• Published 24th Jan 2015
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Letters from an Irritated Princess - Tired Old Man



Celestia writes some blunt letters to her faithful student and friends.

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Return Postage on Harmony, Part 1

My faithful student,

I need you and your friends to come to Canterlot. NOW.

You know that statue I mentioned earlier, the one Luna and I specifically avoided hitting with stones? Well, Luna kinda sorta had an awful experience for her first night court. Ten drunks in a row, every one of them slurring in speech. Four left their mark on the carpet before passing out, and now the room reeks of rotten apples, bile, and urine.

Dissatisfied her first night court tended to nothing but boorish drunkards, Luna cast stones out from her balcony at the statues again. The warning must have slipped her mind, for she confided to me that one such stone beaned the forbidden statue in the back of the head.

Luckily, the statue hadn't broken. Talk about a break that didn't break anything, and as long as nothing happened near it that was chaotic in any way, it would stay normal.

And then the field trip from Ponyville came in the following morning. This spelt immediate disaster on all fronts, and one that Luna and I hoped to contain as soon as we found out the statue was missing after a fight had broken out near it.

Assuming the cotton candy chocolate clouds are already out at Ponyville, we clearly failed. One's hanging over my head right now, staining my mane into the color palette of a fruit salad that sat in a dumpster for a week. Philomena is now this terrifying black monkey-bird hybrid that's been screaming "BANANA" at the top of her lungs for the past twenty minutes and--I DON'T HAVE ANY BANANAS! Take this peach turnover and just stay quiet for five minutes! FIVE!

...this is just a taste of the creature that was just released, Twilight, and the only way to stop him is with the Elements of Harmony. My sister and I would love to use them, but thanks to their transformation into obnoxious jewelry that only fits on smaller ponies, we can't wear them. If push comes to shove, we'd have to dangle them off our horns in order to don them, and knowing this creature, he'd ask us what carnival we came from before trying to score more rings on us.

So make haste for Canterlot, Twilight. I will explain in further detail how I'm a prissy pissant princess with the charming appearance of burnt toast and the vernacular of a dictionary in a blender--

DISCOOORD!

Love,

Princess Malaria

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