• Published 17th Jan 2015
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Changelings, Love and Lollipops - Georg



When the Royal Wedding scatters defeated changelings all over Equestria, a member of the hive winds up being captured in Ponyville, tied up, stunned, shot by a cannon, and held against his will. The truly frightening part is he’s starting to l

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Chapter 5 - Nose-Snorkels and Compensation

Changelings, Love and Lollipops


Chapter 5
Nose-Snorkels and Compensation


Familiarity was supposed to breed contempt, but the sensation that the changeling felt as he swam his way up to consciousness had little contempt and a lot of tired resignation. He could vaguely hear five voices arguing through the ringing in his ears and the hammering in his head, although one of them was being very defensive and quite shrill in his defense.

“No, the jail does not have any facilities for prisoners with medical needs. He’s unconscious, so you need to take him to the hospital.”

As a stationary hospital bed sounded like a pretty good deal, the changeling stirred and tried to speak out in favor of the idea, only to dryly cough out some small fluttering pink flakes of confetti.

“There,” snapped Applejack. “He’s awake. Scootaloo, give JB the damage report and I’ll walk you home afore your parents get all bent out of shape about you stayin’ out after dark again.”

The smaller administrative pony took the stack of papers grudgingly and hoofed through them, looking as if he were intensely uncomfortable with this many other ponies inside his jail. “Over a hundred bits in damages,” he groused. “A Class Five Misdemeanor, unless he makes restitution, in which case he can get probation.”

“I don’t have any money,” the ‘he’ in question stated after a brief cough, “but if you let me go home, I can—”

“Wait up there, Tolliver,” said Applejack. “Ah still owe you for yer help out at the farm today. Ten hours at six bits an hour.”

JB noticeably perked up. “Sixty bits drops the damages down to a Class Six Misdemeanor, punishable with probation, provided you complete your restitution. I’ll just get you a sign-out sheet and a clipboard for your probation officer. Here you go.” He shoved the items into the changeling’s unsteady hooves while pushing the collection of unwanted guests out the door of the jail. “Please be careful out there this evening and if you have any legal questions, I’ll be glad to answer them during regular business hours. Good night.”

The heavy steel door to the jail slammed shut after them, and a solid thud from inside indicated the throwing of a substantially thick bar, which would not have raised the hackles on the changeling if he had not read the shiny steel sign right next to the door.

“Ponyville Jail and Ursa Minor Shelter?” he asked, the mystery of the ‘sign-out sheet’ suddenly taking a back seat to the concept that the town had an actual shelter specifically designed for one of the legendary star-beasts of the Everfree Forest. “How often do—”

“Lemmie see that sheet,” grumbled Applejack, taking the clipboard away from the changeling and reading it in the warm glow of a nearby streetlight. “Says here you need a probation officer.”

“Me! Memememe!” Pinkie Pie bounded up to the clipboard and grabbed the pencil in her teeth to scribble a signature. “I’ve always wanted to be an officer. And if I’m an officer, that makes you a private, right?” She stopped her bounding around with her warm nose pressed firmly against the changeling’s cold nose while she giggled. “I’ve got a private with privates.”

“Aaaand we’re out of here.” Rainbow Dash put a foreleg around Scootaloo and began pushing her down the street. “Come on, Scoots. Education time is over, bedtime is now.”

“But I want to know why…” The little pegasus’ complaints faded as Rainbow vanished at high-speed down the street with her involuntary companion, leaving Applejack to give the changeling a very peculiar look as Pinkie Pie set about fastening a streamer through the holes in his leg.

“Are you sure you’re going to be all right there, sugarcube?” asked Applejack.

“Oh, don’t worry, silly!” Pinkie gave a tug to the thin ribbon that tied herself to the changeling. “See, I’ve got him all tied up so he can’t get away. And I’ll give him another bath, and use some of Gummy’s scale polish on him so he’s nice and shiny. You’ll love Gummy! He’s just like you, only green instead of black, and with cute little claws instead of holey hoovsies. And smaller.”

“Ah. Pinks? I really wasn’t talkin’ to you there.” The farm pony fidgeted and looked away from the changeling, twisting her hat in her hooves. “Mister Tolliver, ah’m really torn. If’n I hadn’t had you out at the farm this afternoon, I’d never trust you enough to let my friend Pinkie Pie watch over you. All of them changelings swarming all over Canterlot scared me a mite.”

“I’m sorry,” said the changeling, trying to figure out why he was not just flying away from the two earth ponies like a loose balloon, trailing the ribbon behind him like a freed kite.

Well, other than the rope.

“See, now that’s what ah mean. Ah should be afraid of you, and there’s no way I should be comfortable with you being watched by my friend.” Applejack placed a hoof on the changeling’s back gingerly, paused for a moment, and then unwrapped the rope that was binding his wings.

“Ah still don’t trust ya much. And I still think you’re gonna run off the moment Pinkie looks the other way. But if you hurt Pinkie Pie or anypony else in town, I’ll track you down and turn you into bug paste, you hear?”

“Yes’m.” That annoying feeling swept over him again, a dichotomy between the most critical thing in the universe being flying away right now and the idea that running was a horrible idea that was certain to end in an explosive pink bang.

He trotted along behind the pink pony as they traveled through the dark streets of the small town, feeling much more comfortable with dirt beneath his hooves instead of carooming along at full speed in the back of a wagon. The thin pink ribbon that Pinkie Pie had tied onto his foreleg tugged with every step, making him feel just a little like a pet out for a midnight stroll instead of a sentient being. But still, something else was bothering him.

Rope = No Cannon

Rope = Good

Ribbon = ??

Ignoring the ‘Closed’ sign on the garishly decorated bakery, Pinkie Pie trotted right on in, followed by a somewhat perplexed changeling who could not help but notice the vast amount of pink confetti still scattered around the doorway from yesterday.

I guess I didn’t inhale all of it.

“Welcome to Sugarcube Corner,” whispered Pinkie Pie, closing the door behind him. “The Cakes are asleep, so get up on your toesies and I’ll sneak you upstairs and into the bathroom.”

“Bathroom?” he echoed, although in a matching whisper.

“I still have some of that not-fungus stuffies from Zecora, and you’re still pink.” She giggled, looking at the dull pink rings that circled his body. “You look like a pink zebra,” she added.

The familiar bathtub took a while to fill, and the changeling stood uncomfortably by while Pinkie filled and stocked the tub with bubble bath and a myriad of other strange objects. “You’re not going to drown me, are you?” he whispered.

“You’re not going to blow sparkly snot all over my face, are you?” Just for the tiniest fraction of a second, the changeling could have sworn the happy perky pony had darkened into something terrifying, and the perpetual smile that always seemed embedded on her face had turned into a grim frown. Then she turned off the water and turned to face him, the momentary change in her face turning back to her happy smile as if nothing had changed, even though her voice seemed strained. “Come on, up into the tubbies and let’s get you all scrubbied up.”

It was, determined the changeling, most definitely mind control of some fashion that made him crawl into the tub while Pinkie continued to chatter. “Hop on in, but not really a hop, because you’ll splash water over the floor, and the Cakes don’t want water dripping downstairs because it’s really difficult to mop the ceiling unless you stand on a stepladder or use stilts and mine are at the repair shop because the Crusaders borrowed them to see if they could get their cutie marks as acrobats but they fell off and knocked over one of the carts in the market so they’ll probably smell like oranges when they get patched and that’s not bad because I like oranges. Do you?”

He was startled out of his slow slide for the edge of the tub closest to the door by the abrupt question. Normally a question like that was asked while he was disguised, and his first train of thought was to his cover story. At the hive, noling ever asked what he wanted. The queen ordered. Ponies asked. Changelings obeyed. Ponies did whatever they pleased. Then again, he only had a few days to live anyway. Why not?

“Yes, I like oranges. And apples,” he added at the thought of the odd day spent out in the warm sun with the healthy farm pony.

“How about bananas?”

“Erm.” He had to think for a moment. “Why?”

Pinkie shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s supposed to be funny.”

That odd feeling of wrongness still clung to her as she manipulated the scrub brush much more gently this time, allowing the soothing warmth of the bathwater to creep through his chitin and dissolve away a great deal of the ‘I’m going to die’ and ‘Impending doom’ that had taken over his life as of late, as well as most of the smaller pains that were riddling his body. If it was not for the fierce pain in his gut and the feeling of a ton of confetti in his nose, it might have been pleasant. He floated on his back, trying to ignore the overwhelming sense of pinkness that surrounded him and concentrate on just how long he had to live, which was a little difficult with the silent scrub brush licking against his thin soft chitin like a mother grooming her little grub. At the soft prodding to his side, he rolled over onto his belly and lay with his chin on the side of the tub, breathing through his mouth while the odd pink pony scrubbed his back. It had been a very long day, and everything hurt, in particular his nose, which was blocked up so bad he could swear it was affecting his hearing from the sniffing sound he heard from behind.

“You’re not happy.” The changeling turned to look over his shoulder and blinked a bubble out of one eyelash. Pinkie had quit scrubbing his back and was just sitting there like a soggy lump in the tub, looking with mournful eyes that seemed to be vast oceans of tears just waiting to burst—

...sitting in the tub?

“I’m sorry, Mister Tolliver,” started Pinkie, squatting down in the tub until only her eyes were visible above the soapy suds. “I can’t let you go because you’ve been a bad pony or buggie or changeling I suppose, and when you do bad things, you have to go to court and they make you swear to tell the truth only you don’t really swear and the judge gets all mad if you really do but if you describe just why you snuck into the house to decorate it for the surprise party only it was the wrong house number and the pony living there really didn’t have their birthday yet and they weren’t very happy about it and even filed charges which don’t involve electricity or a metal file at all and make you go in front of Mayor Mare with her white foofy wig and you explain really well, you can get probation and community service which is a lot like what I do anyway and if you do that, I’m sure Princess Cadence will be all forgivey about your queen kidnapping her and trapping her in the castle crystal mines and stealing Shining Armor and wrecking her wedding and maybe you can just be an accessory which isn’t something you put on a dress but it’s more like an assistant party planner who gets caught with you in the house and doesn’t get as big a sentence so you won’t have to go to prison and we can have a party?”

“That sounds good?” he hazarded, trying to figure out how he could turn this into a way to escape his imprisonment. Without getting a cannon to the face, that is. “I’ll be more than happy to have you throw me a party once this is all over.”

“Liar.” The pink of Pinkie was almost totally submerged now, with only her flattened and soggy mane sticking up above the pink suds. “You don’t want a party. You’re a party pooper.”

“I’m not lying,” he protested, then paused to think. “I would like to have a party. I just don’t think that’s going to happen.”

A little pink nose covered in soap bubbles poked out of her sudsy concealment. “You’re not lying?”

“Eh…” He paused, one hoof already raised to cross across his heart, but the last several times he had done that had ended rather pinkly. Playing the ‘I’m dying’ card had not worked any better, and maybe, just possibly, the truth would get him out of the situation he found himself in. Although he would just die afterwards, which made it not seem worth the effort anymore. He sagged down in the water too, rearranging his limbs beneath the bathwater’s surface to fit around the submerged pink pony. “I’m used to lying,” he admitted, with only his muzzle and eyes above the waterline.

“Applejack likes you.” It was a little difficult to pick out pink pony from pink bubbles, but two deep blue eyes among the pink observed him through slitted lids. “Scootaloo likes you too, I think.”

“Well, you hate me,” growled the changeling. “Blowing that stupid cannon up in my face everywhere I go. My nose hurts worse than my stomach.”

That suds-covered pink head lunged out of the sudsy pile it was using for cover and the changeling found himself literally nose-to-nose with Pinkie, which startled him a little, and then startled him a little more when she pulled out a giant magnifying glass and stuck it up to his face.

Where did she get that?

All he could see was one huge blue eye. If he had not been laying on his back in the bathtub, he would have recoiled backwards just out of reflex, but Pinkie had him pinned in what might have been a pleasurable position if his stomach were not hurting so much and if he had a moment to think about what was happening.

“Wow, you really have it packed in there.” The magnifying glass vanished to some unknown place and a red plastic bulb of some sort replaced it as the object of his attention. She was weighing it in one hoof, the little plastic snorkel on the object bobbing up and down as she talked and watched his nose the same way a hungry cat would watch a mousehole or a prospector would watch a pony at the edge of his claim. In fact, the more he thought about it, the little red bulb was starting to look familiar, as if he had seen one before, and as Pinkie talked, he felt a horrible sense of impending doom.

“Missus Cake bought a whole bunch of foal stuff and got some at her foals shower for when the foals are born including this little nose snorter, but I never thought about why you would need a nose-snorter for foals until now, because if they get frosting or confetti up their little nose they could just blow but I suppose there needs to be some way to get it out but without blowing and this is only a little nose snorter and you’ve got this big ol’ snoz so maybe I should get a bigger nose snorter.”

That’s a toilet plung—

The rubber cup descended like the hoof of a vengeful Queen and the changeling found his head underwater as the wooden handle of the infernal device was slammed up and down, bonking his head off the bottom of the tub until he broached the surface of the sudsy water in a whale-like splash, spitting soapy water and one muffled obscenity before the plunger descended again and again.

And amidst the notes of a cheerful tune about nose-plunging, the familiar darkness poured in around him.

It felt pink.