by an offhand line by Crimson. Suffice it to say, a bunch of that didn't actually happen as dramatically as it seemed. But being told from Dash, it seems like it did. That's all I can say, as it's referenced in the first part of "Tempest".
He makes a small habit of this, as he's something of a deadpan snarker when he's upset. And only when upset (angry or otherwise). Shows up a bit later, but, again, only when ticked off.
I have explained and fretted to Stalin a great many times that I'm an utter drag at fight scenes -- I'm terrified of writing them, since I think that I suck at them.
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Hehe there you are again helping us a lot!
Fun thing is that when I wrote that fight scene, it was MUCH LESS brutal, but when Crushric took over... well, let's say that unedited version of his edited version of my fight was REALLY brutal.
Thanks again! Oh, and new chapter of pokemon story coming soon, don't miss it :D
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He isnt sexist. He's... DA MAN :D Like Zangief. He dont like women too much as well