Rainbow Dreams (by Lithl)
This chapter courtesy of Lithl. The character of Guinness belongs to Altoid.
Hiya, I’m Rainbow Dash. You might recognize me as the only pony ever to pull off a Sonic Rainboom. Or maybe you’ve heard of the Elements of Harmony? Yep, I’m Loyalty, all the way. Or perhaps you know me as the most super-ultra-extreme-awesomazing pony in all of Equestria? That’s what my fans call me, anyway. It’s true, they held a vote on it at one of my fanclub meetings.
There’re a couple things you might not know me as: married to the most awesome stallion alive — who also happens to be a wicked cool alien — and the coolest mother to ever bear a foal.
“How did those awesome things happen?” I hear you ask. Well just sit back and listen, ‘cuz I’ve got one radicool story for you.
Just, uh... keep this between you and me, okay? There are some parts of the story I’d rather not spread around. It’s not because they were uncool — okay, maybe a little uncool — but there are some ponies I don’t want to worry with some of the stuff I did. You can keep a secret, right? Right.
I felt feathers brushing across my face. They brought me into that half-awake state where you know you’ll never get back to sleep, but you really don’t want to get up anyway.
“Hey, you,” the owner of the feathers whispered. I cracked my eyes open, and immediately regretted the decision. I’d tried some of Valiant’s “tequila” last night — hey, he’s been off on his space adventure or whatever for over a week, he’s not here to complain — and now I had the hangover to go with it. If this was the consequence of drinking tequila, I don’t know why Valiant drank so much, and so often.
I took some time to get used to the morning sunlight trying to stab my brain through my eyes, and turned to face the grinning dark blue stallion standing next to my bed. His bright red mane lay flat and damp; he’d already showered.
“I left you some pancakes.”
And he’d already made breakfast. And eaten his share.
“Also: We’re out of toothpaste. I can pick some up later, but you may have to go without today.”
Ugh. Morning ponies. My head was pounding and Guinness was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Well, drippy-tailed since he hadn’t quite dried off from his shower yet, but it’s an expression! At least he let me sleep, and made me some breakfast.
“Ugh,” I’m surprised Celestia hasn’t hired me as a speechwriter.
“You okay, Dash?”
“Sure, just... talk quieter.”
Guinness frowned a bit. “A hangover?” The way he said it, he was almost asking himself more than he was asking me. Still, I nodded. At least, I tried to. It hurt to nod. “Dash, alcohol is bad for the foal!”
I winced at the noise. “Well, how’m I supposed to know that? Besides, I don’t think I’ll be having any more any time soon. The morning after isn’t cool at all.”
“C’mon, Dash, it’s time to get up. You’ll be late for work.”
“‘m off today,” I mumbled. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes with one hoof while I used the other to push myself up from the cloud bed.
“Well you should get up anyway. Your pancakes will get cold. I’ll see you later, okay?” Guinness pecked me on the cheek and trotted out, off to do... whatever he had planned for today.
Come to think of it, what did Guinness get up to during the day? I looked to the nightstand and the can he’d been looking for for so long. The can was blue and silver, with a pair of red bulls emblazoned on the side. It was the object that brought him to Equestria, and supposedly it would send him back home. Then he knocked me up, and he didn’t want to leave. The most confusing part was how he kept trying to crack jokes about how “Red Bull gave him wings.” Nopony really understood it, except maybe Valiant; or Pinkie, who was the only pony to actually laugh.
I guess it’s appropriate for the Element of Loyalty to have a coltfriend who’s loyal enough to pull a 180 — nah, make that “pull a chandelle,” that’s way cooler than just pulling a boring 180 — a coltfriend who’s loyal enough to pull a chandelle for you when he finds out he’s got a little filly on the way.
Your foal will be a colt.
I mean, I guess my foal could be a colt, too. I kinda hope it’ll be a filly, though. I think I’ll know how to deal with a filly’s problems better, since I was a filly once.
I rubbed at my stomach as I sat up on the bed. It would be months before anything became noticeable and anypony besides my close friends would know. Well, I suppose Pinkie would eventually throw me a foal shower and she’d invite the whole town. Until then, though, it would just be me, Guinness, and my friends.
Ooh... I should probably tell my dad about this one...
I flew home early from work one day, and as I walked in the front door, I heard somepony shuffling around in the bedroom. “Hey, Guinness?” I called out. In response, I heard some fumbling around and a loud crash — well, as loud a crash as you can have in a cloud house.
I took wing and dashed back to my bedroom as fast as I could manage without damaging anything else. That is to say, faster than most pegasi fly in their entire lives, but not quite fast enough to wow the Wonderbolts or make a rainboom. I knocked some pictures and papers and junk off tables and shelves and whatnot, but either I had an intruder alarmed by my entrance, or my Guinness knocked something over and he might be hurt.
The second possibility proved true, as I flew into the bedroom to find my dresser — it was an heirloom passed down from my grandmother, okay? I got it because I was named after her, and I wasn’t about to throw something like that away — had fallen over onto my lover, whose eyes were spinning dizzily. I may not put much stock in clothes like Rarity does, or my grandmother did, but it was a nice old piece of furniture, and convenient for storing a lot of things that weren’t clothes. Like Wonderbolts para... para-something. Wonderbolts stuff. Anyway, my point is that my dresser is heavy, and it took some work to get my coltfriend out from underneath it. Probably nine minutes or so to get the dresser back upright, Guinness onto the bed, and all the stuff that fell out back into its proper spot.
Then some more work to get him out of his daze.
Then I apologized to him with some kisses. And... other things.
This is a bad idea.
Hey, we already had a foal on the way, so nothing more could come of anything we did in private, right? Right.
Eventually, exhausted, we just lay in the bed and snuggled. But in a cool way, not a sappy, lovey-dovey way. “So,” he started, “You’re home early.”
I nodded sleepily and murmured into his chest, “I finally convinced myself to send a letter to my dad about the foal, and... about you.”
Guinness pushed me back and I totally didn’t make any sound like a whimper. He only pushed me far enough away so that he could get a good look into my eyes, though, so I could forgive him for that. “You mean you haven’t told your father yet?”
“You haven’t told your parents!” I countered.
Guinness facehoofed. “Dash, my parents are in another dimension. And if I went back to tell them, I’m not sure I could ever come back to you.”
I grunted, knowing he was right, but I wasn’t about to admit that. I rolled onto my stomach and stretched out my wings. “New subject: preening time!” The change in topic may not have been subtle, but the new topic was pleasant enough that Guinness didn’t seem to care. Preening is a very intimate and very important part of a pegasus’s grooming, and Guinness... wasn’t very good at it, to tell the truth. I guess there really is a difference between being born with wings, achieving wings, and having wings strapped on your back.
I’d been trying to help him improve, and he had been improving — slowly. Most times after I’d had Guinness preen my wings, I still felt like I had a bunch of feathers out of place. I’d go preen myself elsewhere, so as to not hurt his feelings. Still, he didn’t hurt me or pull out any wrong feathers any more. If his moans were any indication, he really liked it when we’d switch and I’d preen him.
“So, when are you going to write to your father?”
“Well I was planning to do it when I got home... then stuff happened.”
“I think I like ‘stuff,’” he snuffled into my mane, and I could hear him smiling.
Eventually I managed to stumble out of bed to go write the letter. I’d been psyching myself up to write all day at work; no sense to waste all that effort. Guinness followed me out of the bedroom and pranced into the kitchen — totally like an awesome stallion, honest. While I pulled out a scroll, quill, and ink, he started throwing together a dinner for two.
I stared at the paper for a long while, my mind blank. I had spent so much time convincing myself to get the letter done, I hadn’t given any thought to what exactly I would write.
Before I could put anything down, Guinness dropped a plate in front of me with a lettuce and tomato sandwich on it. “Can’t figure out what to write?” He seemed unusually happy for a stallion whose fillyfriend was having family problems.
I slumped over my plate and said, “Uh-uh.”
“Here, I’ll dictate for you: ‘Dear dad. I met a guy who’s totally awesome. We banged, and now you’re going to be a grandfather. Sincerely, Rainbow Dash.’”
I groaned. That was just terrible. No way I was going to write a letter like that to my dad.
“Eat up, maybe you’ll get an idea about what to write by the time you’re done.” Guinness was still smiling like an idiot, watching me intently.
I eyed the sandwich on my plate. Something was wrong. Guinness was expecting something of me and the food, which meant it wasn’t just a normal lettuce and tomato sandwich. “Guinness, what did you put in my food?”
“Nothing...!” His eyes shifted to the left, while mine narrowed dangerously.
“This isn’t like the time you tried to make me eat ‘haybacon,’ is it?”
“No...!”
“Guinness, you tell me everything you put on this sandwich, right now!”
He sighed. Tartarus has no fury like a pissed-off mare. I’m pretty sure I bungled that expression, but whatever. “Whole wheat bread. Freshly sliced tomatoes. Iceberg lettuce. Uh... mayo...” He refused to look at me as he rattled off the final ingredient. Suspicious.
“What kind of mayo?” I crossed my arms to make sure he could see my frustration.
“Um... it’s a custom blend?” I glared at him. Not quite as effective as Fluttershy’s capital-ess-Stare, but still pretty good. “Garlic-paprika-onion-sugar-mustard-salt-and-smoke,” he said in one quick breath.
“See, was that so hard?” I smiled, and he relaxed. “Wait... smoke?”
“Liquid smoke. Trap the smoke, let it condense into a liquid. It’s like steam turning into water.”
“Huh.” I didn’t really have any words. It sounded pretty cool, to be honest, and the rest of the ingredients are pretty tasty. I couldn’t tell why he was worried. “So do you have a name for this ‘custom blend’ of yours?”
“Uh... not yet. I was hoping to make sure it tasted good before giving it a name. So let’s eat!” I couldn’t argue with his logic, and we each scooped up our sandwich to take a bite.
The liquid smoke he used in the mayo was instantly apparent, but not unpleasant. With the tomatoes, it was almost like eating roast tomatoes off the grill, except the smokiness was spread through the whole sandwich by the spreadable mayo. There was something else, too, “Did you put apple juice in the mayo, too?”
“No,” after a moment’s consideration, he said, “but I got the wood from Applejack, so it was probably applewood, come to think of it.”
I took another few bites. “Well, Guinness, I think you’ve hit on a success, here. The liquid smoke stuff reminds me of summer, and the other spices give it... I don’t know how to describe the flavor. Salty yet sweet, and a little bit like overcooked provolone.”
I took another bite while Guinness pumped a hoof in the air shouting things like “yes” and “I did it!” He was certainly proud of himself, and I think he deserved it. This stuff was good. Guinness scarfed down the rest of his sandwich and kissed me, licking his lips as he pulled back. “So, I’ve got a name for it, Rainbow. Wanna hear it?” I nodded. “Baconnaise.”
What.
“Squibles — that’s the giffin I told you about, remember? — he and I are opening a tavern across the street from the railway hotel. We’re catering to out-of-town guests, especially non-ponies.” Guinness was grinning like an idiot. “Squibles gave me a project to come up with stuff for our menu that tastes like meat that a pony wouldn’t have a problem digesting... exactly the kind of project I’ve been trying to tackle since forever.”
I already knew that Guinness’s original species ate meat, but despite being a pony, he still wanted the taste of dead animals. Ew. He was constantly trying to find some way to get his “fix,” as he called it, and I humored him because he was otherwise awesome.
Now, apparently, he’d achieved his goal of making something that tasted like “bacon” and, I was ashamed to admit, the result tasted good.
Guinness stopped his celebrations when he noticed that I’d pushed away my plate, still with a few bites of the sandwich left. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m happy for you, Guinness, really. But I’m already having a crisis of family at the moment. I don’t think I can deal with a crisis of digestion, too.”
Eat the baconnaise. It tastes too good to refuse.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts and turned back to my still-blank scroll. Guinness gave me another peck on the cheek and cleared away the table, wisely giving me my space.
Eventually, I managed to put together a letter that I wouldn’t be soul-crushingly embarrassed to have my dad read. I’ll admit, I stole one of Guinness’s ideas for the letter. He was pretty awesome. I rolled up the scroll and addressed it before leaving it on the table.
I crawled into bed with Guinness, and though it was late, he was still awake. “You get your letter written?” He asked. I nodded into his chest. Guinness’s chest is super comfy. “I’ll make sure it gets in the mail tomorrow, okay?” I nodded again, beginning to drift off into sleep. “Oh, by the way, I’ve got something to do out of town tomorrow. I’ll be back in just a couple days, so don’t worry about me.” It wasn’t until the next morning that I actually processed his words; at the time, I simply nodded again, and fell asleep wrapped up in bed with him, warm and happy.
This was it.
Today was my appointment for my first ultrasound.
Guinness was supposed to meet me at the hospital, but I had Pinkie with me in the waiting room. Dear sweet Celestia, why did I think that would be a good idea? Pinkie’s one of my best friends, she’s a great pranking partner, and I love her to death, but she is not the mare to bring with you to help you calm your nerves.
Not that my nerves needed calming, of course, I’m too awesome to be nervous. Just, y’know, in general: Pinkie does not share the effects of chamomile tea.
In the waiting room, she was entertaining herself by poking me in the gut. And singing.
“Your eyes are bright and sparkling.
Your cheeks have got a glow
Your belly’s being touched and rubbed
by ponies you don’t know.”
“Pinkie, you’re the only one touching me.”
“You’re craving weird, exotic foods,” Or at least I’ve got a coltfriend who’s tricking me into eating them...
“and calories don’t matter.
You can’t remember life without
a hoof in your bladder.” Pinkie punctuated that line with, you guessed it, a hoof straight into my bladder. She can get a bit over excited sometimes, and I’ve had the bruises to prove it.
“You’re getting medical advice
from everypony that you see.
Welcome to the joyous days
of Motherhood-to-be!” She finished her song with a giggle, and finally sat down next to me to wait. All I can say is thank Celestia we were the only ones in the room.
“So, Dashie, do you know where foals come from?” It was an innocent enough question, and it might have even been sincere, knowing the source. Then again, Pinkie has a habit of surprising you in... interesting ways.
“Of course I do. That’s why we’re waiting for my appointment with Doctor Practice, Pinkie. I’m growing a foal inside of me right now.”
Pinkie shook her head violently, hard enough to make her springy mane lash out and hit me in the face. Ow. “That’s just what they want you to think. The Theory of Pony Reproduction is just that — a theory. I’ve got another theory that’s supported by Science!” I could practically hear her capitalize the last word as she shot a hoof into the air dramatically. “Do you wanna hear it?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Nope!” Pinkie cleared her throat, “The Theory of the Stork, by Professor Pinkamena Pie! The abstract idea is—”
“Wait,” I cut her off, “are you seriously telling me that you believe foals are brought by the stork? That’s just a tale for little curious foals!”
“Hey, the Theory of the Stork has plenty of science to back it up!”
“Oh, really?” I cocked an eyebrow at her. “Like what, pray tell?”
“Well, first and foremost, it is a scientifically established fact that the stork exists. This is confirmed by every established orni... ornu... othop... bird-watcher pony in Equestria.
“And secondly, the alleged ‘pony fetal development’ has several features that the Theory of Pony Reproduction is unable to explain.”
“Like what?” Despite myself, I was starting to get into the whole debate, like it was a serious thing. Like my foal’s life depended on Pinkie being wrong about the Stork.
“Well, the Theory of Pony Reproduction implies that a foal is nearly a year old at birth, which is just silly. Everypony knows that a newborn foal is newborn.
“Then there’s the claim that foals are the direct result of rolling in the hay. I roll in the hay all the time, and I haven’t had a foal yet!”
I had to facehoof hard at that one. “Pinkie ‘rolling in the hay’ is just an expression meaning... the stuff you do with Fluttershy in the bedroom at night. Except foals require a mare and stallion, not two mares.”
She blinked, confused. “Really? I guess that explains the ponies who laugh when I talk about rolling in the hay... My point stands, though: there is an entire industry dedicated to rolls in the hay that do not produce foals.” She grinned at her cleverness. “Why is eating ice cream called ‘rolling in the hay,’ anyway...?” I decided to just let the matter drop. I knew for a fact that Pinkie got intimate with Fluttershy on occasion; I couldn’t tell whether Pinkie was just yanking my tail.
“Furthermore, there are statistical studies in the Neightherlands that indicate a positive correlation between the birth rate and the number of storks.”
Now that was interesting, even if it sounded like she was quoting Twilight. “Really?”
Pinkie nodded with a grim frown. “Yes. Both are decreasing.” In an instant, she was back to her bubbly self, as though nothing had happened. “The Theory of the Stork can be investigated by rigorous scientific methods. The only assumption involved is that foals are delivered by the stork!”
And that’s another facehoof right there. At least Pinkie’s silly little debate distracted me from the waiting, because just then a white pegasus nurse stepped into the waiting room, “Miss Dash? Doctor Practice will see you now.” I stood up and headed to the door the nurse was holding open, and Pinkie followed. The nurse, however, wouldn’t let her through. “I’m sorry, only immediate family members and the father of the foal are permitted.”
“Uh...” I am an amazing public speaker, “You do know this is Pinkie Pie, right? I mean, if she wants to watch my ultrasound, she’ll probably hand the popcorn to my foal.”
The nurse shook her head, her curly blonde mane threatening to dislodge her nurse’s cap. “Sorry, it’s hospital policy.”
“Don’t worry, Dashie,” Pinkie grinned, “I’ve got some work to do at Sugarcube Corner, anyway. You and Guinness can come by later and show me the pictures, okay?”
The nurse — she introduced herself as Nurse Surprise, who was usually responsible for keeping the youngest patients happy — led me to an examination room with a narrow metal stall next to some equipment I couldn’t even begin to understand. I could guess the stuff was for my ultrasound, but beyond that I had no idea.
Nurse Surprise directed me into the stall facing the door into the room, and to my surprise — heh — she closed it behind me! I couldn’t move more than a couple inches forward or back, the stall was too narrow to turn around, and the bars restricted my wings. So, I took my best option of a bunch of bad ones.
I started hyperventilating.
A credit to her ability as a nurse, Surprise noticed my trouble immediately and took measures to help. Specifically, she shoved her face into mine so that I couldn’t see anything but her pale violet eyes, and she started talking in that soothing voice that seems to come with the job. I didn’t pay much attention to the exact words she said, but once she calmed me down, she showed me that my view of the room wasn’t restricted in any way, only my movement, and she demonstrated how simple the stall gate’s release was.
Once Surprise was satisfied that I wouldn’t go off again, she returned her attention to my rear end. She wrapped my tail in a couple hair bands, then lifted it over the top bar of the gate and used a hook to keep it in place, exposing me to the cold air. I wiggled my dock a bit, but my tail remained secure high above where anypony would lift it, even in intimate company.
I could see why visitors were restricted so heavily. The position Surprise had secured me into was, frankly, embarrassing. I took small comfort with the fact that when Guinness showed up, his alien upbringing would probably mean he wouldn’t even notice.
With that thought, my mind spun through my recent time with my coltfriend. He’d been acting a bit weird since getting back from his trip last month, but I figured he was just as anxious about the doctor’s visit as I was. I mean, not that I was ever anxious, but anything called “ultra” is worth being careful around, because it’s just that awesome, right? Right.
As I was lost in thought, the door opened and Doctor Practice walked in. I’d been seeing Doctor Practice ever since my first heat cycle, and he was the obvious choice to go to when I found out I was with foal.
He was a sturdy yellow earth pony with an unusually short blue mane. He was starting to get a couple gray hairs, but he still had most of his color going for him. His cutie mark was surprisingly complicated, with a pair of snakes and wings and a staff and such. I’d asked Twilight about it once while she was on a “Cutie Mark Interpretation” binge, and when she came back to me she had been confused, saying that it was similar to a common medical cutie mark, but it was actually related to travel and trading things. Whatever. Doctor Practice had been good to me for years, I didn’t really care what some book guessed about his cutie mark.
“Good morning, Rainbow Dash!”
“Good morning, Doctor Practice!”
“Please, dear, you’ve known me for how long? I know you better than most colts you’ll meet,” he winked at me, and I blushed. Doctor Practice was like an uncle who teaches you naughty jokes while your dad isn’t listening. His occupation made his personality all the more crude — and hilarious. “How many times do I have to tell you to just call me by my first name?” He gave me that mock glare of somepony pretending to be mad.
I rolled my eyes, “Good morning, Mal!”
“That’s better!” Doctor Practice and I chatted about this and that. He steered the conversation towards Guinness, me, and how we’d been doing — both physically and emotionally. That was part of his job, after all, and no matter how friendly and carefree he might act, he was working as hard as I did when busting clouds.
While he talked, he set up some of the equipment near my stall. There was a screen to my left I could clearly see when I turned my head, which Doctor Practice said would have a picture of my foal once the ultrasound began. Once the equipment was ready, he scrubbed his arms clean with soap and water in the nearby sink, and slipped on a long latex boot, stretching most of the way up his leg, which he then covered in some kind of lubricant.
“Uh, Mal? What’cha doin’?”
“Hmm? What did you think the ultrasound was going to involve? Waving a magic wand over your tummy?” He chuckled. “No, dear, the sonic probe has to get close to the fetus in order to work—”
“You only said ‘sonic’ to get me interested,” I accused.
He smiled, but didn’t deny it, “So we have to go in the back way. And I’m afraid you don’t have a unicorn for a doctor, so the probe isn’t going in alone.” He picked up the probe with his lubricated hoof, and approached me from behind. “Now, I know you haven’t been as... adventurous in the bedroom as some of my other patients, so this might hurt a little bit. Please just try to relax.”
The whole tail-lifting thing and restricted visitors made even more sense than before, as Doctor Practice started pushing his hoof inside me. I could tell that he was being gentle, going slowly and coaxing my muscles to relax, but it still hurt. It hurt a lot. The restrictive stall made sense now, too; if I had my full freedom of motion, there’s no way he’d have gotten a hoof inside. My eyes screwed tight and they started watering when I heard the door open again. I heard Nurse Surprise directing somepony into the room, and I heard Doctor Practice start to greet the newcomer before he was cut off:
“GET AWAY FROM MY MAREFRIEND!”
There was a rush of air and a crash of probably-expensive-stuff behind me, accompanied by a surprised and pained yelp from Doctor Practice.
And if Mal’s hoof hurt going in, that was nothing compared to how it felt to have his hoof wrenched out at high speed. I think my cry of pain was the only thing that stopped Guinness from “defending my honor” to the death.
Doctor Practice let me out of the stall while the whole mess was sorted out. He had a nasty shiner and a bloody nose, but seemed otherwise fine from my coltfriend’s attack. I was a little sore, but there was no bleeding. Some of the hospital’s equipment, on the other hoof, was irreparably damaged. Expensive equipment. Expensive equipment that was supposed to be giving me a picture of my foal.
“Yep, you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.” Guinness winced, but between realizing who he’d hit and being given a quote for the damage he’d caused, I figured he was sufficiently chastised. “But who knows where I’ll be sleeping tonight...?” I gave him a peck on the cheek, and he gave me a weak grin.
I wanted to help shoulder the bill for the medical equipment, but Guinness was strangely quiet on that front.
“So,” I asked, “are you done ‘defending my honor’ from my doctor?” He glumly nodded.
Mal got himself checked out by another doctor, and was declared fit to perform the ultrasound. He didn’t even want to press assault charges, “I can’t say you’re not the first jealous lover that’s watched me work, but yours was certainly the most surprising reaction I’ve ever had.”
“I can’t imagine why,” I chuckled. I’d have to ask Guinness what a human ultrasound was like.
Doctor Practice helped me back into the stall and set up for the ultrasound again, with replacements for all the stuff Guinness broke. The second time around, his hoof still hurt but not nearly as much as before. I don’t know if that was because there was actually less pain, if I’d gotten used to the pain, or because Guinness was with me, strengthening me with his presence.
Yeah, it’s sappy. Shut up. I’ve got a hoof going places no hoof should ever go.
“How are you feeling, Rainbow?”
“Constipated. It feels really weird when you twist your hoof around.”
Doctor Practice probably had some quip just for comments like that, but Guinness stole my attention. “So, Rainbow, you were talking about helping me with the bill for the stuff I broke. See, the thing is... we’re about to have a foal together. And, uh... foals need to be raised by a father and a mother. And while I want to pay for my mistake, it’s true that couples share everything...”
Guinness knelt down and turned to fish something out of his saddlebag. Ohmygoshohmygosh, he was gonna give me a betrothal necklace! And then we’d have a picture of our foal, and we’d go see Pinkie, and we’d show her the pictures, and then she’d host a party — I’m pretty sure I tensed up and clamped down on Doctor Practice’s leg at that point, but I didn’t care. My coltfriend was going to give me one of his primaries on a necklace, and I’d accept it, and we’d get married, have a foal, and live happily ever after.
Yes... happily ever after...
I wasn’t thinking like the most awesome pony alive there in that examination room. At that point, I was more like somepony along the lines of Rarity, a hopeless romantic. I may not have been thinking like the most awesome pony alive, but I certainly felt like the happiest.
Guinness lifted a small black box out of his bag. Eh? A chain or rope could certainly be coiled to fit, but there was no way a grown pegasus’s primary feather could fit inside a box that small.
“Rainbow ‘Danger’ Dash,” I had to work really hard not to laugh and ruin his moment, “will you share my life with me? My successes and failures — like today? Will you let me share yours? Will you marry me, Rainbow?” Guinness opened his box to reveal...
A jeweled ring.
What.
Bwahahaha! Classic!
“Okay, uh... you realize I’m not a unicorn, right?” Guinness looked confused. I could see the gears turning in his head until realization finally dawned on him.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Guinness smacked the poor ring box on the side of his head. “I was wondering why the guy at the shop assumed it was for a unicorn. Who else would wear a ring?”
I leaned forward to give him a nuzzle, “Well, I think some griffons use rings, although most prefer the same sort of gift pegasi use.”
Guinness leaned back, determined look on his face. He probably cared more about fixing this for me than paying for the stuff he broke. “And what is that?”
“Get me a necklace using one of your primaries as the pendant. Old Pegasopolan ponies usually crafted their own necklaces,” Guinness started scanning the room for materials he could use to make his necklace right now, “but most pegasi these days get the necklace made professionally.”
Guinness yanked out a feather to get to work, and he yelped when it hurt.
“Most pegasi these days also have a doctor remove the feather, or use one from a recent moulting,” Doctor Practice remarked sardonically.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Guinness wheezed through his teeth. “I’ll be right back and give you a proper marriage proposal. Ten seconds, no problem!” He dashed out of the room to appropriate materials for my necklace.
Mal had other things on his mind. “Rainbow, you said the conception was about two and a half months ago?” I nodded. Doctor Practice told me to look at the screen set up near me. The picture was black and white, and really grainy, but it clearly showed a foal curled up inside me. “That’s not a ten-week fetus, Rainbow. Eyeballing it, that’s at least twenty weeks, possibly closer to thirty. I wouldn’t be surprised if the fetus drops and you start showing before you can even finish planning your wedding.
“Except...” Mal sighed. “I joked about it before, but I really do know more about your body than just about any coltfirend you’ll ever have. There’s no way you could have conceived a foal twenty to thirty weeks ago, because you weren’t in estrus at the time. Even if you had cheated on that stallion — not that I would believe such a rumor for even half a second, miss Element of Loyalty! — it simply wouldn’t be physically possible.”
When my doctor says things like “not physically possible,” I pay attention. There are some things I’ll scoff at about being “impossible,” like the Sonic Rainboom, but my doctor talking about my foal is not one of them. “So what does that all mean, Mal?”
“At this point, I couldn’t say. I think the best course of action would be to schedule a biweekly appointment to check the foal’s progress. I’d also like you to give me a call when the fetus drops, okay?” I gulped at the thought of doing this every other week, but I nodded. “Now, since I’m already in, how about I introduce you to your filly?”
Wait, what?
I smiled, “I’d like that.”
Go back to the part about being a filly!
Doctor Practice was pointing out all the parts of my foal. She was a pegasus, naturally, but she wouldn’t start growing feathers until just after being born. Guinness walked back into the room with a crude necklace proudly on display just as Doctor Practice was pointing out all the things that showed that my little filly was healthy.
“Now why don’t we see if I can try this whole proposal thing again, and get it right this time?” Guinness knelt in front of me, necklace lifted, eyes closed. “Rainbow ‘Danger’ Dash, will you share my life with me,” he opened his eyes, but my attention was split between paying attention to his proposal and looking at the first images of my foal.
So sue me.
Guinness was just as curious as I was about seeing the ultrasound. He followed my gaze to the monitor without breaking a beat in his proposal.
“Will you m— AHHH! WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY IS THAT?” Guinness fell over backwards trying to run away from the monitor.
I stared at my coltfriend like he was crazy. Mal helped me from the other side of the stall. “That is our little filly, Guinness. I know she looks a little weird without feathers on her little wings, but Doctor Practice says she’s perfectly healthy. The feathers will grow in within a day or two after she’s born.”
“That is not a pony. That is some kind of Lovecraftian horror.”
Oop, that’s not a good sign. If the foal’s a monster, what does that make him?
“If our filly’s a monster, what does that make you?” I stuck out my tongue playfully, hoping to try and defuse the situation, “We’re almost done and I still haven’t gotten that necklace out of you, young colt!” I realized that while trying to calm down my coltfriend, Mal had already pulled out his hoof — I barely felt it exiting at all when he was being gentle, instead of being kicked across the room — and a nurse had come in to start cleaning me up and release me from the stall. Guinness seemed to calm down when the picture on the screen went away. He knelt in front of me again — third time’s the charm! — and made it all the way through his proposal without interruption. He gave me a necklace made from scraps he stole — “borrowed” — from around the hospital, and he promised to get a real one made later.
A nurse returned with a folder containing select pictures from the ultrasound. Guinness didn’t seem to have any problems looking at the photographs, and he gushed over the filly just like I had hoped he would during the exam. The folder also had an official-looking form with all kinds of technical stuff about the foal. The nurse had to point out a spot near the bottom that had the information Guinness and I really wanted, the estimated due date.
Before we left, Nurse Surprise hoofed me a note that she said was from Mal.
Rainbow — The date I’ve put on the official report is an estimate based on when you said the foal was conceived. If you actually foal then, you’ll definitely need an H-Section to deliver; your filly will have simply grown too large at that point to foal normally. We’ll know more after you come in again one or two times, but for now: if the foal was somehow conceived earlier, the due date should be just in time for Hearts and Hooves day. If — and this is just from a flash of inspiration, mind you, not something supported by any actual evidence yet — if your filly is somehow growing faster than normal, then expect foaling sometime around the end of the summer.
I hid the note away from Guinness. He didn’t need to know about these problems, and until Mal gave me another ultrasound, it was all just guessing anyway, right? Right.
Pull the other one. It has bells on.
Apparently, the fourth of July was some kind of big celebration for humans. Guinness tried to explain the history behind the holiday to me, but frankly it sounded like a reimagining of the War of Sun and Moon. I knew we supposedly had proof that my fiancé was an alien from another dimension, but sometimes I wondered if maybe he really was just crazy.
Regardless, Guinness had decided to try and find Nova; with Valiant off in space doing who knows what, Nova was the only other human who might want to celebrate. I was all on my own for the whole day and apparently late into the night; Guinness had mentioned something about procuring fireworks. Pinkie and Sir Win had both been a ton of help planning the wedding, and there wasn’t anything that I could do about it today. For the first time in weeks, my schedule was clear. My foal hadn’t even dropped yet, so I still didn’t have to act like a gravid mare, although Doctor Practice warned me against my usual flying routine as soon as he realized that she was growing at an abnormal rate. He was worried what the sudden changes in g-forces might do to a filly growing that quickly.
I had a free and open schedule, but I found that there was nothing I actually wanted to do. The foal was physically draining, of course, that was expected. I was eating for two, with a high-energy diet Mal had recommended to me. Add the normal stresses of work and the wedding planning — now that I’ve really tried planning a big party, I have new respect for what Pinkie does on a regular basis — and I was just too exhausted to go out and do something in the little spare time I had all to myself. I was too stressed, too tired, and too worried about my immediate future.
I tried to remember any stories about what my mom did to deal with everything while carrying me, and I remembered her solution. It couldn’t hurt to try, right? Right.
* * *
I poked my nose into the poorly-lit shop — more of a tent, really. The single room was filled with shelves upon shelves of all kinds of strange objects, with more hanging from the canvas protecting the shop from the elements. There was no organization to anything, and most of the merchandise was unique; you couldn’t easily get multiple copies of something here. Strange metal contraptions, zebrican fetishes and curse dolls, unmarked liquids in sealed jars, animal parts and... body parts. Anything you wanted that wasn’t available in a market or by mail-order could probably be found here. I’m certain plenty of the merchandise was illegal, but shops like this one always popped up and the ponies who shopped there needed this or that scarce item more than they needed to report an unscrupulous pony to the guards. I mean, it’s not like the pony selling things like powdered unicorn horn was going out and digging up graves himself, right? Right.
Whatever helps you sleep at night.
“Hello?” I called out. My voice echoed back, despite the tight spaces and lack of any hard surface to echo from. Creepy. Maybe there was more than one reason guards never seemed to shut down places like this.
“How can I help you?” I totally didn’t shout and leap into the air when the pony appeared behind me. I looked him over: a dark brown earth pony with an ashen mane, his coloration made it difficult to determine his age. He wore a strap around his barrel with a pouch on one side; strange, you’d think a pair of saddlebags would be more convenient, and better-balanced. His cutie mark was a black cloak, but I decided it was better not to get into that kind of discussion.
“Shady Deals?” I asked, my voice still echoing slightly. It was probably a good idea to make sure I’d found the right pony before asking about the store’s merchandise.
“That depends on who is asking, doesn’t it?” His voice was husky, as if the sound itself was trying to hide its identity — his voice also didn’t echo in the slightest. I thought about his question for a minute. On one hoof, it was kind of philosophical. On the other hoof, for a pony who might be selling illegal merchandise, the question might just be practical.
“Uh,” I tried to remember what I was supposed to say. “I’m just looking for my Aunt Zaza.”
Shady Deals deflated a bit, almost disappointed. “Is that all?” His voice had risen at least an octave, too, although it still didn’t echo like mine was. I followed Shady to a mostly-clear counter at the back of the shop. He hunted around underneath it and dropped a small plastic bag of rainbow-colored powder onto the countertop. He sighed and rest his head on a hoof, looking bored. “Thirty bits. I swear, ever since the Crystal Ponies came back, nopony’s been interested in zap.” I hoofed over my bits and I didn’t question what he was talking about with the Crystal Ponies.
* * *
I really should’ve found somepony to help me learn about using zap. Alone, I was basically flying by night. My first try only got me a stinging pain in my nose and a nasty taste in the back of my mouth. My second try went a little better; I definitely felt more relaxed for a few minutes, but then everything went wrong. My breathing became heavy, and my stomach hurt. It was like my body wanted to toss my lunch, but simply couldn’t. I dashed to the bathroom and grabbed some painkillers and muscle relaxants from the medicine cabinet, then lay down on the cloud floor to wait for the medicine to do its work.
After an hour or so, the pain was gone and I felt perfectly fine again. Why would anypony pay so much money just to make themselves sick?
Try it again. ‘Third time’s the charm,’ as they say.
My mother took zap to deal with her stress while she was carrying me, so there must be something to it. The second try felt good for a few minutes, so maybe I just had to get used to it. One more try, I decided, would mark whether I kept the zap or trashed it.
The next thing I remember, the sun was setting and Guinness was shaking me, completely frantic.
“Hey, no need to get rough. Rough is for the bedroom,” I mumbled, still in a bit of a haze. I couldn’t figure out what had Guinness so upset, but I felt great. I felt like I’d taken three dozen naps all in a row. I was relaxed, rested, I had my stallion, and I didn’t have a care in the world.
Guinness seemed genuinely upset, though. He stopped shaking me when I talked, wrapping his hooves around me tight like I might fly away. Which was ridiculous; I’m the Element of Loyalty, I’d never abandon my fiancé like that.
“Oh Dash... I came home to get some snacks for the fireworks and you were out cold on the floor and you wouldn’t wake up and I thought I was gonna lose you and then I saw that weird rainbow crack and I thought you’d OD’d and DON’T EVER DO THAT TO ME AGAIN!” He kept shouting and hugging me and rambling on and on. I had to tune him out a bit to get my own thoughts together.
My mind was a little fuzzy, but eventually I managed to figure out everything Guinness was saying. “Wait,” I said. He stopped ranting to listen, “What did you do to my zap?”
“I dumped it in the sink and washed it away. Why would you ever think drugs would be a good idea, especially while pregnant?!”
“Awww, that stuff was expensive!” I was starting to lose that great feeling I’d had when I woke up.
“What was it, anyway? I’ve never seen a powder that could maintain a striated pattern even when disturbed.”
I leaned into my fiancé; if I couldn’t have zap to relax me, at least I could have a warm body and a welcoming embrace. “Zap. It comes from zap apples, which are some kind of weird magic fruit from the Everfree, although there’s probably more to zap than just powdered apple. There’s a zap apple grove at Sweet Apple Acres, but they pretty much only make zap apple jam, which does the same thing with the rainbow colors. No matter how you mix the jar or spread the jam, it’s still a rainbow.”
“And are you going to tell me why my pregnant fiancée was snorting lines of magic powdered apples?”
I shrugged deeper into his embrace. “I had a completely free schedule, I was feeling stressed, and I remembered hearing about how my mom used zap when she was carrying me to deal with the stress. I figured I turned out fine, so where was the harm in trying it?” I paused. “Although now that I think about it, Granny Smith puts a warning label on her zap apple jam. Something about pregnant and nursing mares.”
“You’re going to go see Doctor Practice tomorrow.”
“But I don’t have my appointment for another week...”
“That wasn’t a question, Dash. You’re going to see Doctor Practice tomorrow. You were knocked out cold by some magic drug, and you just admitted to seeing a warning label for food that comes from the same source. I don’t care how you feel right now; you’re getting checked out tomorrow, and the foal as well.”
I wanted to argue with him. I wanted to say that I was perfectly fine. Then he went and took the low blow by bringing my filly into it. Hurting myself by doing something stupid was one thing. Hurting my foal was an entirely different matter. Those four simple words took the fight right out of me, and I agreed to go see Mal first thing in the morning.
Ponyville General Hospital added a cloud wing shortly before my “revised” estimated due date, for pegasus patients who either needed or wanted treatment or recovery in a more natural environment. Although it was a little unorthodox, Twilight was more than willing to cast the cloud walking spell on Doctor Practice so that I could get a cloud room and still have my earth pony doctor.
I didn’t opt for the cloud room for any particular reason, but it seemed cool. Being a pegasus with a pegasus fiancé and a pegasus foal on the way meant foaling in a cloud was “traditional,” but more to the point cloud beds are more comfortable. From everything I’d been told since my foal dropped, I’d probably be laid up in bed for a long time, and I wanted to be able to relax.
Thankfully, my stupid stunt with the zap hadn’t harmed my filly, and it hadn’t done any lasting damage to me, either. Apparently the stuff was actually pretty dangerous, and when I told Mal that my mother had done it while she was carrying me, he’d been surprised I was even alive. Zap did a really good job at relaxing you, but it was really easy to take things too far, and the zap would put you to sleep forever. Thank Celestia for doctor-patient confidentiality; only Mal and Guinness would ever need to know how close I’d come to biting the dust. It may have been a waste of bits, but after talking with Doctor Practice, I was glad Guinness dumped the stuff.
* * *
I woke in the middle of the night to mild cramps around my barrel. Mal had told me what to expect as my abnormal foaling date approached, and he even said I should be able to control the duration the first part of my labor to some extent if I felt the need. Stage One, as Mal called it, was basically just my filly getting in position to be born.
Of course, when I woke up Guinness and told him, “I think I’ve just gone into labor,” his reaction was a little... eccentric.
“To the hospital, Batman!” he cried, as he lifted me bodily into the air and flew off out of our bedroom window. Another reference to human culture, I presumed, but what annoyed me was the assumption that I couldn’t fly under my own power. Sure, I looked like one of those luxury blimps used by the royals and the elite of Canterlot, but I could still fly... like one of those luxury blimps used by the royals and the elite of Canterlot...
I sighed and let Guinness have his fun. We were going to be married soon, and Rarity kept telling me that marriage was about compromises. I’d argue that marriage was about spending the rest of your life with somepony you love, but whatever. It was kinda nice to be off my wings — just for a little while.
Stage Two of my labor took a couple days to start. That hurt more than Mal’s hoof pushing up inside of me for the first time. And my filly wasn’t pulling her bucks like Mal did. In hindsight, I should have expected that; I was pushing a an entire foal through a tiny hole, rather than a single hoof.
I’m pretty sure everypony in Ponyville heard me screaming. I just hope they mistook the sound for an angry ursa major or something. Knowing that my own body would make me forget the pain later was not a comfort in the least.
Stage Three was basically my body cleaning up after itself, as far as I understood it, but all of that would happen on its own within a few hours. While waiting for that, I got to see my foal for the first time face-to-face.
“She’s beautiful,” I didn’t have much else I could say; I was more exhausted than a full day of Wonderbolts training exercises. Her coat was a light teal and her eyes were a brilliant gold.
“She certainly has your mane, Rainbow,” Doctor Practice smiled at me as he placed the filly in my bed at my side.
She stood immediately on her own and put her hooves on my side, pushing with all of her adorable strength. “Mother, why am I a filly? I was supposed to be a colt! Fix this right now! I’m supposed to have a black coat and a red mane. Tell me what you have done to me this instant! Fix it!”
So adorable. I nudged her with my nose towards my inflated teats. “Go on, I’m sure you’re hungry, little one.”
She dropped back to all fours. “I suppose I am hungry...” My daughter latched on to me and began sucking like her life depended on it.
Guinness returned — he could have been in the bathroom or he could have been single-hoofedly fighting a hydra for all I knew; the pain of the foaling blocked out most of my senses — to see his daughter’s first feeding. I assumed he would croon over his new filly, but instead he shouted and fell over much like his reaction to seeing the first ultrasound. “Gaaah...!”
“Are you okay, Mr. Guinness?” Mal helped my fiancé back to his hooves, but Guinness didn’t come any closer.
“The filly has fangs!”
“She’s got a pair of canines, yes, but that’s not unheard of. Why, my own father had a full set of four canines...” Mal started rambling a bit, but Guinness ignored him and continued to rant nonsense about my filly.
“She’s got slitted pupils! She’s radiating evil!”
“Oh, calm down, Guinness,” I said. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him. When I found out I was pregnant, he was ready to give up going back to his own world entirely just to stay with his foal. Now he was completely freaking out and making up ridiculous nonsense. Guinness could be silly sometimes, but this was uncalled for. “You’re going to upset her. Now come and give us each a kiss.”
He got over whatever was wrong with him enough to cross the room and peck me on the lips. It took some glaring to get him to give his daughter a kiss on the top of her head, though.
When her father kissed her, my little filly stopped feeding long enough to look up at him. I silently wished for a camera to get a picture of my filly recognizing her father for the first time. “I don’t have any idea how you can recognize my nature unlike everypony else, father, but you should learn quickly that nopony else will believe your accusations. They all ignore the evidence right in front of their noses, and there’s nothing you can say that’s going to convince them.” She quickly returned to feeding.
“Bwaah! Did you hear that?” Guinness returned to his manic state with no provocation. “She talked! Her voice echoed with the cries of the damned!”
I rolled my eyes. “Guinness, your daughter is not a demon. Please stop, it’s not funny any more. She can’t talk, she’s not even a day old.”
Nurse Surprise brought in the paperwork for the birth certificate. Mal helped me fill it out, but filling out the “name” field was going to be difficult.
“What do you think, Guinness? What should her name be?”
My filly seemed to have her fill, and she curled up in the crook of my leg. “I have had many names over the centuries: The King in Yellow; He Who Walks Alongside; Taz; Talalot the Vile; Harbinger of the Fourth Syzygy. I will have many more names throughout the future. My favorite will perhaps be ‘Hey Assprick!’” My filly yawned wide and wiggled deeper into my barrel. Guinness stared at her, speechless. Now that was the kind of reaction a new father should be having, not some kind of fire-and-brimstone panic attack.
Of course, with a speechless father, the task of naming my filly fell onto my shoulders. I finished up the paperwork and hoofed it back to Mal, who left to give Guinness and me our privacy. Guinness still stood speechless, so I nuzzled the sleeping bundle at my side and whispered into her ear, “I love you so much... Rainbow Catcher...”
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Thanks Troy McLure.
Demon baby is best baby.
You call it zap, I call it fun dip mate!
Wondered where you were going with this.
I was not disappointed.
I won't lie, this made me burst out laughing.
I can't wait to see what hijinx Rainbow Catcher gets up to.
Lithl, you better continue this! 
Wait, what? Did RD give birth to the Anti-Christ?
Where are all of these coming from? Suddenly there are three humans instead of one, I know Valient left, but what is happening anymore?
2408512 thank you then. I will be reading those soon enough.
2407144
Nonsense. RD gave birth to her little filly!
2407080
I make no promises. But Rainbow Catcher may show up in future stuff in the Dreams series. Altoid has Guinness and TNAB has the 'verse, and they're both more than welcome to use RC. They've also got my character design notes for
himher.2407888
In addition to what Altoid said about Guinness's origin, Guinness has shown up twice in A Dream already: One Bad Apple, where Guinness asks Valiant for a weapon, and Magical Mystery Cure, where Guinness tells Valiant that he got RD preggers. Which, of course, leads directly into Rainbow Dreams.
The question of Rainbow Dash’s mane is finally solved.
derpicdn.net/img/2012/7/8/37566/large.png
While it made sense I am still confused.
I regret not having read this sooner
They gave birth to Hastur (the "King in Yellow" in Cthulhu mythos)? Well, that sucks. For them, I mean, I think it's hilarious.
2973623
In Cthulhu mythos, the King in Yellow is an avatar of Hastur. Even that was only developed after-the-fact by authors who weren't Lovecraft. Lovecraft only vaguely linked the Yellow Sign to Hastur, without really giving any information, and he pulled both the Yellow Sign and The King in Yellow (and Hastur) from an anthology by Chambers (who in turn borrowed the name Hastur from Bierce).
All that said, I got my idea to use The King in Yellow from Alicorn Day, a part of the Mentally Advanced Series.