Chapter 11
The ringing of the anvils was nothing compared to the ringing inside of Twilight Sparkle’s head. It was already too hot and much to Twilight’s dismay, there was some humidity in the air, making it far, far worse. The black sunglasses she wore did nothing to shield her eyes and the sound muffling spell she had cast did nothing to shield her ears, for some peculiar reason.
She wasn’t sure if watching the Shatterstone competition would be much better. More than anything, she wanted to find some place that was nice, cool, and quiet. This wasn’t the first time she had been hungover, but it might be her worst hangover ever.
As the earth ponies pounded away on their anvils with their exuberant earth pony enthusiasm, Twilight thought of the times that she had drank enough to be hung over. Most of those times had been with Seville. They were quiet drinkers together, and Twilight found that she shared Seville’s love of orange juice and rum. They weren’t party ponies—quite the opposite in fact—but they knew how to have a nice, quiet time together.
Twilight suffered a mortifying thought. What if Seville really did carry a torch for her? She had strung him along now for five years or more. The thought threatened to make her head split, and she felt awful. Seville was a lot like Fluttershy in that he hardly ever spoke up for himself. Yes, that was quite an apt description, Seville was Gosling’s Fluttershy. Hotspur had to be Rainbow Dash… but what about Hush?
Hush was the biggiest, scariest, most violentiest pony that Twilight Sparkle knew and she didn’t have an analogue for him among her own friends. Even though she trusted Hush, with her own life if necessary, there was something about the big, mostly silent brute that terrified her. She was fond of Hush though, and she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he struck an anvil.
Probably something amazing.
It was difficult to pretend that the crowd didn’t exist, a task made all the more difficult by the fact that Pebble felt, fat, horrid, and disgusting. She was wearing a sleeveless smock so she could perform, and she was absolutely certain that the ponies in the crowd had to be looking at her fat, porky front legs. Over and over again, Pebble Pie thought about just walking off of the stage and quitting, because she didn’t want the audience looking at her flabby, gross body.
Rainbow Dash was right where she said she would be and this was the only thing that kept Pebble from bolting.
She had one shot to be perfect. Exactly one shot. So much depended upon the simple act of a hoof striking a stone. One had to be perfectly in tune with the latent energies of the earth for anything to happen. This was all about perfection. Even a slight distraction in your connection to the humming of the earth would result in your stone block turning into dust or rubble, and not a work of art. The slightest moment of mental weakness meant failure, spectacular failure.
Pebble had suffered many spectacular failures.
She had turned blocks into dust, piles of rubble, and once, a puddle of lava. A little too much energy had been put into that one, it was supposed to have been the general likeness of a stone dove. She was still hearing about that failure from her grandmother, who had been righteously indignant about there being a puddle of bubbling lava on her kitchen floor.
Some ponies had a tendency to overreact.
Sweaty, clammy, and far too nauseous, Twilight Sparkle had excused herself from the anvil ringing competition with an apology. She now lay in bed, sprawled out over the top of the blankets, spread-eagled and trying to get cool. She moaned and made a promise to herself that she was never going to drink again.
The same promise she had made the last time she had felt this way.
It was awful, it felt as though she had the flu, and Twilight Sparkle really hated having the flu. She clutched at her head, squirmed in the bed, and could feel the tug of friction on her pelt from the blankets beneath her. She moaned again, rolled over, and tried to get comfortable, but the stupid wings that she had made that difficult.
The door opened and shut, but Twilight didn’t notice as she was too busy thrashing around on the bed. A short, squat figure waddled to the bed, looking concerned, worried, and a bit apprehensive as he flexed his clawed fingers. Saying nothing, he backed away from the bed, and again, Twilight did not hear the door open and close as she lingered near a state of delirium.
Spike had felt that there was something wrong, some weird sensation that he couldn’t explain, and sure enough, there had been something wrong. Twilight was sick, hungover, and he had never seen it this bad. Carrying a basin of cool water along with a bundle of towels pressed against his back with his tail, he returned to the Princess Suite.
Twilight was frothy with sweat, which was a bad sign. Frowning, Spike pressed a wadded up towel into the basin full of water, soaking it, and then he pulled it out. He wrung out most of the excess water, flung out the towel, and laid it over Twilight’s exposed belly. There was a moan from Twilight, and she went still.
He prepared another towel, getting it damp, and this one was placed over Twilight’s exposed crotch, Which Spike did his best not to look at, as that was just weird and creepy. He repeated this process, laying wet towels over Twilight’s legs, her barrel, her neck, and then her face.
She was still now, she seemed to be sleeping, and Spike figured that was for the best. Even though he wanted to be watching the Shatterstone competition, his place was here, with Twilight. She needed him, and as she had said so many times, she would always need him. Spike climbed up into a chair that was beside the bed, sat down, and settled in to watch over Twilight. The towels would need to be moistened about every twenty minutes or so to keep her comfortable.
Spike would see it through, because he always saw it through during times like these.
There had been some magnificent results in the competition so far, and Pebble was a little bit worried about how well she would fare. Bird baths, chairs, furniture of all types, and the busts… the busts. Some of the most amazing busts had been produced. Lifelike, detailed busts. Pebble was envious of the busts that had been freed from the nondescript stone blocks.
“Pebble Pie,” the announcer called out.
A large block of stone was brought out, one of Pebble’s most favourite materials. Granite. It had a notorious reputation for being difficult to work with, it was a stubborn stone, full of spite, and Pebble was pleased by the gasps of shock as it was wheeled out. The stone block was eased off of its trolley and set down upon the smooth stone surface of the allowed workspace.
Pebble approached the block of granite with some reservation, and gave it a good looking over. This was burly granite, black-grey, with lots of glittering speckles. She walked in a circle around it, taking it all in, no longer thinking of her fat, gross, disgusting body. The filly sat down and looked up at the block of granite, which was taller than she was.
Music drifted in on the breeze from somewhere distant, the sounds of ponies enjoying themselves on the rides could be heard, but Pebble was deaf to these sounds. She rose, moving with a feline grace that belied her well-padded frame, and when she stood near the stone, she rose into a bipedal stance with a grace that she had inherited from her mother.
Reaching out, she placed a hoof upon the stone, feeling it, and caressing it with her frogs.
“I’m sorry, granite, but this is going to hurt you a lot more than it hurts me,” Pebble whispered, feeling sorry. She had once had a conversation with a stone that she had punched, and oh… the things that stone had said to her. It wasn’t quite as gifted as Sumac when he went off on one of his tears, but the stone had been around for a very long time, and knew words that Sumac had never dreamed existed.
Taking a deep breath, Pebble pulled back, and then she struck the stone with terrific force. There was a sound like a thunderclap even before her hoof struck the block of granite and flashes of light were visible, dancing along her leg before the impact. The air filled with dust as a shockwave pregnant with heat radiated outwards, impacting the crowd and everything around them.
The dust began to settle and a chair could be seen. Not just any chair, but a magnificent chair. It had a tall back, two arms with arched supports, and four legs that had a graceful curve that followed the golden ratio. It was perfect, smooth, flawless, it appeared as though it had been polished.
It wasn’t quite as beautiful as some of the busts, but it was a technical piece. This was a chair fit for royalty, and Pebble knew it. The chair had its own austere beauty, graceful, swooping curves, clean angles, and straight lines. Everything appeared to be perfect and symmetrical. It was a good chair, and Pebble knew it.
She had trouble containing her excitement and she flashed her jitter-inducing smile.
“Next up, our returning champion, Prickly Pear!”
Upright on her hind legs, standing on her tippy-claws, Boomer was just able to grab the door handle and give it a tug. It was tough, being little, and frustrations abounded. She wasn’t much larger than a yearling filly, much to her dismay, and there was nothing scary or intimidating about yearling fillies.
It seemed that everypony was bigger than she was, even Sumac, and he was a stringbean, as Pebble called him. She pushed open the door and peered into the room, looking for her favourite dragon. She had slipped away, unnoticed, super-duper sneaky, she was the ninja of dragons, and even Rainbow Dash had said so.
“Spike—”
“Shh!” Spike put a clawed finger to his mouth and shushed her while pointing at the towel covered lump on the bed.
“Sorry,” Boomer whispered. “Spike, I missed you, Spike. You left me.”
“Twilight is sick,” Spike said in a low voice to Boomer, explaining his disappearance and absence.
Scurrying over the floor, Boomer was far more comfortable on four legs than Spike was, and faster too. Being faster was important, as Boomer had to be better than Spike at something. Moving with a fluid grace, Boomer mounted the bed and had herself a good look at Twilight, who was covered in wet towels. Reaching out her tiny clawed hand, she smoothed out a few tangles in Twilight’s tail, knowing how important it was to always look pretty.
She had taken lessons from Prince Gosling, lessons she had taken with dragon-levels of seriousness. She had to be serious and she had to be a go-getter, because Spike was better than her at just about everything, and that sucked. It sucked a lot. It was a never-ending torrent of frustration to be second best at dragoning.
For Boomer, things that sucked, well, they sucked. They sucked like a milk-slurping mammal. Not that mammals were bad, no. Some of Boomer’s best friends were mammals, and she adored them, even if they were soft, squishy, and couldn’t sleep in the fireplace with her. It had to suck, being a mammal.
Thunderstorms sucked big time. They were at the top of Boomer’s List of Top Ten Things That Suck. Everything in life fell into two categories for Boomer Apple—things that were awesome, and things that sucked. Rainbow Dash had taught her the difference, and Rainbow Dash was awesome.
Twilight Sparkle being sick sucked.
It sucked like a egg sucking dragon that stole eggs from Fluttershy’s henhouse, not that Boomer would ever do something like that. Never-ever. Nope. Stealing eggs was wrong, and doing wrong sucked. That said, stolen-eggs tasted awesome, they were the best eggs, not that Boomer would know anything about that.
Nope.
“Read me a story, Spike?” Boomer begged.
“Twilight is sick,” Spike replied in a soft, subdued whisper.
“Whisper me a story, Spike.” Letting her frills and spines droop, Boomer did her best to look pathetic and she tried to make her lower lip quiver, but that was difficult because her lower lip was hard, and meant for nipping. “Spike, pleeeeeeeeease whisper me a story, I’m bored.”
“Boomer, Twilight is sick.”
“Spike, for the love of Princess Flurry Heart, read Boomer a story and shut her up!” Twilight snapped.
Sighing in defeat, Spike acquiesced with a wave of his claws. “Fine, I’ll tell you a story—”
“Goody!” Boomer’s shrill exclamation made Twilight’s whole body twitch.
“Once upon a time, there was an annoying little dragoness, and all she ever did was pester her big brother—”
“Ooh, I like this story already,” Boomer said, interrupting and not caring. “Annoying big brothers is awesome. Boogity, boogity, it’s story time!”
Blinking, Spike’s face took on a very Twilight Sparkle-esque expression as Twilight herself let out a weak-sounding giggle from beneath her towel. Disgusted, Spike threw his claws up into the air and prepared to fetch a book so he could tell a real story to Boomer.
Because Spike was awesome, and did not suck.
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Should Prickly Pear win...
Applejack: You know, we Apples don't take to kinds to one who upsets our kin, especially when the one doing so is a Pear.
Prickly Pear: But her name is Pie
Applejack: True, but she is datin' an Apple and they've been at it for the last six years. The only thing keepin it from bein all official is a weddin'. And just one more thing.
Prickly Pear: *Nervous Now* W-what?
Applejack: There are currently more Apples in this here town than there are Trees in an Orchard... Sleep with one eye open, if you can even survive that long.
That last bit with Boomer made me laugh way too much. I can see why she's so much fun to write! XD
And thus Equestria did fall.
No, really, you're trying to kill us with cute, aren't you?
Spike gets to experience the joys of being an older brother, kinda. And Boomer has apparently inherited his self-esteem issues. Somehow. Maybe it's a dragon thing and they're all so angry and mean all the time to compensate.
Still, Boomer, don't get ahead of yourself. Spike is best dragon, and you have some ways to go before you're up to his level.
7946270
It isn't self esteem issues... Rainbow Dash taught Boomer how to compete.
7946229 WAY tooo LATE for that.
Poor Boomer she has to realize Spike has had years to get better. She's only a few years old while Spike is over a decade older.
Is another Perilous Romance on the horizon?
Twilight needs some lovin.
You know putting it like that, people might try to ship them... and you know, the age difference between them is only a bit bigger than the one between Tarnished and Maud... it could work.
"And, Lo! Discord retreated from the land in haste, driven before the Unstoppable Force, the Unending Chaos, the Disaster Eternal, Curiosity Insatiable. Discord wasn't stupid. He wanted nothing to do with that bunch of ponyfeathers who made the CMC look angelic. Even Discord had a survival instinct."
7946283
Oh! Is that better or worse...?
...
Definitely better. We've already established that this Rainbow Dash has her head on straight. Still I wonder if, when Boomer gets older and more competent, she'll end up triggering a competitive streak in Spike? I'm so glad he has another dragon to hang around. The delightful possibilities for those two are endless.
I am totally on board with the idea of seeing more Boomer.
Boomer and Megara? Now that sounds like a grand old time. Boomer's already fun.
I feel like I understand Pebble better now, I am familiar with that core of calm that comes with important moments amidst a sea of worry. I'm glad her strike proved true.
Christopher Walken needs to barge into the room with Will Ferrell behind him, screaming about how this story needs more cowbell because someone has a fever. There is only one cure for a fever!
I for one would like to see what happens if Hush punched an anvil.
Spike, #1 assistant of all time.
The fanciest of stools!
Boomer, #2 dragon, but that's pretty good anyway.
Impeccable logic.
7946635
Not just any stool, a Royal Stool. One that many a Princess would be proud to call their own stool.
Well at least they had volcanic rock barbecue for a couple days, and it went through the floor and filled up that squeaky depression under the floorboards, just need new floorboards!
Prickly Pear makes a good jam, as well as jelly and marmalade variants. Noxious weed in this country but stands of it persist here and there, local Mediterranean community are seen regularly collecting pear fruits for cooking before the weed control board dig em' out.
7946751 Who's a funny bugger.
s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/1a/a4/50/1aa4506483d67ff5aeb236b4d1752241.jpg
Wouldn't that be neat going into a grocers and buying that variety of apple?
Aaaand my tea is all over my desk now.
Interesting detail detected, what with the term brother thrown around.
As long as it doesn't make her headache worse, or drive her into a nightmare fugue, listening to a story is probably nice for an ill Twilight.
Which story is Megara introduced again? I’m having a hard time remembering her. Is she the manticore pony hybrid that tarnish sired?