• Published 10th Oct 2017
  • 1,392 Views, 35 Comments

The Secret Diary Of Diamond Tiara - deadpansnarker



We haven't really seen much of Diamond Tiara recently, have we? Let's get a sneak peek of her diary to see what she's been up to, I won't tell her if you don't. Written to commemorate two years since Crusaders Of The Last Mark aired.

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Entry two

Yes, it's me again. Glad to make your papery acquaintance once more, Oh Future Book Of Secrets.

Sorry that I haven't really given your pages much of a rest since the last entry, but I really felt like I needed to talk. Or write, as the case may be. And seeing as you're an inanimate object totally under my control with no independent thoughts of your own, I figured you wouldn't have too many objections. Ssooooo, here goes.

What a surprise... Mother has been on the warpath for the umpteenth time. She's discovered microscopic specks of dirt and minuscule traces of dust all over my room: shock horror. Considering we have loyal servants to thoroughly vacuum and polish my bedroom three times a day regardless of whether the job was necessary or not, I don't really know what the big deal is...

...Oh wait, yes I do. This is yet another sly little dig at my new friends in class coming over to visit. Now that they no longer have to stare through my closed front gate with envy as I luxuriate in my pool, Mother doesn't waste a single second telling me how disappointed she is in my perceived lowering of standards.

If I were still the mean little filly everypony crosses the street to avoid, I might suggest the same criteria might apply for when Daddy married her... but, no: those days are behind me. Mostly.

Silv might've been able to help me out here, but sadly we had a little bit of a run-in yesterday during one of her increasingly rare trips home. I was waiting at the train station, jumping around like I had ants in my pants (not that I'd ever wear such a confining garment, free'n'easy is my motto) and I soon as I spotted that trademark white ponytail and those geeky specs, I ran over to give her a Pinkie-esque crushing hug.

Big mistake. Huge, gigantic, colossal mistake. In the many letters we exchanged during her time away, Me and Silv discussed many topics both big and small. What's hot and what's not in fashion, who's dating who celebrity-wise, whether Changelings looked better before or after we made peace with them... (see, we can be topical too).

One subject that never really came up though was what's next on the agenda for my bestie in her cookery course. Perhaps we just never got round to discussing it, or maybe she's observant enough to realise I couldn't give half a bit for the whole monotonous process.

The last time I tried baking something, let's just say a lot of ponies in radiation suits evacuated the area, put up a DO NOT ENTER cordon manned by armed guards and... well, we'll discuss the rest later. Maybe.

Regardless, my lack of foreknowledge as to Silv's latest culinary masterpiece was about to have dire consequences. I knew something was wrong when she rebuffed my warm embrace almost immediately, looked down in earnest at a bowl she carried, screamed like a banshee (yes, we have those here), before galloping off into the distance at a record speed.

I ask you, dear journal, how was I supposed to know it was soufflé week at her class? That she'd spent the entire journey getting here in complete silence, as the slightest of murmurs could lead to a disastrous collapse of egg-pic proportions? That even when the conductor came to check her ticket, she'd clutched it in her mouth so she wouldn't have to say a word?

I'd thought it was a bit odd that she was sitting all alone in a single carriage as the train came to a grinding halt. As long as I've known Silv, she's always tried to assimilate herself into nearby social groups. Even now we've both changed for the better, she still looks to me to make the majority of the decisions when we're hanging out together. Whether this is related to my leadership Cutie Mark or not who knows, but I must teach her to stand on her own four feet more...

Oh dear, it would appear as though I'm getting a little sidetracked. It's probably because I don't really want to dwell on my best friend's anguished face, the tears she shed while beating her hasty retreat, the horrible looks everypony gave me as I quietly crept away grinning sheepishly.

You see, believe it or not, a few small embers of my past behaviour still flicker on in the memories of the locals. Honestly, you make up a few false rumours to sell newspapers, insult the oldest member of the Apple family to her face and cause a fruity explosion in Princess Twilight's old treehouse and some ponies never forgive you. Isn't building an adventure playground enough to make up for all my past misdemeanours? For anypony over ten, I guess not.

Regardless, I can't be held responsible for this latest unfortunate turn of events. There is such a thing as an 'accident', you know. Random strangers weren't the ones I needed to placate, anyway... Silv was the only equine who I truly needed to beg forgiveness from.

As for everypony else who still held a long-standing grudge against yours truly, well that's their problem. This might be a friendship-based society we live in, but as Daddy always taught me: It's practically impossible to get everypony to like you, especially in business.

Mother said something similar once, but her solution to the problem of losing popularity revolved more around the outlay of expensive gifts, using money that wasn't even hers. Maybe it's best if I skipped that particular nugget of advice.

I rushed down to Silv's mansion as quickly as my stubby little pink hooves could carry me (it was only two-thirds as big as mine, not that I'm one to brag) and tried to get in to see her. Alas, I was unceremoniously notified by speakerphone to "get lost", and I couldn't even drop off a note because she'd sealed the letterbox tightly shut with duct tape.

I mean, who even does that? Well, apart from my parents because of a recent over-surplus of junk mail and begging letters, but it's not a common practice... I think.

Tomorrow, I'm supposed to report to Miss Cheerilee regarding my progress so far in writing this darn thing. What exactly am I supposed to tell her: that in the space of one week I've lost my bestie, shouted at Mother and landed my butler Randolph in the hospital?

...Oops, didn't I mention that already? The poor old thing tripped over me while trying to recapture his glory days on the acrobatics circuit. It was in the middle of a somersault as I was on my way to breakfast, he fell off the bannister and... you can probably guess the rest.

I'm going to visit him tomorrow in the traction unit, though I fully intend to keep away from the rest of the patients there. The kind of bad luck that's following me around at the moment, some of them might be staying a bit longer than they think.

I'm going to end things here, as I have friends coming over again soon and I really need to start getting ready. A full personal facial and hooficure treatment should do the trick... hey, just because I'm reformed, it doesn't mean I don't want to look my best! I'd offer my guests the same procedure, but they say it's too 'prissy'. Huh, their loss.

I do hope Silv can make it. I've sent the Crusaders by with an invitation, seeing as though she won't even acknowledge me right now. crosses hooves

Yours sincerely

The filly who's name is on the front cover

DDT for short.

.............................................

P.S I hope you like your new padlock, Mr Diary! There's only two keys for it: one I carry around with me everywhere, and the spare which is in a very well hidden location that nopony will ever guess. So there!

P.P.S Of course, if you're reading this now and you're not me, that means you've found it already. Well done you! Now, place the key back where it was and put my private journal down this instant! I have lawyers, you know. Don't even think of going to the press.

P.P.P.S Obviously, if it's not that key you used to unlock this book but the other one, that opens up all kinds of other possibilities about how you could've gotten it that I'd rather not speculate on...

AARGH! I think too much. Goodbye.

Author's Note:

Seeing as part one proved to be reasonably popular, Diamond has generously decided that her diary is to be continued.

The fun starts here. Well, actually it did in the last entry, but you know what I mean.

Comments ( 11 )

Do I forsee Diamond's diary getting unintentionally opened up by a certain nosy filly? :trixieshiftright:

You know, this chapter made me realize that Randolph, the former acrobat/butler, is actually a bit like Downton Abbey's Mr. Carson, the former dancer/butler. I wonder if that is a coincidence or deliberate.

I eagerly await the next chapter.

9083786
Yeah it'll definitely arrive, at some point when I've updated around 10 other stories. "The best things come to those who wait" Yadda yadda yadda...

9083845
Part of the problem with starting too many chapter fics without finishing a few first, you end up completely snowed under and inundated with requests about which one to finish next. If I had a penny for every time someone asked me 'when the next update' is coming... my poor piggy bank would've burst by now. :fluttershysad:

9083896
Ouch.
So how do you prioritize which one to update first?

9083898
I draw from a hat, I stick a pin in a map, I flip a coin (repeatedly)... :moustache:

Nah man, to be perfectly honest, I usually just go with whichever one is the most popular and start from there. After all, if most people are following a story, why shouldn't it be prioritised over one with has hundreds less followers? It just seems fairer, and makes a look more sense to do it this way. :pinkiesmile:

The exception is A Mother's 'Love' (my most popular fic) which is going to take a LOT of rereading for me to get up to speed with so I know what the hell I'm writing about. But I WILL do that... someday. Maybe sooner than you think... :raritywink:

9083905
Understandable.

Heck, I follow so many fics, that when one that hasn't been updated in months updates, I get half tempted to read the entire thing again just to refresh... and then I remember how long the fic up to that point is, and I decide to just go off of memory

Her soufflé was likely overly dry if it died from sound alone. Tackle hug would probably kill anything other than hardtack.

Aww, poor Diamond. Still funny though.

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