A shooting nightmare: The tables have rotated

by The Psychopath

Not the same

"Huh?!"

"Poke poke!" the breezy teased.

Its coat was a very pale pink, and its mane and tail were a deep yellow. There wasn't much to say other than the arrival of many other breezies popping out of the walls of the dead tree. The pale one flew up and started to raise its forelegs and looking at its friends with an ecstatic face. It's at this point that they all started bobbing their heads from side to side, some humming a tune, others singing it, and more singing.

Mathews the tiny human
Saved the one who shouldn't have been reborn
He tried to clean her the day of one
But received dirt in his face
A little beauty mask

On that night she slept alright
Under your little covers
But she looked more like a cat
So you were overcome with love for that which was small

On the day three you called someone
Named Psych-Opathy
Even weirder were his actions
But he taught her well

Later on she changed a lot
And started warming up
A little fort of teddy bears
Then we caught on

The Angel of Rebirth did not permit
Her time to continue
So use our brothers and sisters she did
To perform her actions

The singing continued while the breezy flew around Mathews' head.

Now the giant human is a little foal
Away from the old man and the colorful one
But what we wanted to tell you in this venture
Is something that still doesn't rhyme

She slowly landed on his head and started to poke the area between his eyes.

We are not the fairies that you knew
But we still followed you here
We'll help you out
To this you should have no doubts

We are not the fairies you knew
And we are not our brothers and sisters
We might be pranksters
But we are not killers

Mathews was completely confused at the tiny pony-like things singing to him. in an effort to swat them away from him, he stood on his hind legs and tried to swipe the laughing breezy away. While she did leave, she slightly pushed onto Mathews' muzzle, and while such a force wouldn't hurt or affect a normal foal, Mathews had no balance. He tumbled backwards, swinging his forelegs wildly as he tried to catch himself. Unfortunately, the prankster breezies flew behind him, held a stick up, and made him trip onto a plank of rotting wood. They used tiny, rounder sticks underneath to make him slide all the way towards the pit where Crescent had gone.

Mathews struggled to look behind him seeing as he was on his back, but he saw he was perilously teetering on the edge of the pit. The little colt felt his heart beat at a perilous speed and sweat beginning to imbibe into his fur. His gaze was immediately drawn to the tiny pale breezy that just landed on his belly.

She squeezed her face with her forelegs into a sort of kissy face. "I could just blow raspberries on this belly," she teased.

The breezy looked around Mathews and narrowed her gaze until her face exploded with joy and a devious, open smile. She looked at Mathews from the corner of her eye to see him quickly shaking his head frantically. The breezy adopted an apathetic face and started to slowly nod her head. The longer Mathews shook it, the more the plank started to tilt backwards and the more the breezy's nods became faster and faster and her smile wider and wider.

In the end, it was going to happen anyways, and the breezies kicked the plank down the hole. Mathews screamed as loud as he could as he slid and bounced on massive stairs not made for anything but Nebwezar. As usual, the stairs didn't follow a straight path. So, of course, Mathews bounced off the rounded walls until we bounced one last time and flew over what felt like an enormous pit to him. The trip was suddenly halted and a cracking sound resonated through the air.

"MATHEWS!" Crescent roared.

The tiny foal had been caught by a large, boney hand of a Nebwezar. Pieces of the wooden plank slithered through the fingers and landed on the floor, and Mathews just remained in the palm and on the shards with is eyes bulged in horror and his body curled up like a dead spider.

"Is this thayt tiny poneh ya spoked ta me with theh Blood Moon in 'im? Seems more lak 'e don't 'ave muck maygic in 'em."

Venethix nodded while Crescent sat on her haunches and levitated the traumatized foal into her forelegs to cradle. They were both standing in the so called 'basement' of the tree.Brown, wooden shelves were lodge into the walls in uneven positions; round, stone tables complemented by rounded stone 'logs' serving as seats placed at the center of the room with an additional table on the side left of the stairs. Several stone pots were placed randomly throughout the area with a giant mortar and pestle sitting on the center table while a make-shift chandelier, that looked more like a floating fireplace than a chandelier, illuminated the whole area.

"What happened? I'm not letting anyone hurt you," Crescent coddled her 'father'. "I don't want to lose you. I don't want to lose anyone again."

An eyebrow was lifted. A nebwezar stepped behind Crescent and hummed in intrigue. His wool was grayed out and his stance slightly hunched, but he was still a head taller than Venethix. Aside from the coloration of his wool, it would be extremely difficult to figure out that he was old.

"Ay tak it that yer thuh tiny pone 'o takes care 'o this one?" he asked Crescent.

"Y-yes," she answered without moving her eyes away from the foal. "What happened to him after he fell off me?"

The druiadem scratched his chin and looked upwards pensively and eventually snorted. "Ech. Aye know theh probable culprat, but aye won't tell ya unless they show 'emselves."

Crescent ground her sharp teeth a bit then sighed. She knew it was best not to get on the bad side of these creatures, plus, not only has they been incredibly kind to her, but they had her armor. Boy. Being kind to someone other than Mathews sure was difficult. She might have learned a new way of life, but she was still bitter at what happened to her here.

"What's so special about the 'Blood Moon' anyways? Aside from its rarity."

The druiadem opened and closed his mouth at her quick notice of the obvious 'rarity' answer. "Hmph. Those born with theh mayrk off theh Blood Moon possess 'n extremely rayre talent 'n energey. It comproises the forbidden elemeynts."

"Forbidden? I've heard of them. Which one does this one comprise?"

"Obviously blood, but aylso spirit 'n chaos."

"CHAOS?!"

The druiadem flinched at the sudden yell and cleaned out what appeared to be ears on the side of its head. "Don't yell. Theh Ocean Moon is theh opposite, but still integroyts ferbidden elements. We 'aven't seen one o' our own born wif that 'n over twelve generations. Next tae impossible to be born wif that mark, really." He scratched his chin in response to his sudden realization.

"Is this bad?"

"Not if ya control 'n teach 'im right proper. Aye's best not tell ya what they's can do-...'E's squirmin'," the druiadem pointed out with a rather concerned face.

While being cradled, Mathews had calmed down, but not he appeared to be on the verge of crying. Crescent was confused as to why, but then she learned the hard way. Mathews saw what he was doing and instinctively cried. How embarrassing. A grown man soiling himself. Then again, maybe he could get away with it? His soul might still be that of an adult, but his body was no longer an equivalent of that.

"Looks like dis little one is't potty trained," Venethix noted.

"Ay can make diapers for that li''le pony while 'e gets ta growin'," the Druiadem offered.

"That would be great, yes." Crescent looked back down to an embarrassed and hiccuping little foal held in her forelegs and coo'd. "It's okay. It's not your fault. We'll just have to build up your body...however you do that, and I'll clean myself up. Ew."

Venethix was about to interject into the comment when a tiny breezy landed on Mathews' muzzle and faced Crescent with a grin. She said nothing, instead preferring to wave to the alicorn eagerly. It took a brief moment, but Crescent yelled and jumped away with Mathews still between her arms.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! A FAIRY! GET IT AWAY!"

The druiadem face-palmed at her reaction and peered between his spindly fingers to see Crescent being 'attacked' by a new swarm of the 'vicious' creatures.

"Ugh. Not the fararies again," he groaned.

Crescents yells stopped immediately. She was completely perplexed and looked at the druiadem with the same emotion.

"What did you say?"

Comments

[Ebonheart]

"No, we won't kill you! We will just break every bone in your tiny foal body!"
"Its the blunt force trauma caused by gravity that will ultimately end you."
"After all WE aren't the killers."
"Technically."

First the fairies came for Crescent for the crime of existing. (If she wasn't supposed to be reborn it's a bit late to fix that paperwork.)
Now they come for the human foal for the same reason. (If he wasn't supposed to follow, someone didn't do their job.)
And the reasonable solution on both counts of this existential clerical error? Premeditated Murder.

So if they are in Equestria, does that mean the hit on Crescent has been rescinded?
Or are they really going to claim that Luna's Id shouldn't exist... (Not sure which route you took, Parasite or Id...)

[The Psychopath]

6291856

We might be pranksters
But we are not killers

[The Psychopath]

Incidentally, the reaction I was hoping to get with the last lines of the most recent chapter did not happen. Ugh. Feel like doing something else, now.

[Ebonheart]

6296095
Crescent and co. now have to battle with evil pixies in luxury cars?
Or that the tribal suddenly dropped his boondock accent?

[The Psychopath]

6297215 No. It's the word. 'Fararies'. Who else do you know couldn't say 'fairies' and always had to be corrected?