• Published 3rd Mar 2014
  • 4,200 Views, 203 Comments

The Doctor is In - Weezil_Brony



What do you get when you put the most timid pony in Ponyville in charge of maintaining the world's greatest supervillain? ...Now what happens when she's in charge of the world's WORST supervillain?

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Frickin' Child's Play

Twilight paced back and forth anxiously, never going more than thirty seconds before glancing up at the clock mounted on the wall above one of the cottage windows. Six-eighteen was the current time; only confirmed by the darkening sky and the falling sun outside. The sun’s rays had long-since stopped shining through the window, and a series of candles and wall sconces were lit all over to illuminate the interior.

“I’m sure he’s just running late,” Fluttershy said, her own voice sounding both guilty and unconfident.

The words could not calm the magenta mare as she continued her pacing to and fro. She checked the clock once more; six-nineteen. She groaned.

“You shouldn’t have left him alone like that!” Twilight suddenly blew up, unable to contain her anxiety. Fluttershy flinched, and Twilight’s scowl turned to a simple frown. “I’m sorry Fluttershy,” she apologized calmly, “I’m just worried is all. For all we know, he could be out there hurting somepony!”

“Or he could be in trouble somewhere,” Fluttershy added. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, and Fluttershy rushed forward to open it. Upon opening, she cocked her head to the side. “Applejack?” said Fluttershy. “What brings you all the way out here?”

“Who do ya think?” she counter-questioned as she walked inside. She did not look the least bit amused.

Twilight took a deep breath, calming herself down. “So you know where he is?” she asked.

Applejack nodded. “He’s back at the barn; done passed out on our couch, so I’m figurin’ he’s gonna stay there fer the night. If’n that’s fine with you, that is,” she said, directing the statement to Fluttershy.

“Oh, that’s not a problem,” Fluttershy said, smiling. “I’m just glad he’s not hurt.”

“But what is he doing at your orchard?” Twilight then inquired.

“I haven’t the slightest,” she admitted. “He just done showed up at our doorstep, said somethin’ ‘bout finishin’ off lunch, an’ we let him in. I guess he was tired, ‘cause he went straight for the sofa an’ fell asleep.”

“Well at least he’s safe,” Fluttershy said.

“But why was he so tired?” Applejack asked the two.

“His sleep cycle is probably thrown off from being frozen,” Twilight explained, before adding, “If he was frozen, I mean.”

Fluttershy frowned at her. “You still don’t trust him?”

“How can you trust him?” Twilight inquired. “All the threats, him trying to eat Angel; I don’t get it!”

“I agree with Twilight,” Applejack chimed in. “Why do ya trust him so much?”

“Isn’t it better to give him the benefit of the doubt?” Fluttershy retorted.

“And we would have,” Twilight began, “if he hadn’t threatened to incinerate somepony not even five minutes after landing!”

Fluttershy shrugged. “I think he might just be acting tough because inside, he’s actually scared.”

Twilight sighed once more, though this time in exasperation. “I really hope you’re right, Fluttershy. But still, I don’t think it’d be a good idea to leave him there alone.”

“Not a problem,” Applejack said with a proud smile. “Big Macintosh’s still there, so if he tries anythin’, he ain’t gonna get far.”

All of a sudden, the door burst open, startling everyone inside -Fluttershy especially, who dove for cover behind Applejack- and Rarity stood there, panting heavily.

“Rarity?” the group all said in unison. Fluttershy slowly stepped out from behind Applejack, a sheepish grin having taken residence on her face.

“Where is-” she grunted, before clearing her throat loudly -and obnoxiously, so thought Twilight- and taking a deep breath, regaining her composure. “Where is he?” she asked, still panting but under control.

“At our farm,” Applejack replied. “Why? What’s got y’all up in a tissy?”

“What’s got me up in a tissy,” Rarity began, “is that I have only tonight and two more days to prepare an outfit for the star of the show on Wednesday, and I don’t even have his measurements! How am I supposed to design a snazzy suit or a gentlecoltly jacket without his measurements?!” Her panting had become hyperventilating, and her pupils shrank to half their size.

“Rarity, calm down!” Twilight half-shouted, walking over and patting her friend on the back. “We can go get him right now, and you can get his measurements, and everything will be fine. Okay?”

A moment more of panic had passed before Rarity had finally calmed down. “Y-Yes, let’s do that…” she said faintly, having nearly passed out from her own accelerated breathing.

-Insert Austin Powers Wipe Here-

The conference hall was a grand chamber. The bottom ten feet of each wall was brushed and polished aluminum, whereas the rest of the walls were made of bare earth left over after blasting out the chamber, tapering off to a point a good fifty feet above the long and moderne conference table that dominated the center of the room. A series of black, luxurious chairs lined the table, and at its head was the great, angular leather chair that signified power and dominance amongst the other chairs. The doctor didn’t pay attention to the eloquent design of the room, however, as he was too busy fiddling with the latch on his suitcase, which rested on the table.

“I’ve got you, Doctor Evil!” called an all-too-familiar, british accent from behind him. The evil genius slowly rose his hands behind his head. ...Shit.

“Well done, Mister Powers,” he began, slowly turning around, “You know, we’re not so different, you and I…” He saw that Austin Powers held a submachine gun in his hand, and had pointed it directly at him. Wearing the usual attire of a sixties swinger -a flashy purple felt suit, big, horrid glasses and suede shoes- he stood ready for a fight.

“What are you goin’ on about?” Powers questioned.

“It’s true; you’re British, and I’m Belgian,” he began. “You’ve got a full head of hair, and mine is slightly receding. You’re thin, and I’m about forty pounds overweight.” It frickin feels like fifty, he thought.

“And?” the international man of mystery questioned impatiently.

“Okay, we are different,” he ceded, “and I’m not making a very good point. However,” he continued, “isn’t it ironic, Mister Powers, that the very thing you stand for -swinging, free love, parties, distrust of authority- are all now, considered in the nineties, to be… Evil? Perhaps we have more in common than you care to admit.”

“...What’re you saying?” Austin inquired curiously.

“I’m saying,” he continued, “that perhaps both of our desires could be fulfilled simultaneously; your love of freedom, and my love of power. If we were to become allies…”

Austin shook his head. “You’re not gonna trick me!”

“I’m not trying to trick you,” the Doctor said, slowly extending a hand out towards the british spy. “What do you say?”

After a moment, Austin Powers slowly approached the doctor, weapon still in hand. When he came close enough, his hand came up to meet his, and they shared a firm handshake.

“Sounds groovy,” he said, grinning and revealing his horrible teeth.

“I know it does,” he said, smiling fiendishly. Then, he brought his other hand around -which secretly held a cartoonish croquet mallet- and swung it down and onto Austin’s head. Austin grunted with the blow -which resonated in a light crack! around the cavernous room- before collapsing to the floor, completely unconscious.

“Suck on that!” the doctor shouted. “You cockney prick!” He raised the hammer back up over his head, gripping it with two hands, when something nudged his shoulder. He looked over, but saw nothing. He prepared himself to deliver the final blow once more, but right before he was going to swing, he felt the nudge once more; harder this time.

“Uh, Mister?” came a voice.

Great, now I’m hearing things, he thought to himself. Finally, he decided enough was enough, and he swung the mallet hard and down onto the cupcake, which splattered green and black frosting all over his clothes.

“What the hell?” he thought out loud, looking around to try and find the missing spy. He escaped! “...God damnit!” he shouted, throwing the hammer to the ground and stomping his feet.

...Wait, that frosting looks awfully familiar, he thought, getting a finger-full off of his pant leg before tasting it for himself. ...Holy shit that’s sweet. Seriously, how does no one in this frickin’ town have diabetes yet?

His eyes widened. “Wait, what town am I talking about?” He looked around, seeing all of the colorful buildings -and horses- that surrounded him. “No, no! That was the dream!” Something thudded heavily behind him. Slowly, he turned his head, causing his jaw to drop as he beheld the great behemoth. “You!”

The giant in red suspenders stood hundreds of stories tall, his face peering down at him; his hideous, twisted face fixed into a sinister grin. In his hand was a massive sandwich, which he rose high above his head. The doctor turned around and ran down the line of monotonous and never-changing houses in an attempt to escape, but he moved as slow as molasses. He looked up at the Big Boy, and the burger that hurtled straight toward him. He squeezed his eyes shut and screamed.

“Mister!”

BWAH!” shouted the doctor, sitting upright on the sofa and raising his arms in front of his face. When nothing happened, he slowly moved his arms back down to his lap, examining the room that he was in.

It was a simple room -a living room or den, he did not know- with green-painted wooden plank walls, embroidered at the bottom with a dark oak trim, giving the room a country feel to it. The sofa had been pressed against a wall opposite a door and window, which overlooked what appeared to be a large front yard common for farmhouses. The walls were covered with picture frames, containing both color and monochromatic photos of various ponies. The sofa itself felt like worn nylon underneath him, and was colored a dull brown color. There were a couple wooden chairs sitting about, and there was an open archway next to the couch that he couldn’t quite see into. Looking down, it appeared that he had fallen asleep sitting on the sofa -his aching neck and back could testify to this- and he yawned heavily.

“Are y’all alright?” asked the female voice once more.

He looked around the room, though there was no one around. He scratched the back of his head idly. “Where the hell are you?” he groggily asked the unknown voice -which the doctor could now tell probably belonged to a child.

“Down here,” she said. He lowered his gaze, and was slightly startled by the tiny yellow horse that looked up at him with massive dinner plate sized eyes and wore a big red bow.

“Who are you?” he questioned, rubbing his eyes with a hand. “Also, why the hell did you wake me up?”

“You were gigglin’ a lil’,” she began, “so ah came to check on ya. When I got here, ya looked like you were havin’ a nightmare.”

He sighed heavily. “Still having one,” he said, before gripping his head with his hands and quickly twisting his head to the side, resulting in a series of loud pop! sounds emanating from his neck.

The small filly took a step back. “What did y’all just do to yer neck?” she inquired, her face changing from one of disgust, to one of intrigue.

“Cracking my joints,” he said, before twisting his head the other way to release several more cracking noises. Immediately, he felt his tension ebbing away. “The hell does it look like?”

“Why would ya go an’ do that?” she asked, barely tilting her head from side to side.

“It’s probably twenty percent stress release, and eighty percent habitual,” he replied honestly, before locking his hands together and subsequently releasing the tension in all of his fingers.

“Do ya think you could teach me to do that?” she asked, suddenly eager.

He raised an eyebrow. “And why would I want to do that?” he asked.

“Because maybe that’s mah special talent!” she exclaimed. “An’ then I could get mah cutiemark for it!”

...I have never hated a word so passionately, he thought, as I do that word. “What is a cu- uh… What the hell is that?” he asked, unwilling to say the aforementioned word out loud so long as he could help it.

“It’s somethin’ ya get on yer flank,” she said, turning so that the side of her body was in plain view. “It tells ya what yer really good at, an’ it stays with ya forever!”

“...So once it appears, that’s that?” he inquired. “You’re stuck with that skill for life?”

Yeah!”

...How very Stalin of them, he thought to himself, before something occurred to him. “Oh, is that why everyone around here has that frickin’ ass tattoo? I thought it was just some strange rite of passage malarkey.”

“But will ya teach me?” she pressed, looking up at him with puppydog eyes.

She thinks that my stone heart will far for that? he thought to himself proudly. However, after a few moments of staring, the doctor became uncomfortable. “Knock that off,” he said curtly.

The filly then pouted a lip. The doctor cringed.

God damnit.

“Well it’s not like it’s this overly-complicated thing,” he said loudly, raising his arms up for a moment. “You literally just grab your head and twist! Easy-frickin’-peezy!”

“What, like this?” she asked, standing up on wobbling hindlegs and using her front legs to grab the sides of her head. She gave one, swift twist, and her neck cracked in several places… and she fell forward onto the ground, unmoving.

His eyes opened wider. ...Uh-oh. “...Hey, you alright?” he received no response. "You want me to incinerate your ass? Then knock off the frickin' possum play!"

Still, she would not move. “Oh shit,” he said quietly, standing up with his hands on his hips. “Shit, shit shit shit. What have I done? What are they gonna do to me when they find out? ...I need to hide the body.”

He approached the corpse, only to have the small filly snap her head up and yell “Boo!” causing him to not only leap upwards in surprise, but also fall backwards on his bum.

“Frickin’ hell!” he shouted, slowly standing back up.

“Did I fool ya?” the filly asked, leaping back and forth in excitement. “Did I really fool ya?”

He rubbed his rear tentatively, wincing as his hands connected with his bruised bottom. “Yeah, you got me,” he ceded, before adding, “you little bastard.”

“Mah name’s Applebloom!” she then said. “What’s yer name?”

“Doctor Evil,” he said, slightly irritated about having to repeat his own name every other hour.

“Nice t’ meet ya!”

“Likewise,” he said. ...Wait, why the hell did I say that? It was far to polite than it should have been. He sighed. It’s this place, he pondered, and its lack of any sinister overtones. Without something evil to do, I’m slowly being assimilated. I need something horrible to entertain me. Looking down at Applebloom, he suddenly had an idea. Oh, that could work.

“You know,” he began, “you've got the other side of your neck to pop. So... get cracking.” A bubbly chuckle escaped him, and he held a fist over his mouth to suppress it. Clever one, you maniacal fiend.

“Oh yeah!” she said, leaping her front half up to stand on her hooves.

“Now before you do that,” he quickly said, “...why don’t you go pull your little prank on someone else?”

“Like mah brother!” she yelled. “Hey, yer pretty smart, mister.”

“It’s Doctor,” he said. “And I know how smart I am." Like I need some little tyke to measure my brilliance, he thought arrogantly. "Now, right before you prank him, I want you to say…” he leaned down, and whispered a single sentence in her ear. She giggled -almost diabolically- before running off through the archway and disappearing. The doctor then sat back in the sofa -his arms behind his head in a relaxed pose- and waited.

“Hey big brother!” he heard her say. “Guess what?”

“What?” he heard a deep voice say.

A horse is a horse, of course of course!” He could hear her neck crackling, a light thud, and soon after that an even heavier thud that rocked several of the pictures hanging on the walls.

APPLEBLOOM!” the deep voice shouted loudly. “Applebloom, what?! What did y’all just do?! Speak to me!”

Doctor tried his very best to not fall into a fit of laughter, giggling into his fist like a fiend. That was frickin’ beautiful, he thought to himself as tears welled up in his eyes.

“It’s okay, big brother!” he heard Applebloom shout. “Why’re ya cryin’ like that?”

He couldn’t hold it in any longer. Hunching forward, he let forth a powerful, bellowing laughter that forced the air from his lungs in a matter of seconds, reducing his chuckling to wheezing.

Suddenly, he could hear heavy stomping coming down the hall. He stopped laughing.

Shit.

A massive red clydesdale stomped into the room and shot him a glare that stood for a million and one profanities. “Don’t teach her any more tricks,” he said through gritted teeth, before stomping back out of the room. The doctor took a deep breath, exhaling as Applebloom entered the room.

“You shoulda seen the look on his face!” she said, falling onto her back laughing. “It was priceless!”

“Yes, well I think that’s enough for one day,” he said, eyeing the archway. Oh, but what fun that was, he thought to himself, looking down at the young filly. Pitting a small child against her family; It does the heart good. After a moment, he said, “You know, I’ve always wanted a son.”

Applebloom gave him a confused stare. “But I’m a girl,” she replied.

He shot her a similar look. What the hell is she talking abo- Oh. Oh! The doctor cackled freely for a moment. “What, you thought I was in some way talking about you?”

“Well, yeah,” she replied, cocking her head to the side. “Otherwise it’d be kinda strange for you t’ say that.”

The doctor looked her over once more. “Hmm… Perhaps you’d be better suited as my... apprentice?” A cohort in crime; every supervillain needs one, he thought.

Applebloom’s pupils seemed to sparkle, and a big grin stretched across her face from ear to ear. “Gee, do ya mean it?!” she asked with glee.

“I shall teach you all that I know about being evil,” he said, “and you will be molded into my own likeness. Only smaller. A smaller me… No, that doesn’t quite roll off the tongue, now does it? Tell me, child; can you think of any synonyms for ‘small’ that would be placed in front of the word ‘me’ to help that phrase sound better?”

“Like Mini-Me?” she offered without delay.

“What? Of course not,” he said, refuting her statement. “That sounds terrible. I was thinking… Tiny-Me… Yes, that sounds quite sinister indeed, does it not?” He looked down at her for confirmation. Oh how do I come up with these things? he pondered proudly.

She shrugged. “If you say so, Mister.”

He rolled his eyes. “Okay, listen,” he said exasperatedly, crouching down to her level, “there’s going to be a few rules if I’m going to take you under my wing. Rule one; it’s Doctor Evil. Not Mister Evil, not Sir Evil, and not Señor Evil. Got that?” She nodded profusely, and he grinned sinisterly. “Good. I have a feeling that this is the beginning… of a beautiful internship.”

Author's Note:

Ten imaginary dollars who can name the obscure television reference.