The palace sun room had not been designed or decorated with viewings in mind. Professionals would consider its skylights and white-and-gold decor insufficiently somber. But it was the only room on the ground floor of the palace that had both a front and a back entrance, and was large enough for the coffin.
The room was normally not used at night—it was not night, according to the grandmother clock near the entrance, but the skylights were still black mirrors—and so four portable gas lights had been brought in and one placed in each corner. Their quiet hissing seemed loud in the silence.
Every few seconds, the two honor guards at the front entrance let ponies in; sometimes one at a time, sometimes an entire family. Outside, in the darkness, the line of waiting ponies, standing in hushed little clusters, stretched out through the palace gates and far down Main Street, back towards the city gates.
Two more guards stood at the exit, and a final pair, one unicorn and one pegasus, both white with blue manes, stood at attention against the wall by the feet of the enormous gold-plated coffin. They kept watchful eyes on each pony as he or she came in and stood a few moments before the head of the closed coffin. Some sniffled; some cried freely; a few wailed loudly. Some pursed their lips tightly together, so that only short bursts of low whinnies escaped.
Nopony noticed the guards, except now and then, when they would gently but firmly drag an overwrought mourner out. They did notice the dark, metallic-blue alicorn brooding over the opposite side of the coffin, gripping its edge with her forehooves. She never raised her eyes from the casket. She ignored them all so completely that some ponies wondered whether they had not been admitted by mistake.
“Three days, and not one tear,” the pegasus guard whispered, eyes still straight ahead.
The unicorn briefly turned his chin sideways to a barely perceptible degree, the palace-guard equivalent of a shrug.
“I’d just like to see some decent, pony feeling,” the pegasus went on. “Her own sister laid out before her. Dead three days, and still warmer than her.” He glanced across the room at Princess Luna, and shivered.
“Princess of the Night,” the unicorn whispered back. “What did you expect?”
An elderly unicorn mare wearing a black veil stood before the coffin. Her hoof began to shake violently as she tried to blow her nose. The two guards watched her with professional detachment, until she managed to stow the used hoofkerchief in a pocket and exit without incident.
“When she’d walk by in the morning,” the pegasus said, “she’d smile as she passed me on her way in. Just the one smile, you know, but it lasted me the whole day. It was like—like honey, or warm mead.”
“Or hot melted butter,” the unicorn said. "I remember."
Both glanced briefly across the room at the night princess, still frozen in the same pose, staring without seeing.
No one in the room spoke for the rest of the evening. When the last pony in line came through the doors, the honor guard shut it, gently, with a quiet click. Only after the last mourner left did Luna take her hooves down from the lid of the casket and leave through the rear doors, holding her head high and moving at a stately walk. The guards kept their eyes straight ahead. She did not look at them as she passed. Then the two guards at the rear doors shut those after her, and the five remaining guards were left alone with the body. Not long after, six fresh solar guards relieved them to stand the night vigil.
One of the new guards let out a startled whinny and spooked sideways as he passed the casket. The others swivelled their heads around quickly.
“I didn’t do it!” he brayed. “It was like that when I got here!”
Where the Princess Luna had been standing, the edge of the casket’s lid had been crushed, stripping off the gold leaf and splintering the wood beneath into two hoof-shaped depressions.
Damn it, Bad Horse! I was having a good day!
Ooh. Nicely done, horse. Nicely done. That's two dinners I owe ya now.
By the way, you do know that "The Ballade of Jacques Chrétien" scans perfectly to the theme from Gilligan's Island--right?
JUST SAYIN'! JUST FYI!--OUCH OUCH FUCK OW!...
This made me smile.
> 820 words in two hours
I'm glad I'm not alone. I've measured my hurry-up-and-write pace in NaNoWriMos past, and I just cannot keep up sustained output without editing in-place and fussing over every sentence as I write it. I tell people I can type 100 words per minute and write 600 words per hour.
Umm, guards? When have you ever been through something worse than this?
...is it possible you simply don't know what 'happy' means?
And, yes, it's brilliant. But, damn, it we were just talking about this...
3654596 Yes, YES!! The original show back in whatever decade...
3877174 Gilligan's Island, haven't heard that one in a while...
3878016
Awww, he just needs a little time with the Happy Helmet(tm):
And the little critters of nature, they don't know they're ugly...
That's very funny--a fly marrying a bumblebee...
I TOLD YA I'D SHOOT BUT YA DIDN'T BELIEVE ME
WHY DIDN'T YA BELIEVE ME?...
3877779
It was supposed to mean, worse than having to serve under Luna. I'll clarify that.
3878016
I know. I just can't seem to shake the draw of pathos. It's almost...
...tragic.
! I-DEE-ah!
Ever the stoic that one.
Except when she's not, but this is hardly a celebration.
Oh dear lord, this is Luna at her sister's funeral. Imagine her at her sister's wake.
3878016
Well, the story hasn't made me suicidal yet. I suppose this is what passes for Bad Horse happy?
3879917
And now I can't get the idea of Pinkie Pie planning a wake out of my head...
As I've not read the piece it's referencing it perhaps didn't affect me in the same fashion. As is, it was beautiful and crushingly sad. The idea of the guards being so cold and callous, simply because she doesn't show her pain as they do.
Oh goodie! Another diverse set of emotions from Mr. Horse to help a reader work through the negativity. This time it's cold, silent fury and sorrow. I like that cocktail.
Did Luna not touch Celestia's Sun out of respect? Or has she become so overwhelmed to the point she's tuned out the world? Boy howdy... maybe it's a bit of both.
I was reading that and couldn't really figure out what y'all were getting at, at least until I read this story. Felt like an inside joke or something
So does that mean if we hurl more random crap at Bad Horse, hopefully hitting the right spots, we dredge up more memories, which equals more grimdark storytelling? :D Or maybe we just have to leave it out as bait and hopefully he stumbles upon it?
The imagery... I see a horse with a top hat and a pretentious cigarette trailing wisps of spiced smoke. He trots over to a bear trap baited with a shot of brony tears. You watch in the bushes, the clop of his hooves bringing a big ol' dumass grin to your face.
He lowers his head. Picking up the glass in his lips, he nonchalantly flicks his head back and downs the clear salty liquid, all in one fluid motion.
As he carefully places the shot glass back on the trap with a slight shudder down his back, you realize he's had an eye on you the entire time. For a moment, your eyes lock and you ponder what's going through his mind, how he's somehow wily enough to not get caught (and horribly maimed. Maybe a bear trap was overkill. Next time, bring rope, a stick and a massive cardboard box. Or a glue trap with biscuits).
The horse sputters.
He trots away, leaving you to question what just happened. He casually tramples over a bright pretty daisy before chewing on some grass, his rump turned to you. He's going for the lush green ones and not the reedy patch growing next to it.
Next time, you're mixing chocolate milk with the tears (it's explosive, eh?). The horse must like chocolate milk...
Dammit, you have to get more tears.
You grab a nearby griffin cub by the scruff of its' neck and it chirp/mewls at you, blinking in confusion. In your other hand you hold a children's book. In its' old and worn pages is the saddest story you ever read as a child.
It's a story about a dragon who saved up all his money so he could buy many balloons for his birthday. He kept his money in a chest by his bedside. The dragon delightedly ticked off the days on his calendar in eager anticipation.
When the day came to buy his balloons, he found his chest to be empty, for a thief had came in the night and stolen all his money. There would be no balloons bought that day.
The dragon cried and cried, so much so that he made a river that flowed through the forest and into town. He would never have his wish to have many balloons come true now.
You stop reading at this part. The griffin is chirruping as a wet stream rolls down its' cheeks. Your vision is blurry and you realize your eyes are a bit watery. That poor, poor dragon with no balloons... it was his lifelong dream...
You wipe your tears to find the horse staring at you intently, a jolly perverse grin plastered across his mouth as he puffs at his cigarette.
Perfect.
It's time to torment that Nicknack fellow again.
3878016
Ha...ppy? Wha...?
I don't get it.
Is it edible?
I really wasn't sure about how to rate this until this last one.
writingwinters.com/wp-content/uploads/ani-chuck_norris-thumbs_up.gif
People think space is cold, when the heat just has nowhere to go. It's the same vacuum that's the reason why in space, no one can hear you scream. Or cry.
Great piece, Bad Horse. And for those of you who have a sad, remember: Celestia's still alive in thousands of other stories.
3909756 Leaving to avoid having their foal chosen, or to avoid living at the expense of somepony else's suffering.
I think you goofed. As I parse that, "the unicorn" is supposed to be referring to two different ponies; but we were told to expect two ponies of different species (and using "the unicorn" to refer to multiple ponies in the same scene would be ambiguous anyways).
Dude, the feels. I feel like I should say something more intelligent than that, but I don't know what I might say. Possibly short of rambling on for many hundreds of words on nothing much in particular and my past experiences.
3981701 The paragraph break was supposed to indicate a change from the unicorn to the pegasus, but I guess it's not enough.
3982423
So that's intended:
- the unicorn shrugged
- the pegasus talks and looks at Luna
- the unicorn whispered
correct?
I assumed that the second paragraph still referred to the unicorn. If asked why, I'd guess because that was the most recent antecedent for the pronoun.
You may have tweaked and fixed it before I posted this comment.
3982741 Yep, I fixed it as soon as I read your comment.
Hmmm the works have been getting steadily darker.
These stories are slowly but subtly scaring the shit out of me.
3877174 I decided to confirm this by singing that poem to that tune.
While I have confirmed that you are telling the truth, I only further proved that I can't sing for shit.
Just wow.
3890353
It is if you're a changeling
Yeah, I know it's an ancient post.
I just couldn't resist, seeing as how no one else bothered--it was just so lonely sitting there, waiting for the punchline