Chickenman in Equestria

by GroaningGreyAgony

Episode 4: Chickenman Confronts His Ancient Nemesis

In our last very exciting episode, Chickenman’s costume was ripped apart by the Cutie Mark Crusaders...

“Tulips!” said Applejack. “He had tulips painted on his underdrawers! I ain’t never seen the like, Twi! T’aint decent at all...”

And, forced to make a choice between wearing a hastily-improvised grass skirt, and removing his offensive boxer shorts to go completely naked, Chickenman bravely opted for the skirt...

“Geez Louise!” snuffled Chickenman, with a rustling of dried grass. “It’s a good thing they don’t have any coconuts.”

And now, the Winged Warrior, Princess Twilight Sparkle, and the redoubtable Applejack stand together in the center of Ponyville, after an afternoon of medical exams and paperwork...

“...So, look on the bright side, Mr. Chickenman!” said Twilight Sparkle brightly. “You only fainted an average of 1.66 times per injection or extraction!”

“Vampires,” moaned Chickenman. “You cute fuzzy little ponies are nothing but vampires. I’m never going to sit down in the same way again.”

“And all of the necessary paperwork has been completed and filed in triplicate, and you only got blood on thirty-seven percent of the forms!” continued Twilight.

“I think my hand is going to fall off,” groaned Chickenman. “Writing with a quill is for the birds. Haven’t you ponies ever heard of carbon paper?”

“So next we just need to complete an employability evaluation, check the job openings, and locate some appropriate housing...”

“Hey, Twi?,” said Applejack. “Hold on a second. Our guest here is about to topple over. I think he needs a good hearty meal before we continue.”

"A meal?” said Chickenman. “That sounds great! I’m starving!”

“No worries, pardner!” said Applejack. “If there's one thing we know how to do here in Ponyville, it’s how to feed ya. Now it ain’t quite dinnertime back at the Acres, but I know a great little restaurant just around the corner. Let’s go!”

---

Meanwhile, back on Earth, in the office of the Police Commissioner of Midland City, Honor Helfinger, the Commissioner’s secretary, was composing an interdepartmental memo and daydreaming of an early retirement on a distant island where fools feared to tread. The sharp tapping of her antiquated typewriter filled the room.

A door opened, and Commissioner Norton stepped out of his office. His white wavy hair was slightly askew, his thick round glasses magnified his beady eyes, and he blinked rapidly like an owl that had just emerged from its tree-trunk and was surprised to not find itself in Oz or Beanworld. He spoke boldly in his usual vague and quavery manner.

“Eh, Ms. Helfinger, have you noticed a certain aura of peace, a kind of felicity, settling over the city?”

Ms. Helfinger paused to consider. “I’d say that things have been pretty quiet around here today.”

“I notice that we haven’t heard from the Feathered Fighter recently...”

“Oh no...” said Ms. Helfinger, rubbing her forehead. “You just had to go and say that, didn’t you...”

A long uncomfortable silence fell over the room.

Ms. Helfinger blinked. “...I was so sure he was going to walk through the door when you said that.”

“Ms. Helfinger,” declaimed the Commissioner, “I don’t know who he is, but I do know this: the rhyme has gotten a little less crampant without his vigilant presence. I fear that something has happened to the Winged Warrior.”

“Do you want to organize a party?”

“Eh, I think that celebrating his disappearance is just a bit much...”

“I meant a search party, Commissioner...”

“Oh, right. Quite right. A search party, to start tonight. But say, perhaps we can have a real party in the meantime, just a little one, nothing too disrespectful. We can have streamers and little sparkly hats...”

Just then, the phone rang.

“Hello, Police Commissioner's office,” said Ms. Helfinger.

“Why hello, Honor, how are you today? This is Mildred Harbor.”

“...and a banner that reads Welcome Home, Winged Warrior, in the Event That We Find You After We’re Done Attending the Regular Party and Start with the Search Party...”

“Hello, Mildred. This is about your son, isn't it?”

“Why, yes. I’m afraid that Benton has gone missing. He went down into the Chicken Cave—you know, his little basement crime lab—yesterday evening...”

“Oh, really?” said Ms. Helfinger dryly.

“...and party favors and rattles and little cardboard horns with a small plastic piece that actually makes the noise, so you can tear off the cardboard part and hide the little plastic part in your mouth and really startle people...”

“...but when I warmed up my broccoli and garlic casserole for him, all the power in the house suddenly went out...”

“Do tell.”

“...and a couple of party games, like Spin the Tail and Ping the Donkey with a Bottle...”

“...so I went down into the Chicken Cave to reset the fusebox, and there was a heavy smell of ozone, and a large refrigerator covered with sticky feathers, but no sign at all of Benton!”

“You don’t say!”

“...and a big cake that’s really a bunch of little cupcakes jammed together under huge layers of frosting. Mmmm, I love frosting...”

“..I do say! You can understand that I am most dreadfully worried! I wish that you would send someone to help...!”

The Commissioner suddenly leaned over Ms. Helfinger's desk and seized the phone. “You need say no more, Mrs. Harbor! Ms. Helfinger and I have taken notice of your plight, and I can personally promise you that we will be there to help you as soon as possible!”

“Oh, that's wonderful, Commissioner Norton! I am most relieved. Please come as soon as you can! By-ie!” Mildred Harbor hung up.

The Commissioner set down the phone. “Let us prepare to leave immediately, Ms. Helfinger!”

Ms. Helfinger blinked. “Commissioner, you are the head of the Midland City Police, which has many professional officers skilled at search and rescue. Why don’t you send them to help?”

The Commissioner winked “Oh, but none of them are invited to the party! If we help Mrs. Harbor to set things up beforehand, perhaps we can get an extra few cupcakes! Let’s see, I think I have some party ribbons and glitter in my desk...” Commissioner Norton rushed back into his office and shut the door.

Ms. Helfinger removed her glasses and massaged the bridge of her nose. The remote island of rationality in her daydreams seemed farther away than ever.

---

Meanwhile, back in Equestria...

“So,” said Chickenman, “any ideas on what to do about my costume? I’ve still got the mask, but the rest of it just got shredded.” The fractured beak of his mask flopped sadly over his chin as he spoke.

Twilight mused. “Well, Rarity is right out—it’s not safe for her to see you anytime soon, and this isn’t her kind of fashion emergency; she’d just do the equivalent of calling it a natural disaster and sending in a Hazmat team. But I may have some ideas on where you could get a replacement costume. In the meantime, here we are!”

The restaurant was named Hayrick’s Equestrian Café. Applejack, Twilight and Chickenman sat at a sidewalk table, with Chickenman wriggling uncomfortably as the grass skirt tickled and scratched him in strange areas.

“Now, before we order anything,” said Twilight, “There are a few things we need to discuss—page three, paragraph one in your pamphlet if you want to read along. As you may have realized, we ponies are herbivores. We know that humans are mostly omnivores, though you may be a vegetarian or vegan—are you? If so, it will make some things easier...”

“Twi? Being a vegan ain’t never easier on anyone!” said Applejack

“No, I’m not vegan or vegetarian.” said Chickenman.

“I thought so. Well, you need to know that it’s hard for us to obtain ethically-sourced meat for you, but we can arrange for you to get some fish occasionally. You’ll need to cook it yourself, and we ask that you not eat it in public.”

“Cook for myself? Uhm... Oh. Ahhm...” Chickenman shifted nervously, which rustled the grass and made him shift and squirm even more.

“In the meantime, we understand that you can’t eat hay, but we have plenty of fruits and vegetables...”

“We sure do!” said Applejack proudly. “How ’bout some farm-fresh broccoli? It'll help ya to replenish all that blood you lost earlier!”

Chickenman gulped. “B-broccoli...?”

“Yep, the broccoli in these parts is powerful nice. It’s great when it’s raw—crisp and crunchy and juicy, but steamed is just fine too... All locally grown. The Brassi clan’re good ponies, real knowledgable and they do a right nice job. A family’a’them moved here from Bitaly years back and brung some of their Stirrupean cultivars... Cauliflower and Brussels sprouts, too...”

“But... No hot dogs, no hamburgers...?” muttered Chickenman in a forlorn tone.

“I particularly like Romanesco broccoli!” said Twilight. “It’s a natural example of a three dimensional fractal! Only an approximate fractal, because it doesn’t self-replicate down to infinity, but still impressive! Each plant grows in a logarithmic spiral, and the buds are logarithmic spirals as well, so...”

“...No chicken nuggets or microwave fish sticks...?”

“Well, Twi, I’m sorry but I gotta correct ya—t’aint the whole plant that’s got a stutter. The part which you’re callin’ the broccoli is one big flower bud...”

“Oh, my mistake, AJ. I yield to the expert.”

“Heh, I ain’t no expert on broccoli, just a fan, really... Uh, you okay there, Mr. Chickenman? You’re lookin’ a little green... Tell ya what—we’ll order ya up a nice slice’a broccoli casserole, with garlic! How’s that sound?”

Chickenman fell from his stool with a rustling *whump*.

“Oh no!” exclaimed Twilight. “Is he okay?!”

“He’ll be all right,” said Applejack, sniffing at his forehead. “Just faint with hunger, I reckon. Here, Twi, let’s just get him a glass a’ broccoli juice...”

---

---

Wellllll...! It looks as if Chickenman is going to have to eat his broccoli one way or the other!

And another thing. If the Commissioner insists on keeping that plastic horn piece in his mouth while eating cupcakes, and he swallows it, will he have to go to the hospital... tout suite?

---

DUMM-DUM-DUMMMM!

Be listening next time for another exciting episode in the life of the most fantastic crimefighter the world has ever known...

Buck-bawk-buck-BAAAWWWWWK...!

CHICKENMAN!

He’s everywhere, he’s everywhere!

DUMM-DA-DA-DUMM-DUMMMM!

Author's Note:

For the culinarily impaired, Romanesco broccoli is really a thing.