Half Hour Horses: Legacy Prompts

by HoofAndQuill

LP11: Not a Pony [Adventure?]

(The prompt: One (or more) of the Mane 6 is not a pony.)

(Time in the last quarter or so. Not so much a story, and maybe not exactly what the prompt called for, but I like it.)

On her farm, Applejack was not a pony.

She was a machine.

Her hooves struck perfectly against the trunk of each tree, each well-practiced strike sending apples cascading down into the waiting barrels. She pulled each carrot up in one pull, and each new barrel of produce was packed in time and sent on its way. Her muscles drove her forward, dragging the plow behind her in the spring, and the wagons full of food for the town in the fall. She worked tirelessly, any unneeded rest was only going to be one less apple for some foal to eat this year. She kept the forest from encroaching on her land, she repaired the weather damage to her barn and home, and she provided for her family and for the entirety of Ponyville.

When the day was over and Applejack stood stamping and sweating from exertion, she could look back with pride at all she had accomplished.

At her cottage, Fluttershy was not a pony.

She was the warm, beloved center of an entire community.

Far from the shy, timid pony that the population of Ponyville knew, she smiled and trotted happily among her friends, laughing and talking easily with each one. She brought food to the feeble and infirm, she built homes for the newly arrived and the newly weaned. She taught the young birds to fly, and she mended injured bones and hides. She soothed pains both physical and emotional, and brought joy and life wherever she went. Animals great and small for miles around knew to come to her, and they treated all ponies all the better for knowing one like her.

Fluttershy smiled as her little friends all gathered around her, for once completely at ease in the middle of a crowd.

In her Boutique, Rarity was not a pony.

She was an artist.

Cloth fluttered through the air, and stitching ran perfectly down each seam. New ideas and inspiration flowed like wine, and each new idea poured immediately and stunningly forth in both design and execution. The trends of today were easily replicated, and the fashions of tomorrow were forged in the crucible of Rarity's magic, her eyes flitting from design to cloth as her magic cut and shaped the popular styles of seasons to come. Each tiny detail, the smallest stitch, all of these had to be just perfect, because these dresses were more than just dresses, they were expressions of Rarity herself.

As her latest clients left smiling with dresses and suits perfectly to their liking, Rarity felt complete.

At one of her parties, Pinkie Pie was not a pony.

She was a blur.

Pinkie Pie was everywhere and nowhere. Every time a pony needed a refill, she was there with a ladle of punch. Every time a filly's smile started to slip, Pinkie Pie had a joke or a new party favor. When the record player needed a new track, or the cake trays needed reloading, she was there in a flash. Pinkie Pie was the laughter behind each pony's joke, the squeal of excitement at a favorite song, the clopping of hooves on a polished dance floor, and the bright, shining happiness of a dozen friends enjoying their time together in the best day they had ever had.

After the party was over, and she looked over the messy, frosting-stained dining area of Sugarcube Corner, Pinkie Pie could only smile, and blow a party horn to start the cleaning afterparty.

In the sky, Rainbow Dash was not a pony.

She was awesome.

She was a bolt of lightning. She was a fresh gust of wind, or a howling hurricane. She was the end to all clouds on clear days, and she was the bringer of storms when the world needed rain. She could be here one moment, and across Equestria the next, leaving a shining rainbow contrail in her wake. She was a loyal defender of her friends, she was a blue blur, she was faster, stronger, and more daring than any Wonderbolt.

When the barrier broke, and the rainbow exploded in a boom around her, Rainbow Dash grinned in triumph.

In her archives, Twilight Sparkle was not a pony.

She was a genius.

Surrounded by the sum total of all Equestrian knowledge, Twilight knew she could do anything. Questions had only time to be posed before an answer was already in the works, her endless studies and knowledge working through her keen mind, seeking not only facts but wisdom. Her horn glowed and sparked, tracing lines of magic and weaving spells to fix any problem. Pages turned and bindings cracked as a myriad of books shuffled and flowed around her, with her eyes taking in every new note, every new fragment of the solution to anything that needed one.

When she could finally sign the report, when she marked down the last word of her answer, and with the last fleeting tendrils of magic finished on a new spell, Twilight Sparkle could only smile, and look forward to the next challenge.

These six mares stood together, at the feet of their latest adversary.

They were far from their places of comfort. This was not a party, or harvesting season. There were no books to review, and no stitching to be done. All of the animal life had fled, and now was not the time for flight.

But after every other pony had run, after the Princesses had been cast down, in Equestria's darkest hour, they were together.

As these six mares stood together to defend Equestria, they were not ponies.

They were friends.

And together, nothing could ever defeat them.