• Published 10th May 2019
  • 192 Views, 48 Comments

Homecoming - Antiquarian

The Great War sent thousands into battle. Rarity stayed, and she can't help but feel guilty. Now Applejack has a favor to ask: help a stallion from her unit re-adjust to civilian life. Rarity intends to do just that, and maybe square the debt.

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I decide it’ll be a few days before Shoddy is ready to face actual customer service. During that time, I receive a crash course in Retired Marine 101: An Introduction to Iron Shod.

To start with, Shoddy appears to have a nigh pathological fear of putting anypony out. Several little moments throughout that first day hinted at the depth of his fear, but what really drove it home was when Applejack returned at around six to take him back to the Apple homestead and put him up in the guest room… and he flatly refused.

“Oh no, Gunny! I ain’t gonna take no charity from ya. Besides, a bed’s too good for the likes of me.”

And what was his plan in lieu of a bed? Well, as it happens, he was fully prepared to sleep in the back room of the Quill and Sofa on the hardwood floor or else set up camp in the woods near town. He assumed this.

Which leads into the second lesson: Shoddy is perhaps even more stubborn than Applejack. Hard to believe, I know. Their disparate ideas on his housing situation led to a rather frank exchange of opinions (by which I mean they balled each other out). When I became fearful that the situation would devolve into blows being exchanged, I announced rather spur-of-the-moment that I would be putting him up at my residence.

That at least stopped them arguing with each other so they could argue with me instead. I won that fight by pointing out that employees of small shop owners often live under the same roof as their employers, and that I had leased the basement of my house out as a single-resident flat throughout much of the war. (I made some modifications to the interior: doors between the upstairs, main floor, and basement; adding a bathroom and shower to the basement flat; putting in a back stairwell to give said flat access to the kitchen and rear exit, thus allowing the resident to come and go without passing through the shop floor. I now own a miniature apartment complex which just happens to include my residence and boutique).

As soon as Applejack realized what I was doing, she threw her weight behind me and we sold him on the idea as a matter of ‘business propriety.’ He works for me, so I house him. I even managed to convince him that I was taking his room and board out of his salary, which is technically true. I just left out the fact that I’d mentally increased his salary to the point that subtracting his room and board would bring him back down to what I’d been planning on paying him in the first place. Deceptive? Perhaps, but in a rather benign way, and it satisfied his sense of honor.

This, in turn, sparked the third lesson, which is that Shoddy is always up well before I am. Not exactly a surprise, given his martial background, but it was a surprise on the first morning to come downstairs to the common area and find somepony other than Sweetie Belle cooking. Apparently, Shoddy is the sort to thank people with actions, and he took it upon himself to prepare breakfast for Sweetie and I. It was a wonderful gesture, marred somewhat by the fact that Shoddy is a terrible cook. To spare Sweetie and I the results of his rather stubborn generosity in the future, I once again played the landlady card and convinced him that it is my responsibility to cook (again, technically true according to the terms I arbitrarily set) and thus is included in his ‘rent.’ I even apologized for not making that clear the night before and letting him do all the work. Then I put on a brave face and did my best to choke down the breakfast without hurling.

The lessons continued to come fast and thick after that. From a practical standpoint the results are… mixed.

On one hoof, Shoddy is polite, eager to please, and deferential to a fault. For all his uncouth mannerisms, he is extremely friendly and truly seems to desire to benefit other ponies. Many of his questions have been to the effect of ‘would the customer like it if we did X’ or ‘maybe I could help out by doing Y’ or ‘I could take care of Z for you if you wanted to leave early.’ In another stallion, such behavior might be mistaken for ingratiating, but I don’t think Shoddy is capable of the subtlety that would require. He’s possessed of a sort of face-value frankness which almost guarantees that, whether you like what he’s saying or not, he’s being genuine. Thus, I find his suggestions, even the impractical ones, to be an encouraging sign.

He also gets on famously with Sweetie Belle, which bodes rather well. My sister is possessed of sound judgment when it comes to the character of ponies. If she thinks he’s a good pony beneath the rough exterior, then I see no reason to disbelieve her.

Shoddy’s desire to be a good worker is apparent to anypony who interacts with him for more than two minutes. He’s desperate to make himself useful and listens intently to instructions. His demeanor makes it plain that he wants to get the job right, and he is very careful and deliberate about his actions… when he’s not distracted.

Which brings us to the dreaded ‘on the other hoof’ portion of this description, because ‘when he’s not distracted’ is a rather significant caveat. Shoddy’s attention issues, so apparent from the start, persist throughout the week. It doesn’t take much to get him going on some anecdote or another. Now, in fairness, the anecdotes are not all gritty war stories or crass observations as I had originally feared. But there are still a lot of them, and even his most innocent ones get him off topic and waste both his time and mine. Now, I’ve certainly been guilty of being ‘that one pony’ who will talk your leg off if I get going, but I take care to not allow my verbosity to impact work, whether mine or another’s. Shoddy, however, is distracting – to me, to Sweetie Belle when she’s around, and, above all, to himself. This problem is exacerbated by his forgetfulness; he may pay close attention when hearing instructions, but he has a tendency to forget basic things when performing his tasks. Thus, even when he is being productive, he’s still underperforming.

In his defense, these shortcomings do not appear to be the result of any deliberate laxity on his part. Quite the opposite, in fact. Whenever I point out that he’s let something slip or gotten off topic, he is… rather hard on himself. Too hard. His self-deprecating humor is the sort displayed by many children who are victims of bullying. He calls himself ‘stupid’ before anypony else can, more viciously than anypony else can, because he seems to expect to be called stupid; or perhaps he truly believes that he is. Either way, it’s worrying on both a professional and a personal level (the latter far more than the former). I’ll have to ask Applejack if she knows where this detrimental behavior came from.

Speaking of Applejack, she’s been noticeably difficult to pin down the last few days. I had rather anticipated her haunting my every step, fearful that I might ‘put my hoof in it’, so to speak, and I looked forward to her interference with resignation, annoyance, and (if I’m being truly honest) gratitude. I confess I’d come to count on her input, even as I dreaded it. With her failing to put in more than the occasional experience, I’m not sure if I’m more relieved or disappointed.

Actually, given the still-mysterious nature of her doctor’s visit, ‘worried’ might be the appropriate emotion. That mare is definitely hiding something – evasive when asked directly, careful to avoid any topic remotely relating to heath, and generally too ‘busy’ to be around for any period of time. And it’s not just me she’s giving the runaround either, it’s—

“Yeah, Rarity, I get it,” sighs Rainbow, her wings fidgeting as I use her like a mannequin to mark patterns. With a number of amputees asking for dresses, it’s helpful to have one around I can call on to model for me; makes it easier to get the cut of the fabric right. “AJ’s being cagey and you want the scoop. You’ve been going on about this for three days.

I huff. “Well, I’ll stop going on about it just as soon as I get some answers!”

Rainbow chuckles. “Same old Rarity.”

“Wh-whatever do you mean by that darling?” I sputter.

“Seriously?” she asks, cocking an eyebrow. “Come on, Rarity, you’ve always been kinda nosey about this sort of thing.”

Frowning, I tug my measuring tape just a little too tight around her middle, eliciting a grunt of discomfort from my model. “And you’ve always lacked any sort of tact. Is it a crime to be curious about your friends’ lives? To care for their wellbeing?”

She rolls her eyes. “Calm down, Rarity. You know that’s not what I meant. It’s just… you know… you can be kinda gossipy.”

“Yes, well,” I sigh, “while I recognize that I struggle with that particular vice, you needn’t rub it in my face.”

“Hey,” she shoots me a lopsided grin, “you know we still love you. Gossip or not.” I blush a little at the genuine sentiment, but it’s quickly replaced by irritation when she keeps speaking. “All I’m saying is that that you overreact to this kind of thing so often that I’m kinda numb to it.”

“I am not overreacting,” I practically snarl through clenched teeth. “Frankly, I’m a little horrified that you don’t seem to care that Applejack is keeping secrets about her health.”

Rainbow shrugs. “Mare likes her privacy. You know how she is. But,” her voice turns sober and she looks me in the eye, “one thing you gotta keep in mind is it could be something from the war. If she got banged up over there some way that isn’t showing up ’til now, it could be she doesn’t want anypony to worry.”

Which will only make us worry more. Honestly, if Applejack wants to spare our feelings, she should start by not sparing them!

Still, the idea that it’s a souvenir from the war striking her now…

“It would be typical of her to keep quiet about that,” I admit as I lay out additional layers of pattern and pin them into place. “Though I’m surprised she wouldn’t say anything to you. After all, you two share all sorts of athletic hobbies; an injury would affect those.”

That gets a hearty laugh from Rainbow. “Are you kidding? Those hobbies make us rivals! Sure, AJ might open up to me about a lot of things she doesn’t tell the rest of you, but I’m the last pony she’d talk to about something that messed up her body! She can’t stand to show weakness to anypony, least of all me!

“I suppose that makes sense,” I say with a sigh. Though it does make me curious what secrets she keeps with Dash and not the rest of us. Trying not to dwell on it, I continue, “I just wish I knew… something, anything about it!”

My marker pen runs dry and I look over to my desk to summon a fresh one with my magic. When I turn back, Rainbow is staring at me with a thoughtful expression on her face. “You’re really worried about her, aren’t you?”

“Whatever gave you that impression?” I ask dryly.

Rather than retorting with some smart remark, she holds my gaze. “Rarity,” she says with uncharacteristic gentleness, “not everything that takes a friend to the hospital is gonna be some near-death thing.”

The abrupt statement makes me go week-kneed. “I-I- I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Raising an eyebrow, she keeps staring. “Rarity, I read your letters for the whole war, remember? All the ones talking about how often Twi was in the hospital that first year? How you stayed with her? How scared you were each time something went wrong that maybe this time she’d finally…”

She trails off, and I’m grateful, because I’ve started trembling and, dear Celestia am I sweating? I don’t know where this emotion is coming from! It’s been years, and I’ve come to grips with it! Twilight is healthy now, or at least healthy enough! Surely after all this time—

“Hey,” she interrupts my train of thought by stretching out a wing and brushing a tear from my eye, all without disturbing the patterns on her barrel. So very considerate of her.

Good heavens, I didn’t even realize I was crying…

“Rarity, look at me,” she orders. I meet her gaze obediently. Her crimson eyes say just as much as her words. “Applejack is fine. Twilight is fine. We’re all fine. You’re a good friend for caring, but you can relax. Okay?”

With a shuddering sigh I swallow my worry, letting her words wash over me like a cleansing rain. “Okay,” I reply, allowing a shaky smile to come to my lips. “You’re right. Applejack is fine. I’m just getting worried for nothing.”

“Yup,” she smiles. “We’ll probably have a good laugh when we hear how piddling it ends up being.”

I snort as I get back to work. “I don’t know that I’d go quite that far. If it’s so piddling, why is her family guarding the secret like they’re under oath not to reveal classified information.”

“Why don’t you just see if Twi get it out of Big Mac or something? That sort of gumshoe-spy-mystery thing is right up your alley.”

“Yes, well,” I jot down some notes about the hemline on the side where her back leg used to be, “I actually did try that. I suggested Twilight use her ‘feminine wiles’ to tease it out of him.”

“Oh yeah? How’d that go?”

My chuckle is equal parts amused and pained. “Terrible,” I reply. “Watching that mare attempt to flirt the story out of her coltfriend over dinner was like watching a somepony make a dress using a sword for a sewing needle. It resulted in nothing but a good laugh for Big Mac and a migraine for me.” I glance up. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

Rainbow struggles to hold still while she’s laughing so hard. “D-don’t worry! Your s-secret’s sa-ha-hafe with me-he!”

“The other Apples are just as tight-lipped,” I continue in answer to the question she didn’t ask. “Grannie Smith is playing up her senility to avoid answering the question, which might be a convincing smoke screen if I didn’t know darn well she’s sharper than most ponies a quarter her age!” You don’t fool me, Grannie Smith. I’ve heard you debate Nkea about obscure Equestrian MPs over Appaloosan Hold’em and win both the argument and the game!

“Maybe you should just ask Arinze. You know, her husband.”

“Get it straight from the zebra’s mouth, as it were?” I reply. “Thought of that. No luck. Arinze just gets a funny look on his face and something cryptic like ‘Springtime is beautiful, yes?’ or ‘Applejack’s mane gives her a sort of glow, does it not?’ as though that’s supposed to answer my question!” Rainbow snickers. “Meanwhile, Nkea acts even more aloof than usual, and I’m convinced he’s exaggerating his accent to avoid conversation.”

Rainbow rolls her eyes. “That actually might be more insulting than Grannie playing senile. He speaks plenty good Ponish.”

“Indeed. Better than many teenagers.” And you, some days, I don’t add.

“Well, what about Applebloom? Maybe you can have Sweetie ask her.”

I scoff. “I’m a little offended you think I didn’t try that immediately. Again, no luck. She won’t tell Sweetie Belle or Scootaloo a thing!

Rainbow’s eyebrows shoot up at that. “Okay, I admit, that’s a little weird.”

“Indeed,” I sigh as I finish my markings and begin removing the pattern. “But do you know what the strangest thing is?”

“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy. Neither of them seem to know what’s going on, but I think they both suspect something specific. When I asked Pinkie about it, she muttered some gibberish about Pinkie Sense, timing, surprise parties, and not ruining things, then scurried off to go buy pickles and honey.”

Rainbow smirks. “So, typical Pinkie Pie stuff?”

“That’s what I would have assumed, except that when I went to ask Fluttershy about it, she just narrowed her eyes in thought, like she’d figured out the puzzle.”

“Did she say anything?”

My lips make a sour smile. “‘We’ll just have to wait and see,’” I quote.

“Yeah, that figures,” chuckles Dash. “Well, maybe she’s got a point; don’t wanna get worked up over something you can’t control.”

“I suppose,” I grumble as I remove the last of the pattern.

Now free to move around, Rainbow, unsurprisingly, flaps into a low hover. “Let’s talk about something you can control. How’re things with Shoddy?”

Checking to make sure the door is firmly shut, I update her on the situation. Perhaps, in lieu of Applejack, Rainbow will be able to provide a soldier’s perspective. She listens to my description of the last few days, along with a few examples, before giving her opinion.

“Sounds pretty normal to me.”

“‘Pretty normal?’” I repeat, raising one eyebrow “His inability to hold focus in a simple job hardly seems ‘normal.’”

Rainbow shakes her head. “Not that part. I mean the fixation on the war.”

I tilt my head. “I don’t suppose you’d care to elaborate.”

“Well, it’s like…” she trails off, looking around the room for inspiration, then flaps over to land by my record-book. “It’s like you running a business, right?” She taps the book. “You have different things you have to do each day, some of which hold priority over others. You’re pretty organized – I mean, not Twilight organized, but who is?” I can’t help but chuckle at that. “I’ll bet you wake up in the morning, check your to-do list, figure out what’s most important, and put things in order. You end up with a sort of ‘hierarchy of tasks,’ right?”

“Yes, I suppose,” I reply, more than a little surprised by her analysis. And her knowledge of the word ‘hierarchy.’

“That hierarchy determines what’s important, what’s critical, and what can be ignored,” she continues. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess you probably had a much heavier hierarchy of tasks during the war, yeah?”

Let’s see here, taking care of Twilight, coordinating her appointments with everypony from doctors to diplomats, running my own business, managing Sweet Apple Acres’ finances and hired workers with Grannie Smith, jointly managing the Quill and Sofa

“You could say that, darling.”

“And I bet it was quite an adjustment when you no longer had all those responsibilities, right? You felt like you were missing something? Like if you didn’t take care of it right away something would go seriously wrong and it’d be your fault?”

Ah. “I think I see what you’re driving at.”

“Good,” smiles Rainbow. “Saves me some time. Point is, combat is like that, but a million times worse. Coming back off that adrenalin high is a serious adjustment, and some ponies handle it better than others. You might not remember this, but I was pretty jumpy that first month or so back before things quieted down. Thunderlane was the same way.” She shrugs. “Shoddy’s just stuck doing threat assessment, that’s all.”

I nod, understanding. For the record, I actually do remember Rainbow being ‘jumpy’ as she puts it, but I think it was partially cabin fever from being hospitalized with an amputation so close to the end of the war. “Right,” I agree. “That makes sense. One slight problem though.” I tilt my head. “What do I do about it?”

“Search me,” she says with a crooked smile. “I’m an aviator, not a shrink.” I give her a sour look, and she adds, “But, based on what I’ve seen with other vets, I think doing what you’re doing is probably the way to go. Soldiers live on routine – if you establish a peacetime job as his new routine, a lot of the problems will probably fix themselves.”

It sounds like good advice, and I’ll certainly be taking it, but even as I nod in satisfaction that I’m apparently already doing what I should be doing, I can’t help but marvel at the mare standing before me. “You’ve certainly grown up, Rainbow Dash,” I tease. “When did you get to be so wise?”

My question was lighthearted, but Rainbow’s eyes turn to some distant place and her face falls. “Probably when I had to clean Fleetfoot’s blood off a rookie when she took a bullet for him.”

My blood runs cold. “I- I’m so sorry, Rainbow Dash, I didn’t mean to—”

She waves me off, blushing. “Nah, that wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have dropped that on you.” Chuckling humorlessly, she adds, “See? Shoddy’s not the only one who lets slip sometimes.”

“You’re confiding in a friend, Rainbow,” I retort. “That’s hardly the same thing as blurting that out to a random civilian.”

Rainbow opens her mouth as though to say something, then glances away. “Yeah. I guess.”

What was she going to… oh my… does she feel that she can’t tell me? Is she embarrassed or afraid to… or is it because… because I wouldn’t understand… because I’m just a civilian who can never understand what one of her oldest friends—

“What’s Shoddy up to, anyway?” she asks, unaware of the effect her words had on me.

I swallow my emotion and turn away so she doesn’t see the dampness in my eyes. “Last I saw, he was reading a comic book in the kitchen. Applejack told me he’s sort of a comic junkie, and Spike was kind enough to donate his duplicate copies to the cause. I’m hoping the two of them will bond over the shared interest.”

“Can’t hurt to have a few friends, right?” replies Rainbow. Then, chuckling, “Maybe Spike can teach him to cook.”

I can’t help but chortle at that. “Having tasted Shoddy’s attempt at cooking, I can’t say I’m optimistic. But then, Sweetie Belle managed to learn the art, so I suppose anything is possible.” My eyes now properly clear, I turn to face her once more. “I just wish he didn’t try so stubbornly to be helpful. True, his generosity is admirable, but when his ‘help’ isn’t helpful, I find myself preferring that he just—"

The doorbell jingles downstairs. There’s a thunder of hooves and a shout of “I’ll get it!” from Shoddy. I freeze, my eyes widening in horror. Downstairs, the door swings open, and I hear the muted sound of voices below.

Rainbow gives me a quizzical look. “Um, Rarity? He’s answering the door for you.”

I stare blankly at the wall. Internally, I scream.

Externally, I calmly reply, “Yes, I know, darling.”

More muted talking.

My internal screaming jumps up an octave.

“And… you’re okay with a stallion not known for tact talking to clients?”

The internal screaming becomes more of a ‘shriek.’

“No, not in the slightest.”

“Uh huh,” says Rainbow. “And you aren’t doing anything about it because…”

More talking, followed by the sound of hoofsteps ascending the stairs.

My internal shrieking reaches fever pitch.

“Well you see, darling, it seems my brain has fused into an inert blob of useless flesh from the horror of it all.”

“Ah,” she replies. “Fair enough.”

A cavalcade of fears charge through my psyche in the eon it takes for fifteen seconds to pass before there’s a knock at the door. “Miss Rarity?” asks Shoddy.

Rainbow glances at me. “Want me to get a thundercloud and jumpstart you?”

Finally shaking off my stupor, I trot to the door. “Thank you, darling. Perhaps later.” After I find out he’s scared off a wealthy client or some such catastrophe. I open the door and wince at the sight of the stallion. It’s not that he’s unkempt or anything (actually, he keeps himself quite clean and shaven). No, it’s the fact that the door to a couturier’s shop was answered by a stallion wearing a loose collection of green rags laughingly called a ‘jacket.’ I force a sweet smile and ask, “What is it, Iron Shod?”

I was hoping that maybe he’d pick up on the fact that using his full name signaled that I was displeased about something. Judging by the guileless look on his face, it went right over his head. “There’s a couple zebs at the door askin’ for ya,” he replies.

‘Zebs’? Seriously? Sighing, I shut my eyes. “Shoddy, you can’t just call zebras ‘zebs.’ It’s not polite.”

He seems genuinely mystified by this. “But we called ‘em that all the time during the war. An’ they called us feather-brains, cone-heads, grounders, pones—"

“Yes, well,” I cut him off, my grin tight, “what creatures call each other within a close circle of trusted intimates is different than what you call a complete stranger, particularly in a professional setting. You wouldn’t use the same familiar tone you take with Applejack to address a mare you don’t know, would you?” The blank look I get in response tells me everything I need to know. I cover my eyes with one hoof. “We’ll talk about it later. What do they want?”

You as a matter of fact. Well,” he amends, “all three of us, actually.”

All three of us? But why— “Why all three of us?” I say aloud, abandoning speculation for speed.

He rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “I forgot ta mention, but these boys are kitted out like King’s Own. As in the Zebra King’s Own.”

My eyes widen as the implication sinks in. There’s only one zebra of royal blood in Ponyville, which means—

Shoddy shrugs. “Seems they want us out at Sweet Apple Acres.”

Author's Note:

“It makes a lot of sense when you stop to think about it. First off, the buzzards hated us. I mean, sure, they hated all ponies, but they really hated pegasi. We ‘violated their sacred airspace’ or some crap. Worse yet, they also saw the other races as beneath contempt (no wings, you know), meaning we were the only ones ‘worth their time.’ So they hated us and thought we were the biggest threat. With that kind of double-think, it’s no wonder we caught it coming and going. As specialized fliers, Air Corps ponies were at the top of their Must Screw List, which meant we got targeted in a way that other units just weren’t. Percentage-wise, we had higher casualties than any other branch of the Service for half the war.

Second, attrition. Like pegasi, griffons have always split their soldiers between combat squadrons and infantry. Unlike us, though, their entire military is made up of fliers. So, when they took squadron casualties, they could backfill pretty easily with top fliers from their infantry, at least until we had them on the ropes. Us, though? When we took casualties, Squadron Command had to pull pegasi from the limited number of them in ground units or train fresh replacements from, again, a more limited civilian population. With the casualties we were taking, there just weren’t enough qualified fliers to go around. Most days we were fighting short-hooved with green replacements. What do you think that does to a pony’s chances of survival? I hated it, we all did, but, heaven help us, we had no better options.

Third, and this is the one most ponies don’t think about, is demographics. The Air Corps’ physical benchmarks are more based on speed and agility than brute strength, so it’s always attracted proportionally more mares than any other branch of the Service. Meaning a disproportionate number of soldier mares of childbearing age wound up in the branch with the highest casualty rates. I’ll let you do the math.

Bottom line, a full generation of young pegasi got put through the grinder, and there just weren’t enough of us who came out in one piece to make up the difference in numbers this decade.”

—Brigadier General Spitfire, Equestrian Air Corps, in an interview with Canterlot Chronicle regarding the deficit in pegasus births following the Great War

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Comments ( 10 )

Now really Rarity, I'm surprised at you. If this craggy old lizard can tell what's going on, you have no excuse.

When one has become accustomed to expecting catastrophe, one might miss the obvious.


Iron Shod's not the only one who's stuck...

Indeed. And that's a big part of the theme in this chapter. Now... it wasn't going to be that way originally, but that's the writing process for you. :applejackconfused:

That's how you know you're doing it right!

Oof. Shoddy's not the only one carrying trauma. Rarity could use a few sessions with a therapist herself. Ah, but everypony else has it so much worse, darling, and there's always so much to do...

Someone may need an intervention at some point. I just hope she exercises some self-care before then.

As for the demographic issues... yeah, in a population of distinct subspecies, the ripples of the war will be felt for generations to come.

Alternate title for this chapter: The Homefront Was Rough Too.

And... yeah. Populations. That idea only recently occurred to me, but the moment it did I couldn't let it go. Glad people are reading the author's note, because it's actually my favorite part of this chapter.

This chapter is just more gold. The dialogue between Rarity and Dash feels so fitting, so natural. They feel real. I got a bad feeling about AJ. The fact that this is so easy to relate to actual lives and experiences is a combination of painful and compelling. More please.

“Well you see, darling, it seems my brain has fused into an inert blob of useless flesh from the horror of it all.”

Best. Line. Ever. Of all time. :pinkiehappy:

Thank you. I rather liked it.

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