In Which Ponyville Begins To Learn One Of Their New Heroines Isn't All She's Cracked Up To Be
He was making his third round of the library, casually (if with a subtly-increasing desperation which she had completely failed to spot) taking down books for the apparent simple pleasure of putting them back again in exactly the wrong place. And she was following him, generally staying about three body lengths behind, enough so that she felt he couldn't see her escalating frustration, but close enough to spot each successive joyful mistake...
Twilight was trying not to scream. Or do anything... else. And so far, she was succeeding, albeit at a price in great personal effort which felt as if it was shredding her bangs from the inside while imaginary froth accumulated in her coat. But he just kept doing it...
And still, she kept her silence.
Three weeks since the Summer Sun Celebration. Three weeks since the Princess had reassigned her to Ponyville. Three weeks during which Twilight suspected she had begun to develop something of a... reputation. One she didn't want to have for a reaction which was all-too instinctive, immediate, and...
...well, only three weeks since the events which had put her in this
ephemeral, temporary, fragile
situation, and Twilight didn't want to risk doing anything which would keep her from making it to four.
But the patrons of the Ponyville library just weren't like those of the Canterlot Archives, at least when she dismissed the more absent-minded specimens of academics who had earned the right to their habits, or at least the ability to lecture anypony who questioned them. The books gripped in local patron mouths often had the pressure directed on the parts of the cover which weren't reinforced. Corners were folded back -- folded! -- to mark places. Texts were casually left under tables, piled up on benches, hidden behind other texts, stuffed into dark corners, abandoned in the bathroom, and just generally either put back in the wrong place or (and this was starting to become the best-case scenario) not at all. She had been working on multiple library reorganization plans, trying to create something which would make the lesser class of researchers and all the casual readers understand how things were not only arranged, but how they could so easily be kept that way. Over the course of three weeks, none of them had worked. And she had...
...she was still in Ponyville.
For now.
It wasn't as if there were any witnesses to worry about this time: the stallion (a teenage earth pony, soft brown with tangled red curls in his tail and an oddly contrasting straight mane, mark showing a tilted golden mug) was the lone patron -- if that title even applied -- in the library for this early summer morning, which was why Twilight could devote her full-time attention to cleaning up after him. But she was still afraid to say anything. Because she had said things before, and some of those words had led to -- well, it had led her to this, which she personally felt was an absolutely remarkable feat of self-control on her part. A feat which part of her wanted to stop accomplishing. Immediately.
Cadance had taught her a certain exercise for use in times much like these. She wished she could remember what it was.
He took down another book. As with all the others, he had barely glanced at the cover or spine before making the selection. (After the fifth, he hadn't bothered to even pretend effort towards examining a single actual page.) And then he trotted away from the original resting place, as far as it was possible to go without starting the process of return, and shelved a tome in exactly the wrong place for what was now the twenty-eighth time.
Breathe. Just breathe...
She had asked him if he needed help, when he initially entered, and then twice more after, with politeness used as a shield dome confining everything else. He'd refused the first time and ignored the other two.
He seemed to be accelerating, in both his efforts and overall land speed. She could smell the first drops of sweat developing in his coat. So now on top of everything else, the next innocent victim was going to be watermarked.
The teenager's neck angled up and right. His snout reached into the Magical Research section and clamped around the two oldest, rarest works in the library. And he trotted towards the atlases, almost approaching a full-scale gallop now, nosed aside several maps to create space before openly trying to hide the most precious tomes in the collection under a pile of contour maps.
"Pardon me."
He jumped a little, and his jaw clenched: fortunately, he'd already let go of the books.
Twilight tried another breath. All that seemed to do was give her more oxygen fueling the internal fire. But she had his attention, and while the words had been somewhat louder than she would have wished, she felt she hadn't actually snapped at him. Maybe... maybe she could risk more.
"Sir," she said, not entirely comfortable with the word being used towards her junior or this kind of patron at all, "you seem to be having a lot of trouble locating something you can retain interest in. Once again, I'd like to offer my assistance in helping you pick out something appropriate." A drop of sweat fell from his snout. She wondered how many she'd missed before that. The number which were soaking into the covers. "If you could just give me some idea of what you might personally enjoy...?"
Frantic red eyes darted around the library. They didn't seem to be searching any of the shelves. Instead, they were aimed at every available window, and when they completed the examination, they finally focused on her.
"Listen," the teenager urgently whispered. "This is -- really important. I need your help. I need it more than anything right now. It might already be too late for me, and ... please..."
Twilight blinked, which was the outer expression of every single inner priority spontaneously rearranging itself, one anger-steaming checklist abruptly shoved aside so that a much more important one could await its first jotted note.
Monsters? Magic? Crisis? He's been working up the courage to...
"You can talk to me," she whispered back, surprised at the drop in her own volume. "I'm here for you. That's why the Princess put me here... right?" Right. Partially. "For if there was ever trouble again. Just -- say it. If it's really bad, I'm sure I can find the others..." She had their addresses memorized now along with most of the routes to their respective homes, although she was still working on everypony's schedule and was rapidly learning that asking Fluttershy for an absolute time commitment was an act of perfect futility, as the needs of the animals would respect no appointment the caretaker reluctantly made.
He frantically checked the windows again. More sweat pattered against the wood of the floor. His tail flicked several drops onto a nearby bench.
"Kick me out."
This particular blink indicated an emergency resorting in progress.
"...what?"
"You have to kick me out. Right now. So that everypony can see. I don't know how long I've been in here, I didn't check the clock when I came in, I lost track of the time and you're not doing anything..."
Raise the hoof. Pretend everything you're having trouble with is attached to the hoof by the thinnest coating of mist. Fling it all away --
But she kept all four planted against the floor.
"You. Want me. To kick. You out."
A hiss of a whisper. "Not so loud! They might be listening -- they'll know, and I'll forfeit --"
"-- forfeit?" There were flames dancing on the edges of the newest checklist. It made the words that much easier to read. "Forfeit what?"
Another window check. More tail curls tangled in the library's increasing humidity.
"...you kick ponies out. When they put things back in the wrong places too much."
She had. Several times over the last three weeks, when the accumulated errors had crashed through the wall of forced endurance. Enough that she had started to wonder if word had reached the mayor, the Princess, it was why she had tried so hard to remain calm no matter what the teen did, and now she knew the news of her behavior was all over the settled zone, the entire town knew and at any moment...
The imaginary flames were now beginning to scorch her hooves, and that would only be the start. Her
precarious
new life would burn down around her...
"And a bunch of us," the sweating teenager said, speaking faster than ever, "we pooled our bits and made a bet on how long it would take to make you kick one of us out. There's time windows and everything. We all paid for one. And I'm pretty sure that if I don't get kicked in the next forty seconds, I'm going to lose all my allowance and then my dad's gonna want to know what happened to it, and then I'm --"
He stopped.
Her left forehoof scraped at the library floor. Her head dipped just enough to bring the horn into an attack angle. Bangs shifted forward, nearly completing the process of blocking out every part of the library which wasn't the teen. She was barely aware of her horn's corona surging. The spikes around the field's border. The edges of her eyes losing hue.
"You came in here -- just to make me angry -- and finish ruining everything?!"
"...there's..." Voice and body trembling. "...there's this stunt kit... I'd have to save up for moons and never buy anything else, I..."
Her field lanced past the vibrating head, surrounded and seized The Ridiculously More Than Complete Guide To Mazein. In part because no one had consulted it since she'd taken custody of the library and given the typical amount of pony tourist traffic to the minotaur nation, she wasn't sure anypony ever would. But mostly because it had been made by minotaur publishers to their own durability standards, and thus weighed in three-tenths of a bale.
"GET OUT!"
The teen practically spun on a single hoof, bolted for the doors. He didn't bother going for the opening lever with mouth or hooves, simply choosing to throw his body against it, falling out of the library with a final frantic whisper of "Thank you...!"
The door swung backwards at the exact moment her field slung the book forward.
There was a hideous sound. It echoed in Twilight's ears as it made them lie flat against her head, forced her field to wink out as all the white rushed away from her eyes at once and she raced towards the left-side door...
But it was too late.
The book, as expected, was fine. Minotaur books were designed to survive some rather intensive reading sessions with optional use as improvised weaponry, which explained most of the metal reinforcing on the spine for a hardcover which probably could have struck a disabling blow without it, and all her flinging the thing had done to the tome was serving to dust it. But the door...
At the point of impact, the crack was about a quarter-hoodwidth wide and deep enough to get the absolute end of her snout into. The jagged line ran up to just above her eye level and down to within a hoof-height of the floor. It was more or less lightning-shaped. It was distinctive. It seemed to be echoing.
It also showed that she'd been aiming well away from the teen, but that aspect failed to register.
"No..." Twilight just barely whispered, "Please, no, I didn't..."
But she had. Not only she had thrown another patron out (and the fact that this one never should have qualified for the term didn't seem to matter just now), but she'd damaged government property. Assault and vandalism melded together in a single second of unstoppably stupid fury.
The teen would go to the police. The police would go to the mayor, who would send word to the Guards, and they would tell the Princess that her student had failed...
It was over.
She sank to the floor, barrel pressed tightly against non-comforting wood. Her tail protectively curled against her body -- but it wasn't a real barrier. It couldn't keep reality out. It didn't stop the tears.
I should... I should just go pack. Maybe I can catch up with Spike in Canterlot before he tries to catch the train back. The little dragon had returned to their old apartment in the Archives, intending to clear out his things for final transfer. Twilight hadn't. And now she understood why.
She didn't deserve Ponyville.
How much time do I have? Before... No point in trying to use any of it for saying goodbye. In facing the reminders of what she'd just cost herself. How much...
Her head snapped up.
How much time did she have?
The teen... he would collect his winnings first, wouldn't he? If winnings there were to be had. That was his priority, the one he'd been so desperate to fulfill. If she was lucky, he might even go and purchase whatever a "stunt kit" was, bits burning through his saddlebags. Would he try it out first? How long could that take? He would go to the police... but not necessarily immediately.
She could claim provocation. Tell them about the stupid bet and all the books he'd put back in the wrong place. That he'd purposefully been trying to make her angry. Would that make any of the fault his?
Could she potentially explain her way out of everything, especially if she vowed to never let it happen again and just gave Spike all the reshelving duties, followed by picking up after his efforts once the library closed?
It's not impossible.
The anger... maybe, just maybe, that could be excused. It was a longshot. A Tartarus-confined one, and she wasn't sure she would ever be able to break it out. But she could say the same for restoring Princess Luna, and that had worked out...
But even if everypony somehow came down in her favor, it still left the crack.
She shook her head a little, scattering the tears. Examined the damage again, very carefully.
The book... if the entire tree was caught in an explosion, the book would be found in the Everfree, with several monsters breaking their teeth on the cover. The crack was something else entirely. It was not only damage, it was evidence. Proof of what had taken place and just how angry she'd been.
So if there's no crack... there's one less thing anypony has to excuse. Maybe even less evidence.
How much time did she have?
Maybe -- just maybe -- enough to try and fix it.
It was the hood which got Mr. Rich's attention.
At first, he thought it might have been the zebra, and he wanted it to be. Certainly nopony (or should it be 'no one' for that mysterious presence?) else would go around in full-body dress during the summer. He dearly wanted to speak to her, especially at this luckiest of moments, when she'd walked into Barnyard Bargains during a second when he was the only pony who could see her. The rest of his staff was elsewhere in the store, there were only a few customers scattered across the aisles -- it was too perfect a summer day to spend on anything but summer itself, something he understood perfectly and simply placed in the books under Too Nice To Shop.
Effectively, it was just the two of them. And that meant he could finally talk to her. Explain that he wanted not only to sell to her, but see what she had to offer back in trade, for he'd done a little reading about zebras in the moons since she was first spotted (and he always seemed to be busy at those sighting times, had missed so many chances), and suspected this one might have some rather interesting wares for his stock. That he was simply worried about the clearing-out effect she had on his customers, the way the entire town seemed to empty when she ventured over the border, and once he made them all understand that this was just someone (somepony?) with whom you could have a business relationship, everything would start to get better for her. He'd even considered going into the Everfree to seek her out, but... he had a daughter, and she in turn had but one parent remaining. And he wouldn't ask an employee to do something he wouldn't do himself.
If the zebra was here, had somehow made it into the settled zone without creating the usual stir and gotten all the way to the store...
...but then the hood shifted as the entity shadowed inside it moved their head, and a little bit of purple horn peeked out, along with a tiny portion of pink mane stripe.
He kept the sigh internal. It had been a faint hope at best, after all. And besides... this was also somepony he wanted to meet.
"Ms. Sparkle!" he smiled, trotting forward as the sincere smile surged forth. "I have been waiting for a chance to meet you! I missed the opportunity at the parade, I'm sorry to say: just too many other ponies around, plus I got stuck at one point going down into storage and trying to find if we had any buntings in Princess --" the name was still strange on his tongue "-- Luna's colors. I swear nopony around here can read an inventory sheet properly, which is probably my fault. And since then, I've just been too busy for the library. For a lot of things. But here you are, and now I can finally thank you for your part in all of it, and ask if there's anything I can do for --"
"-- shhhh!"
He stopped moving, two body lengths away from the new librarian. It was close enough to let him make out more features within the shadows of the hood, and he spotted her eyes moving back and forth, scanning the aisles as best she could from her position near the entrance, trying to see if anypony had overheard them. But nopony had turned around, and so a tenth-bit of the tension left her body, leaving approximately eight million bits' worth behind.
"Don't let anypony know it's me!" Ms. Sparkle hissed.
Mr. Rich risked taking a single hoofstep closer. It didn't seem to offend. With a caution which surprised even him, "Is everything -- all right?"
"I need..." She seemed to consider her next word carefully. "...secrecy. It's bad enough that you saw me. You can't tell anypony else. I have to keep this quiet..."
He regarded the full-body covering again. The bits of vibrating tail hair sticking out at the back. The sweat on her face, not all of which seemed to be from summer heat combined with completely inappropriate clothing.
"Is this about a problem?" he whispered. "Something which affects the town? Is the Nightmare --"
"-- no!" she hastened. "No, not that. The Princess told me it's gone. Forever."
He let a little of the relief show -- but there were still other concerns. "Another kind of mission, then? Something clearly rather... crucial?"
More visible thought.
Reluctantly, "I need..."
Very worried now, "Yes?"
"...to fix a crack."
He tried to reconcile the words with the behavior, and it activated an imagination which was usually reserved for coming up with advertising campaigns. "In a device? A Tartarus cell? The... the world?"
"A door."
He stared at her. "A... magical door?"
"It's wood."
Mr. Rich was perfectly aware that staring was impolite. That it had a way of driving understandably-offended customers off. He still couldn't seem to stop doing it.
"It's not magical wood," Ms. Sparkle helpfully-if-quietly clarified. "I checked for enchantments. It won't self-repair." Which triggered a soft, brief sigh. "And I checked the library for wood repair spells, but the only thing I found was something in the art section about wood sculpture and I don't know if it can sculpt the edges back together, plus I don't have the time to learn it anyway and I didn't realize that until after I found it. So I need to fix the crack. Without magic. Immediately. And nopony can know. It's bad enough that you know. But I heard ponies saying you had the most things for sale of anypony in town, I haven't gotten in here yet to see your selection, but I thought I might just get overlooked among the shoppers until you saw me, and there aren't enough ponies in here, and..."
She shifted her head again. The hood slipped over the horn.
"Can you help me?" she pleaded. "Please? Without telling anypony I was here at all or why?"
He took a deep breath.
"Is this for any kind of mission?"
He knew the expression of a pony evaluating risk by heart, and he watched it move across her face.
"It's... about government property. That's all I can say. It's more than I should..."
He quietly nodded.
"Go stand in the corner under the Clearance section banner: it's the most shadowed place available." Which was a problem he'd been meaning to solve, but at least it was finally serving a positive purpose. "I'll be right back."
She nodded back. He trotted away, went down the aisles until he found Jestine, hovering above the topmost shelf as she carefully counted stock.
"Clear the store," he softly told her. "Customers and staff. Herd everypony to the registers. Tell them we have a water leak and don't want everypony getting drenched. Don't panic anypony and don't rush them too badly -- but I want this place empty in four minutes. Less would be better."
She stared down at him. Feathers vibrated. "Sir... is something happening?"
"We have a priority customer," he said. "Do what you have to."
She did, at speed.
The middle-aged earth pony led her down the aisles. It was a slower process than Twilight would have liked. The building was now empty for customers and staff -- but not for stock. He'd apologized to her, saying that the slowest days was when he rotated stock and just outright took some things off the sales floor. And with everypony else gone, the items being worked on had been left on flatbed harness draws, which in turn had been left in the aisles.
"All right," he eventually said (and it was far too long an 'eventually', too). "This is where we keep the carpentry supplies." Helpfully, "I can still recommend somepony to do the work, and she's actually used to a bit of risk -- she has a taste for exotic woods, and that often means wild zones, scouting out new tree species for pieces. If you could tell even one other pony --"
"-- no," she insisted. "It has to be me."
He nodded to that. "Do you have any experience with wood repair?"
"I... have books." She sidestepped a laden flatbed. "And they have instructions. It'll do."
With some open worry, "Ms. Sparkle, just reading something doesn't always --"
"-- it'll do," she cut him off. No, no help. Help just led to questions. Having him know anything at all was bad enough. "So what do I need?"
"For starters, something to fill it with," Mr. Rich told her. "A piece of wood exactly the same color would be best. You cut out the shape of your crack and then bond the two together. But that takes tools, and time. So if you really haven't --"
But she wasn't completely listening. The contents of the flatbed had caught her attention. The label.
"What is that?"
Mr. Rich turned his head away from the wood samples, just enough to see what she was staring at.
"That," he dismissively said, "is not for sale."
'That' was comprised of several stacks of glass tubs, each of which was vertically striped in blue and white, with a pale yellow lid. There was also an elaborately-written brand name. And a label, a label which was making a large number of claims, including the implied one that it had sprung directly from Twilight's most hopeful dream.
"Why not? It sounds perfect! This is just what I need, Mr. Rich! If you have it set aside for another customer, I'll pay that pony back! Just let me have a little, please, you know how important this is...!"
"It's not for sale," Mr. Rich calmly-but-tightly said, "because it isn't worth selling. We were removing it from inventory. Forever. As far as I'm concerned, one of my buyers got conned by the inventors. I'm not blaming him, but I am never dealing with those ponies again, and I'm certainly not going to harm my customers through taking money for this cruel joke of a product. If I could just find those ponies to make them take it back, if anypony could find them..."
But for Twilight, when it came to a choice between listening and reading, the text always had a way of blocking her ears.
"You're not taking money for it?"
"I'd rather keep my customers. In one piece. One unattached --"
Hopefully, "So that means I could have some for free?"
He stared at her. Twilight felt like he'd been doing rather a lot of it, and hadn't been able to work out why.
"I... suppose," he finally said, after far too many precious seconds had been crushed under the weight of his disbelief. "But Ms. Sparkle... it's really not..."
She was reading the label again. The label promised perfection, and since the tubs had not been in any kind of Fiction section, the written word did not lie. "It's what I need. How much can I have?"
"I was just going to have it thrown away," Mr. Rich managed. "Buried, possibly, but only if we couldn't burn it. We were going to test that tonight if the fire department was willing to let us risk it, and I'm not sure I blame them for being reluctant. The other plan is a few thousand bale-weights of rock. If you're sure --" subtle, desperate, and completely disregarded "-- this is what you need, then as far as I'm concerned, you can have all of it, as long as you have some way to dispose of whatever's left over. But Ms. Sparkle, if that's what you need, then your problem... I don't... I know I have to trust you after what you did for the Princess -- the other Princess -- but this..." He sighed, turned back towards the shelves. "Well, you'll still need something to apply it with. Can you give me your hoof diameter? You're a little on the small side: I think we'd better fit you with a custom trowel mount, assuming we can find you some way of getting this stuff off the trowel --"
Wheels squeaked. The bell over the front doors rang. His security spell, which no longer regarded the tubs as any kind of merchandise, completely failed to go off.
Mr. Rich turned, and found himself regarding the other side of the aisle and a selection of nails which desperately needed resorting.
"Well," he sighed to nopony in particular, "she knows best..."
There was nopony about to doubt the words either, and so the sudden uncertainly simply lingered in the air.
She got in the back way, racing down streets which were just empty enough. (The majority of ponies who had been able to get off work were scattered around and in the best swimming areas. Twilight had yet to learn about that summer habit of Ponyville residents, much less where the prime lakes even were.) She still got lost three times: there just hadn't been enough time since her arrival to have trotted down every street and for some reason, just looking at the town map didn't seem to be translating into direct navigation skills. It was probably due to stress.
But she'd risked a glance at the front of the library, where she'd tremblingly put out the Temporarily Closed sign while praying nopony would wonder why, and it was completely undisturbed. It seemed as if nopony had approached the tree at all. Which meant no police, which meant there was still a chance...
She towed the flatbed into the library, just barely steering around several benches. It had taken considerable effort just to get it that far. Twilight wasn't a particularly strong pony, the stuff was heavy, and she hadn't wanted to risk levitating it: any witnesses would have seen the hue of her field's signature and been able to hazard a guess at who was moving the cart. Towards the end, she'd basically been falling forward one body length at a time, and the sweat in her coat had now been joined by the very real froth of a pony starting to work herself into an overheat. The clothing hadn't exactly helped.
But she didn't have time to take care of herself. She wasn't even sure she had enough time to take care of the door. Except that if any seconds remained, any at all, this miraculous substance would use them to bring her that much closer to that slim chance of salvation...
"Okay," she panted, completely overlooking the heavy patter of moisture dropping away from her small body as she finally discarded the heavy garment. "This is easy. Open the lid..." Her field enveloped and twisted: the top of the closest tub came away and was unceremoniously dropped to the floor. "And now..."
She risked the time necessary for reading the label again. just for the comfort the words would bring.
Amazing Wood Spackle
Fills Any Crack, Gap, Hole, Knot, Or Defect
Magically Matches Your Color Automatically!
Hardens Instantly (On Contact With A Field)!
Just Apply And Forget! Nopony Will Know It's There But You!
Twilight also risked the smallest of smiles.
"Okay," she whispered. "Bottom to top. So it won't drip down too badly at the start." Not that she was sure it could drip. The stuff looked oddly solid. "Here we go..."
Her field pushed against the surface of the substance and, as expected, found resistance while triggering an odd crackling sound: surrounding and lifting some portion of a liquid was typically easy, but there was generally still a tangible pressure involved. In this case, the stuff was definitely something more than liquid. She'd been expecting something along the lines of thick mud, the most an average unicorn could usually reasonably hope to push through, and this felt like it was denser than that. In fact, it seemed to be fighting her at the differentiation-proof level of a solid...
...her fatigued brain finally caught on.
Twilight let her field wink out, took a tiny hoofstep towards the cart and examined the open tub.
The contents had solidified. Instantly, on contact with her field.
Okay. Don't panic. That one's my fault. I didn't read the instructions clearly enough. I have plenty of tubs left to work with. She briefly tried counting them, found herself too worn out to hold onto the number, and dismissed it as unimportant. "Lots" was good enough. I just need to apply the stuff with something which isn't my field. Is there any kind of tool I can use?
She looked around the library. She found books. Many of them were books about tools, devices, conveniences, and all the little aids which helped ponies make their way through life without the luxury of grasping digits. None of those tomes were actually tools in and of themselves, but they were certainly willing to tell her about them. And they were the only things available.
Twilight briefly considered the possibility of dumping some of the stuff onto the Mazein atlas and rubbing that up and down the crack. It only took her a single extra second to treat the mere existence of the concept as a sign of just how stressed she truly was, plus an additional two for apologizing to the book.
"Can't use the benches," she murmured. "Not precise enough application. Too wide. Can't twist them right. Quills too light. Paper useless and library property. Everything is library property. Already broke some of that, can't do more. Don't have enough time for another trip to the store. Didn't memorize an arrival point and ponies would notice a teleport..."
It seemed to be surprisingly hot in the library, even for summer. But she couldn't risk opening a window. Closed library, therefore, no open windows.
She thought about it some more, looking at the shape and depth of the crack. Speaking aloud seemed to be giving her a better grasp on the slippery words, and so she did some more of that too.
"Hooves are going to smear," she observed. "Going to have mess all around the edges. Can't... might not have time to clean it. Door has to be clean. Everything has to be clean."
More froth dripped to the floor.
"I have a horn."
And that was the answer. She had a horn. It wasn't a direct manipulating tool, not without her field active. But it was just the right width and length to get inside most of the crack. All she had to do was dip her horn into the next tub, then move her head up to the crack and work very carefully. She could load the interior, scrape away excess, and when the crack was filled... a single touch of her field would solve everything. It would take more time than she strictly wanted it to, yes, but it was all she had...
"Horn," Twilight exhaustedly decided, and got the next tub wet as she moved her head over it. "Let's see..."
The stuff was horribly dense. She had to push hard to get her horn into it, make a real effort to stir. Her new chosen tub shifted at the top of the stack as she worked, and she shifted her body right back at it, trying to get it stabilized, never quite getting it centered again. But in the end, she had her horn coated from tip to base, and she smiled.
"Apply," she said, turned towards the crack, and angled her head. The substance touched the wood. "Scrape..."
She did. Repeatedly. Brought her head up to check the results.
None of the substance was inside the crack.
Twilight carefully brought her right forehoof up and touched her horn. All of the goo was still there. It seemed more solid than ever. It also seemed to like her hoof more than it did the wood, and she had to wrench the limb away.
Back to the crack. She scraped harder. Small grinding sounds came from the edges, and the gap became very slightly wider.
"What...?" She shifted faster. "Why... why won't this work? How is anypony supposed to apply this stuff?" The frustration was bringing adrenaline with it, increasing alertness. It just wasn't doing much for the results. "It's supposed to go in! I have to do this! If I don't fix it, then --!"
The anger had to go somewhere, and it wound up heading into that right forehoof, which stomped. The resulting vibrations traveled through the floor, up the wheels of the cart, into the precariously-balanced tub...
She just barely saw it starting to tip, and her field automatically lanced forward in an attempt to catch.
There was an odd crackling sound.
Light jumped from her horn, went to her right forehoof, hit the tub at the moment it shattered against the floor. Glass scattered. The contents did not.
Twilight, her mind temporarily back at full operating capacity, screamed. She screamed for exactly half a second before jamming her right forehoof against her mouth, feeling the rough edges...
She looked down at it. And then she raced for the bathroom. For the mirror.
Most of the resulting image was automatically dismissed. The visible strain, the stress which had frazzled mane and tail, the froth, the slightly-built body swaying back and forth... none of that actually mattered to Twilight, and so none of it truly registered. She was too focused on her horn. It was coated, base to tip, in the substance -- a substance which had turned the purple of an acidic potion, of a poison berry, of straining against a nightmare and failing to wake. The same discoloration she had seen in the smudges which had adhered to her hoof. A discoloration which had just turned solid.
She was restrained.
Instinctively, movement triggered by revulsion, she slammed her horn into the nearest wall. The horn conducted the impact as well as it ever did: not at all, and so her head remained safe from trauma. But the substance did not crack: it was harder than the wall. And as long as it coated her horn, she would remain unable to project her field.
It was horror. It was grotesquerie on a level every unicorn subconsciously dreaded, and the instinct kept pressing at her, ordering her to ram herself into increasingly-denser materials again and again and again until she was either free or dead, with the latter as nothing more than another kind of freedom. But it was also something Twilight didn't have time for and somehow, she managed to push on.
"The light," she said, mostly to give her screaming inner self something else to focus on. "It moved. All the contents of one tub go solid at the same time, no matter how far apart they are, as soon as a field touches any portion... What is the spell on this? What kind of idiot sends out this kind of obviously half-finished product and calls it good to sell?"
She raced back to the tubs, ignoring her trembling limbs and stumbling hooves, nosed over a tub and didn't care particularly much when it too broke on the floor.
"Another FFine Product," she read. "Whose?" And giving address to what would not even remotely be the final insult, "And why can't they even spell 'fine' right?"
The world had no answer for her. Only a crack, and an invisible ticking clock which could have its alarm go off at any second.
"The crack," she tried to focus. "I have to fix the crack..."
All right. She'd worked out the rules now. In time, she would be able to free her horn (and she had to think that way, because the other option was to start screaming again). But that time wasn't going to be for a while yet. Fill the crack. Find something which would break the shell. Use her field. Clean up the mess. Still plenty of tubs. Still a chance. And there was nothing she wouldn't do to keep that shrinking hope from vanishing forever.
Twilight went back to work.
A hoof knocked at the undamaged side of the library door.
It was the police. It had to be. She'd had more time than she ever could have dreamed of, had more chances to keep that tenuous mouth grip on dream... and she'd lost anyway.
Twilight laid her weary head against the library floor, felt the tears streaming down her face, a final trail running away from Ponyville. And she waited.
"Twi?"
Even worse than the police.
"Twi? Y'in there? Been by a few times, but the sign ain't moved." With open pride, "Ah got me a few extra bits t' mah name today, so Ah thought Ah'd treat you t' lunch, if you're willin'. Can y'hear me? What d'you say?"
All she could do was breathe and softly sob.
"Did Ah just hear...?"
And it wasn't soft enough.
"Is that you? Did somethin' --" A sharp breath. "Ah'm comin' in!"
And before she could work up a final protest, anything which would keep her soon-to-be-former friend from having the final memory of her be this, earth pony strength met the undamaged door and convinced it to get out of the way.
Applejack skidded into the library. It would have been a full charge, but she'd spotted the pony form on the floor just in time, and her hooves stopped a mere hoofwidth away from the broken glass. And the little body which lay directly behind it.
The slightly-built unicorn was just a touch bulkier than usual. Here and there. Applejack saw the foul purple cone over the horn first -- but then the green eyes took in the gunk on the hooves, spotting the snout and clinging to eyelashes, covering a good percentage of the forelegs and more than a little of the back, along the barrel, coating the withers, up and down the flanks, little dollops stuck in mane and tail... everywhere but over the mark, the magic of which refused all coverage and concealment other than that of clothing, and as she watched, a final tiny spot evaporated from the smallest of the stars.
There wasn't just gunk, of course. There were a few quills here and there. Two stamps. The froth, too much froth, enough to show a pony minutes or less, possibly much less, away from a faint. And one unicorn, whose lack of hope had finally reached the soul.
"Do you know the funniest part, Applejack?" Twilight whispered. "It adheres to everything except wood..."
The farmer dropped to floor level, oriented her body to be in the same facing and position. It still left her noticeably taller, and the hat never shifted.
"Twi -- what happened?"
"I'm going to prison... or back to Canterlot... I failed..."
"For -- makin' a mess?" Applejack raised her head just enough to look around a little more. "A considerable mess, sure, but ain't nopony gonna toss you jus' for that." Worry in her tones, concern, that need to make things right which the librarian had so seldom heard coming from anypony who didn't live in a palace. "Twi, there's gotta be more than that. The state you're in --" and a sudden swerve into fierceness "-- nopony did this t' you, right? 'cause Ah got ways of dealin' with ponies who --"
"...me... just me... all my fault..."
So gentle, so soft, the petals of flowering apples coating welcoming earth. "So we'll fix it, you an' me. Ah got time. Got as much time as it takes."
"You can't."
An orange forehoof stretched out, lightly touched its mostly-purple counterpart. "How d'you know unless y'tell me?"
Applejack watched the eyes squeeze shut, saw the pain leaking through closed lids.
"You'll find out anyway," Twilight finally said. "Why I got sent back. Everypony will know. They're probably already talking. And I... I guess it's better that you hear it from me. And then you can tell the others, and I won't have to, and..."
This time, the hoof made the barest contact against her lips.
"Slow, Twi," Applejack softly said. "Slow. Take your time. Ah ain't goin' nowhere. And since anypony who tries t' move you gotta tow me along, neither are you."
Twilight blinked. She wept. and she disbelieved.
But she also talked.
In the end, the hardest part had been the waiting. The stress-renewing time after the cooldown and rehydration, when Applejack had asked her to wait in the library and not do anything else. To trust that Applejack would return, and Twilight hadn't been able to bear even the slightest glance at a clock, especially when she was convinced far too much time had passed, so much more than would have been required. But Sun had gone through a little more journey across the sky, there had been some odd sounds from outside the front doors, and her friend was back.
Her... friend was back.
Applejack had just finished unpacking her saddlebags. "Well, found somethin' she's good for other than emergency mustache replacement," came the dry commentary. "Took a few years just t' find that out, and then a few more weeks for this part. But y'need somethin' hard t' chip that stuff away with. Hardest stuff imaginable. An' Ah figured if anypony was gonna have diamonds t' spare..."
She carefully positioned one between her teeth, gently adjusted the angle of Twilight's reclined head with a forehoof, and began working on the horn's coating.
"Applejack?"
"What?" Talking around the gem, which added something to the accent.
"Do you... like Rarity? That didn't... it didn't sound like..."
"...like something Ah'd say 'bout a friend?" Applejack shrugged. "She an' me, known each other for years, Twi. For the six of us, only two ponies born in this town, or close enough to it. But we don't gallop along the same runs. Nothin' in common. Not 'til we had you. Ah'll respect her, what she does for the team, far as that goes. But... might take a while before Ah like her."
And Twilight knew it was the honest answer. "I... guess I understand."
"Fair enough," Applejack decided. "Might happen, given time. But y'can't make it happen."
Twilight couldn't nod, not with her head pressed against the bench and horn being worked on -- but Applejack saw her eyes dart right, with attention momentarily focused on a shelf labeled Colt And Filly Social Activities, and briefly wondered why. But no explanation was volunteered, and the farmer decided there were more important things to think about.
"This is the easy part, far as looks go," Applejack eventually commented. "Can't break or chip a horn. That'll be fine no matter what. But your fur... might have t' shave some of that. Ah can teach you a few tricks for coverin' up the bare patches until they fill in. Had lots of practice. Apple Bloom's got this unnatural attraction t' tree sap... well, she'll grow out of it." A small laugh. "Probably in a moon or so, just before school starts again."
"If I'm here to see it..."
"Twi... he ain't gonna go t' the cops. Y'know why? 'cause it's like you said at that one point, and shoulda kept thinkin' 'bout. He provoked you. T' win money. Police ain't gonna like that. Can't expect t' kick a pony over an' over and not expect a kick comin' back. And he ain't goin' 'cause -- well, he ain't goin'."
"Applejack, you can't know that."
"Yeah, Ah can."
Plaintively, "How?"
No answer. More chipping.
"Want you presentable first," Applejack said. "Which is gonna take a while. Ah'm learnin' t' hate this stuff, truly Ah am, and Ah hope Ah never meet the pony who came up with it..."
"Applejack," Twilight quietly said, "I still broke the door."
"So?"
"It's not mine. It's government property. And I've chased other ponies out, I'm offending ponies..."
"The door? If there's a fine, y'pay it. Payin' it won't be a problem. And they'll keep you on. Other ponies... Twi, y'know what they're sayin' 'bout you? That you don't put up with much. That you expect ponies t' do what you see as the right thing. Some ponies... Ah guess they're a little surprised by the things y'care 'bout. Can't say Ah'm used to it yet mahself, all the way an' all the time. But they know y'care. A lot. More than a few are wishin' that --" More a dead stop than a trail-off, and the chipping pace redoubled.
"Wishing -- what?"
With great reluctance, "That you'd care about them."
Total sincerity blended into utter confusion, in perfect harmony. "Care about them doing what?"
Applejack blinked. Chuckled. Chipped. And didn't answer.
"There," the blonde finally said. "Free. An' I knew y'felt the last bit go from your horn 'cause I saw the little twitches stop. Better?"
"Yes -- at least for that. Applejack, you don't know what that's like, being restrained, not having access to your own magic, when it's a part of you..."
And Twilight, in her relief, missed the tightness in the reply. "For horns? You're right: Ah don't. Want me t' work on your fur a little, or can y'take most of it from here? Ah can still do the parts of your body y'can't see. Ah know that's hard for you."
"Please?"
Applejack smiled. Twilight's horn ignited, and they worked together.
"I just... I just wish I could be sure about that teenager," Twilight said as the labor neared completion, at least on her own body: the library would require hours for cleanup, and there was only so long Applejack could stay. Only so much time Twilight could ask her to sacrifice, and none of that could be voiced. There were more important, harder things to say. "I'm still scared, Applejack."
A sigh. "Ah know. It's funny, Twi. This ain't an insult, an' Ah hope y'don't take it as one: you're weaker than Ah thought you'd be. But you're also a lot stronger."
"I -- I don't understand."
"Wasn't expectin' you t' be that afraid," Applejack said, cleaning the last hardened pieces out of Twilight's tail. "An' wouldn't expect somepony that afraid t' do anythin' but run."
Twilight didn't know what to say. And so she said nothing.
"Okay," Applejack finally said, after the last bare patch had been covered. "Got a present for you. Wait here?"
"A present? What's --"
"-- Apple Bloom tries that too. 'What am Ah gettin' for mah birthday?' An' Ah tell her, a box. Y'jus' wait here."
She trotted outside. There was a series of sounds, much like rope loops unwinding. And then four extra hooves were being pulled up and across the entrance...
The teenager reentered the library. Tail first, because it was being clenched in Applejack's teeth.
She dragged him to a stop in front of Twilight. Let go, then darted to his side before he could move and head-butted him into half a rotation.
The teen gasped at the impact against his ribs, and that was all.
"Tell her your name," Applejack said.
"Barkellner," was the somewhat pained reply.
"Tell her you're sorry."
"I'm sorry."
"Tell her you're never going to do it again an' you'll stop anypony who tries."
"I'll never do it again."
"An'...?"
"I'll stop anypony who tries."
"Now give her the money."
He paled. "I -- but I won --"
"-- y'played with somepony's feelings for a profit, on a bet. Wanna know what Ah think of ponies like that? What your parents would do to a pony like that? Y'remember Ah know where y'live an' they let me haul y'out of there without so much as askin' why?" A glance at Twilight. "Good people, his folks. No idea what happened with him. Now give her the money."
The soft brown head reluctantly turned back towards the worn saddlebags. Bits eventually landed on the floor and were taken up by Twilight's field as its borders wavered with confusion.
"So there's your fine money, Twi, if there is any," Applejack decided. "And a little more. Stunt kits are pricey. Now, you an' me are gonna have a really late lunch. And you --" a hard glare at Barkellner "-- are gonna clean this up, like we discussed on the way here. All of it. T' mah standards. Ready t' go, Twi?"
Who didn't answer. She just looked at Applejack, then the teen, and finally took a very long look at the exposed, extremely vulnerable books, with a final moment of very brief consideration towards her own loft.
"Naw," Applejack smiled. "Like Ah said, Ah know his folks. An' where he lives."
Twilight slowly nodded, and the two mares trotted towards the door. The cracked door, and Twilight sadly regarded the damage.
"Don't fix it."
Her head twisted toward Applejack. "What?"
"Leave it like that. Even if y'pay a fine... jus' keep it that way. Looks a lot better than it did before. Kinda more honest, too."
"It's broken," Twilight protested.
"Naw," Applejack said. "Broken means it don't work. Still opens, still closes, still blocks the weather. So it's jus' flawed. An' flaws add character."
Twilight thought about that, through the very late lunch, the double-checking of the cleanup afterwards, and long into the night. But she didn't send a letter about it, not when Spike returned late in the evening, not the next morning, and not for years to come, because she didn't see what the lesson was. Not yet.
But the crack stayed in the door...
Also LikedSimilarAuthor
- Estee · 16k words · 278 8 · 4.5k views
- Estee · 6.9k words · 241 7 · 4.1k views
- Estee · 11k words · 285 6 · 5.1k views
- Estee · 20k words · 323 3 · 5.2k views
- Estee · 2.7k words · 266 17 · 4.3k views
- Estee · 8.7k words · 262 15 · 3.9k views
- Estee · 19k words · 294 4 · 3.1k views
- Estee · 11k words · 479 6 · 7.6k views
Stats
Page generated in 0.24 seconds
Total duration
1,102 users online
1,953,503 hits today, 1,872,792 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
Not quite perfect...but, it does cover all the neurosis and issues and comedy that Twilight Sparkle can get into. Especially in her first early days in Ponyville and her various psychological defense mechanisms.
And then a certain pair of con artists came to town not long after...and Twi noticed a VERY FAMILIAR LOGO on the side....and remembers where the last of the Spackle is buried....
I have written a review of this story. It can be found here.
A certain pair of con-ponies needs dunked in that stuff...
Hah! Early-season neurotic Twilight, AJ being her usual solid, honest, good self, F&F products causing havoc...
Lots of fun stuff here, but my favorite part is probably Filthy Rich. He's a money-making pony through and through, but he's also a decent, good pony, and you show both sides of him very well here. Of course he'd want to get an opportunity to sell Zecora's concoctions and Everfree exotics, his family fortune being founded on Zap Apples!
I dunno what's behind all the sensible Applejack stories all of a sudden, but I approve.
Ah, yes. Another reminder that Twilight has even less self-confidence than Fluttershy.
Honesly, a viscous fluid that solidifies instantly in contact with your field, capable of restraint?
Put it in water balloons or something so that The Guard can use it. Bam.
... Flim and Flam, while good at inventing, are rather pants at figuring out the proper market, aren't they.
Probably the most confusing thing I have ever read.
6166388
You've been here two days. I promise it'll get a lot more confusing than this.
Just full of moments when poor Twilight just needs a hug, she's just such a mess sometimes, well at least she gets a bit better over time
6166337
Yep, they've made the perfect way to temporarily disable troublesome unicorns and sold it as a useless way of fixing wood.
Oh, hey! It's here!
That was...
...Well worth the wait, for a start. It's nice to see a story set early on in the series again - one of the shortcomings of an ongoing series like this is that the older parts of the story tend to get neglected.
I enjoyed Applejack in this one - solid, practical, and not yet close with Rarity, with an acknowledgement that while she is Twilight's friend, she's not Rarity's friend... yet...
The quiet tragedy of a little unicorn who's only just learning how friends—and, indeed, people as a whole—work. An excellent look at where Twilight began and how far she progressed from there. At least, in some ways. I have to wonder if she ever did understand the lesson of the door... and whether she made the connection when a certain pair of entrepreneurs came riding into town on a horseless carriage.
Also, Applejack is best source of sanity.
A fine story, with the proper amount of the genuine kindness that underlies these characters. I particularly appreciated your characterization of Filthy Rich. If you start from the premise that our little ponies generally have good hearts you can't go far wrong.
It also made me nostalgic for the zeitgeist of the first season, before time and tide and ongoing seasons piled on so much baroque elaboration.
Like others have said, I loved the way you showed the progression of Twi and AJ's characters in how they aren't yet in this story. You do a good job with showing where each character is and getting it to fit into the timeframe.
Also the usual great humor and tender moments.
I think Twilight's OCD is going to gnaw at her until the door gets fixed.
Dunno why she couldn't restore it with her magic, up until Tirek, she could restore the rest of the tree without problems.
6166774 I'm not sure she did learn the lesson of the door because she's still focused on what's wrong and how it can hurt her. Also, I doubt that she can make the connection between "those two irritating hucksters selling malfunctioning crap messing with the Apple family all the time" with the malfunctioning crap she was warned not to buy because it's the product of side-of-the-mouth artists who promised Mr Rich far more than they could ever deliver.
This default negativity and worrying about the sky falling in on her seems to be a constant amongst all Twilight Sparkles. As the latest teaser for Friendship Games shows us, what'll drive her nuts is the fear that what Sunset Shimmer is in to will hurt the world. This is what they used to call a revenge effect and it's probably what you'll be talking about in Sideboard Of Harmony in three months or so.
I had the most awkward wingboner while reading this
Should I be worried?
Inane thought, but anyone here ever hear of poor-man's spackle? I used that to fill nail holes in my dorm room so I would get my deposit back.
d2ws0xxnnorfdo.cloudfront.net/character/meme/evil-plotting-raccoon.jpg
Crappy half baked product made by a company who used two Fs to spell fine? It was Flim and Flam wasn't it?
I've got a bad feeling about this.
... also, I can't tell if I'm just seeing things or there were Twijack hints in there. (With great reluctance, "That you'd care about them.")
Edit:
Nope, definitely not seeing things.
Grats on making the featured story box!
6167326
No, because apparently you have wings.
Burn the library barkellner burn it all
6165964 There's times I pray we'll see a Triptych-style retelling of certain episodes
Plus, I'd love to see Ratchette meet the Flim-Flam siblings...
She'd probably flip put over their vehicle, much to their utter bafflement
Bravo! As always, exceptional work giving a depth of understanding to what i have always felt would be a facet of twilights character, one of the reaons i often identify with her as well, that feeling of fragility for everything good in your life.
I'm not sure I entirely understood it.
But I liked it.
I really like this (and most things in the Triptych Continuum), but it always give me a disquieting feeling. The entire world seems to be constructed to be a bit unsettling. It is not a very happy place I think.
When I read the blog post you made about this, I thought it would be a cute and funny story.
Then you went and made it one of the most heartwarming stories I've read in months...
Curse your genius!
I feel like Applejack's doesn't quite succeed in calming Twilight down. The bit about Rarity and their relationships seems to me like it reinforces Twilight's worst fear: their friendships are not some magical thing that can survive anything, and she might indeed lose them again if she doesn't get it right
Not that this is likely, but I suspect that's a possible message Twilight took away from it.
Loved the crossreferences to 100% Move, and congrats on hitting the feature box
Well, that's one way to write a Crack fic :D
Not quite what I was expecting due to the title, but that's really not a bad thing. Came in expecting comedy, got heartwarming instead!
...This part...
It ends when it ends, doesn't it?
Wow, that Twilight Sparkle sure is a wreck isn't she! I find your Twilight stories to be a welcome break from what is otherwise a rather depressing 'verse.
On a side note, the king and queen of your collection have demanded attention for some time now. Consider this not a nag, or a demand, but rather a beg. Triptych and a Mark of Appeal are the jewels in your crown, and I only wish you could find it in your big writer's brain to polish them once in a while
6170028
BA DUM, PSSSHHH
That was a very good read--both funny, and a good look at Twilight's flaws. I think I'll be reading some of the other stories in this universe of yours now.
You get an upvote just because of Twilight Spackle.
6171571
My personal favorite of Estee's stories is Five Hundred Little Murders, though it is a very serious story.
I've heard that A Total Eclipse of the Fun and Sonic Rainbigot are both quite good but, alas, I have yet to read either.
Perhaps I should fix that...
6173244
You can spend a long afternoon or two reading through Estee's work without complaint, I've found. And Five Hundred... is one of my favorites for the sheer feels of it (don't think it's some kind of slasher fic or the like, as the pony idea of "murder" in the story is nothing of the sort).
This story was aggressively boring. Normally I like Slice of Life, especially ones that manage to describe mundane things in a pretty way.
This story doesn't use its word count well, though. It goes past meandering and into active evasion of plot. It takes a good 2,500 words just for Twilight to kick out a pony and get to (what I assume is) the actual plot. I gave up at the first horizontal rule, after it became clear the story was not concerned with actually telling a story.
Meandering narratives can be excused, of course, if the writing is evocative enough and pretty enough to keep the reader's attention. The way the story is written, however, is very haphazard. It really overdoes it on the long, meandering sentences. The first two sentences alone have three separate clauses each. Adverbs, intrusive parenthetical statements, stream-of-consciousness interjections, and an abundance of commas make each individual sentence a chore to parse/understand. It takes the already glacial pacing and amplifies it unpleasantly. Even if the sentences were arranged more clearly, there's many points where exposition is bluntly shoved in the middle of other imagery. There's also many spots where the imagery is worded bizarrely; any artistic effect is muddled by the inability to understand it easily.
As an example, this sentence stood out to me as an encapsulation of many of these problems;
Fours separate clauses, two pieces of blunt exposition, confusing tense use, and the last two clauses have multiple subjects and switch between them. I can understand what the sentence was trying to say, and there is some evocative imagery in there somewhere. Cramming all this information together, however, makes it a mess to understand. It's impossible to understand the action, to picture the motion, or to process the exposition. At least not without reading the sentence four times.
I suppose some of this might be intentional. Using a very detail-heavy narrative style could be a way to reflect Twilight's neurotic personality. In that case, though, it would've been better to put the story in first person. That would've better emphasized that the disjointed nature of Twilight's thoughts, and it would be able to present details and exposition more carefully and justifiably.
Downvote from me. The idea and the plot could be interesting. Pre-"Lesson Zero" Twilight is certainly neurotic and self-conscious enough to justify her characterization here. The execution, however, is a mess. It's hard to read, hard to understand, and it robs the story of any value or engagement it might've had.
6176515
I am the worst writer on this site. (I actually had that as my short bio for a while.) If I tripled my current amount of talent, it would place me at a total of zero. My characterizations have been described as having been born from a chtonic void beyond the realm of sanity, and that's pretty much a quote from one of the Comments sections (which I also used as a short bio for a separate while). I have no capacity to improve, because improvement would imply both a viable base to build on and something capable of learning. I am the proud owner of the only preemptive "Cease And Desist Submissions" letter EQD ever sent. I can get published any time I like, and so can anyone else who puts together the vanity fee. I have been called FIMFic's resident cynic, the creator of the most depressing 'verse ever (which apparently goes double for the comedies), and Piano Murdering Pony Hitler. If I were to be permanently banned tomorrow, there wouldn't be a single word of protest, but the celebration might just crash the site. The only way I could ever make money from my work is by putting up a Patreon and telling people they could bribe me to stop.
And I don't care.
Because I'm aware that I'm the worst writer on this site. Because I'm conscious about my inability to improve. Because if a handful of people only show up to laugh, then at least they still showed up.
As one of my heroes once said, you never want to have your home destroyed by the second-worst hurricane in history: there's a certain satisfaction in being connected to the record-breaker. So if you can't be Orson Wells, then be Ed Wood.
So I will continue to be the knuckleball pitcher breaking into the stadium after dark, not caring about the meandering nature of my efforts just as long as they occasionally get somewhere in the vicinity of home plate. Because as I've said before, if I knew what I was doing, I wouldn't do anything at all.
And I would still respect your opinion. Under normal circumstances, I really would. I appreciate it when people explain the downvotes which I, as the worst writer on this site, so richly deserve. Except for one thing:
There are a couple of ways to interpret that. In the locally-harshest, it means you walked out on the story at that point. And that's your right.
But if you want people to take you seriously as a critic, you don't get out of your seat until the credits finish rolling. You suffer through the entire movie so you can tell others exactly why they shouldn't. Not that it would have gotten any better before the end -- once again, worst writer on the site -- but it's about commitment to the job.
I would normally respect your opinion. But if that interpretation is the correct one, then I won't respect your effort.
Would anyone like to know the bribe necessary for getting me to leave? Here's a hint: it's four digits. Two of them are to the right of the decimal point.
Okay, now that this nightmarish weekend is over (plus I may have set up the windfall which will get me to hit the Revoke Submission button on my entire catalog -- you get what you bribe for and when I leave, I leave), I finally have a chance to answer some of this. (I'll also be tackling my mail today. And vice-versa.)
And before I start: I did originally have tentative thoughts of getting the library to host a weekly punning contest, and an earth pony named Stonebender. Just never came together.
Let's see...
6166265
6166915
One of my keys for writing Mr. Rich is anypony who's aware of Diamond's habits before meeting him will, within minutes, be internally questioning if he's actually her father. And they'll mean it as a compliment.
I treat him as being almost utterly without prejudice. You're not judged on your species, but on your contribution to his economy...
And yes, it's nice to just hit Rewind sometimes. This story was always going to be early on the timeline, but the concept had a special complication: Twilight couldn't be aware that Rarity knew the wood sculpture spell, or the entire thing would have ended with a quick trot to the Boutique. That meant pre-slumber party.
6166337
6166577
"Brother?"
"Yes, brother o'mine?"
"It would seem we have inadvertently created something which would aid the fine law enforcement personnel of our nation in their efforts to apprehend us."
*long moment of mutual silent thought*
"Cease production immediately?"
"Cease production immediately."
This is actually one of the reasons I gave it the consistency of half-dried cement: you have to pretty much jam anything into it, which takes a lot of effort. Kicking a glob of it at a horn would just leave the glob hanging off the tip of the horn (or hoof), and an impact with enough effort to coat the horn is probably going to have enough of the substance reach the skull at speed to knock the pony out. So it could be used as a field restraint, especially for a surprise attack -- but it's so difficult to make the shot work, you're probably just as well off going with the standard equipment.
6166729
If I had to guess, at least one of the downvotes is probably due to my saying that they didn't all love each other on first sight. But I was influenced early by a certain Admiral and his S1 words about the group: at the start, they're all friends with Twilight -- but not necessary with each other.
6166774
6167121
The lesson of the door was always one of those things which was going to take a while.
As for putting together any connection between this product and the brothers... let's just say that shortly after the device trundled off beyond any hope of locating it again, the sound of a world-class facehoofing echoed through the settled zone...
6166965
I have her as leaving it there for two reasons: AJ seems to be advising it, and she's still trying to work out why.
Twilight's magical capabilities will always vary a bit by the writer. In this case, timeline placement is part of it.
6167574
'twas. The harvester wasn't exactly their first scam.
6168242
posterpalace.com/images/ak/crackintheworldDM25hs.jpg
And sorry, but to date, the 'verse has been a no-shipping zone (which is probably part of why it's the most depressing thing ever written). Locally, AJ is also noted as only dating earth ponies -- and that her idea of a good date is to have them work alongside her for a full shift or twenty, testing compatibility through labor. Most of them don't even make it to lunch.
6169117
I'm not even sure what this means. Everypony gets so depressed, they commit suicide?
Hmmm...
Of course, that would lead to all three committing suicide.
6169709
Of course it's not a very happy place! It's the most depressing collection of work on the entire site! Geez, doesn't anyone pay attention any more?
6169793
Fortunately, once you got her attention actually focused on something (which could be a chore in and of itself), Twilight was an excellent listener. Or at least, the words went in.
Strange things could happen to them after that.
6170028
6170837
If I find that under an Arc Words entry on the trope page, I'm going to be a little shaken.
6171197
How about instead, operating in deference to the reviewer's expertise, I just cancel all ongoing stories immediately and permanently?
I am the worst writer on this site.
(Barring a flare-up of computer issues, A Mark Of Appeal updates around July 16th. Unless, y'know, my go-away-forever bribe is in before that.)
6172739
I wasn't the first to the pun: if you search, you'll actually find some artwork of Twilight doing repairs (which I didn't locate until after the story went up). But I did search FIMFic when the idea originally arose, and I was honestly surprised to be the first using it as a title.
For extra offensiveness, try reading it in a heavy Boston accent.
6173244
And I look forward to both overwhelmingly negative reviews with interest. *peeks* Oh, look: you finished the first one already!
(In general, TD likes my writing, but not anything I actually write.)
And in for-now conclusion...
6174429
Have you looked down lately?
6177625 This probably made the episode with the tonic interesting. Then again, knowing those two creeps, they have an interesting take on consumer satisfaction. Since they're satisfied with something, their victims have no kick coming.
6177625
6177488 Your interpretation was correct. I rarely finish reading stories if they don't show they deserve it--there's too many other things to read to give undue attention to incompetent writing.
I don't feel that invalidates my advice, though. Just because I didn't experience the entirety of the plot (or perhaps "plot") doesn't mean the rest of my advice doesn't have merit. It is an author's responsibility to invest and hook the audience in their story. That is why my critique mostly focused on the way things were written rather than just the pacing/plot.
Since you spent ~400 words explaining why you are terrible writer and justifying your inability to improve, rather than responding to my criticisms, it seems to be a moot point. The self-deprecation act is all well and good; I use it myself, sometimes. But I would rather see a response to my critique or an explicit dismissal. Passive-aggressive deflection is hardly productive.
Thanks for illustrating your feelings about criticism; I'll be sure not to comment on any more of your stories in the future.
Great job. A Slice-of-life piece set after the first episode(s) but before any others, with all our material now to call forward to, is a great idea and needs to be used more. I can only hope it catches on and that everyone does it as well you did.
6177851
Well, since you couldn't establish your counter by that point in the response, there's clearly no reason to read any further. Discussion closed.
6177625
Heh, I know there's a lot there. Then again, I went through stuff like Life and Times of a Winning Pony in two days without pushing it. The joys of having a mutant speed-reading brain, 1400wpm is my -normal- reading rate. :)
(And yes, that overlooks the usual "OMG THIS STORY IS BAD AND YOU SHOULD FEEL BAD" bits, which are universal to FimFiction. I've had a story literally downvoted five seconds after I hit the Submit key because we have folks that piss on writers simply for the lulz.)
6177625 Noooo, don't do that to poor Ratchette
Can we offer Caramel instead?