It's Always The Quiet Ones
Swing. Cut. Bind.
The Pink Pony of Death reaped the harvest, never looking up from her work. All around her were the golden fields of wheat, each ear waiting to be cut and bound. Some ears were young, some old, some were trampled and some wilted, but each ear had to be brought in. The reaper’s job was to take in the harvest, no matter the state of the crop.
Then she saw herself at a party. The guests were all laughing, enjoying themselves as music filled the air and bright colours lifted the mood. She watched through a pane of glass as she worked in another room, preparing the food, pouring drinks, making the decorations.
The images clashed. How could she be the caretaker of the living and the gatherer of the dead? The Auditors demanded cold efficiency, but her mind and her heart said something different. What pieces of Pinkie Pie still remained made her feel sympathy and empathy for the Harvest, accentuated still by Death’s memories of aeons of loneliness.
Her mind raced. Wasn’t a party just a gathering of the living? Wasn’t ‘The Duty’ being the caretaker of the dead?
Could she be both?
A petulant little voice echoed in her head.
It said: Is there a difference?
The Pink Pony of Death stopped, and looked up at the emptiness that surrounded her. But it was not quite empty. There, on the edge of sight, hung three grey robes. Her head dropped, and she looked at the knife in the cup of her hoof.
No.
The knife fell from her grip, vanishing into the darkness.
No, she repeated. The world writhed beneath her hooves.
NO! she screamed, the full, blazing fury of her gaze banishing the nothingness as it was directed at those three grey robes.
The sky tore apart and was replaced by the starry dome of the Discworld. The void below took shape, quickly forming the great twin city of Ankh-Morpork. The lights of the city’s nightlife shone as bright and numerous as the stars above, and in the darkness, one could be forgiven for wondering which way was up.
Her cloak billowed in the night winds, as she stood with her hooves firmly planted in the air. The three grey figures descended and hovered before her.
One said, You renounce The Duty?
I renounce your version of it.
One said, Death is impersonal.
One said, You cannot play favourites.
One said, You cannot have personality.
She grinned.
How did he put it? ‘What hope does the Harvest have, if not for the care of the Reaper Man?’ Well, Reaper Mare. You would have me apathetic to their plights, their cares, their loves and their losses. What kind of ‘Duty’ is that?
One said, This is unacceptable.
One said, Your insubordination has been noted.
The Pink Pony of Death held out her hoof, silencing them. The air shimmered as the scythe appeared by her side, its blade glowing as it cut the starlight and moonlight that fell upon it.
If a part of the crop is sick, should we not tend to it? If a part is trampled, do we not attempt to revive it? If the crop fails, do we not mourn its loss?
The Auditors remained silent.
And if a guest is unruly, is it not ‘The Duty’ of the host to deal with them?
She didn’t move. The universe moved around her. A line of fire arced through the air, and the three robes fell, severed.
Oh, there's no justice. But there is me.
Mrs. Cake was beginning to grow suspicious.
Not worried, however. Pinkie may have been missing for a number of hours, and a mysterious stallion stranger had been in her room (standing in a puddle of jam, no less), but Mrs. Cake wasn’t worried. One didn’t worry about Pinkie Pie, at least not when the young mare had been your employee for goodness knows how long. Pinkie Pie had a knack of looking after herself that allayed all such fears for her continued welfare. It was, in fact, your own continued welfare that you worried about.
However, she was suspicious. It was not like the girl to remain this quiet for this long.
“Dear, you haven’t seen Pinkie Pie today, have you?” she asked her husband, a tall, thin colt with a yellow coat and mop of orange hair.
“Nhhro dhearh,” he replied around a mouthful of pipe-bag.
“She’s been awfully quiet.”
“Yhres dhearh.”
“I think I’ll go check on her.”
“Jhusht ash yhou shay dhearh.”
Mrs. Cake made her way slowly up the stairs of Sugarcube Corner, towards the loft apartment that her young employee ‘rented’. Strictly speaking she was more a live-in guest, as she paid through her work in the shop, but it made her father happy to know she was making something of herself and being independent.
Nudging open the door, she found the room to be absolutely spotless - Bill Door had done a fine job of cleaning. It looked far cleaner than Pinkie herself usually left it, for a start. No leftover bits of cake, or errant streamer, deflating balloons and the like.
Mrs. Cake shifted her hoof the moment before a little green alligator leapt for it, and instead found himself sucking on the floor. As will be noted, Mrs. Cake possesses a rare gift, temporal hyperopia*. It has (and will) come in handy a great deal in living with Miss Pie.
Pushing Gummy gently aside, Mrs. Cake made a quick sweep of the room, looking for any indicator of Pinkie’s current whereabouts. Nothing seemed out of order (other than being in order), and she could find no notes or letters. Frowning, she crossed the bedroom again, making a more thorough search. Something caught her eye as she passed by the bed.
She reached down and pulled it out with her teeth, revealing a glossy leather-backed grimoire, with golden lettering on the front that shifted when she tried to read it.
She felt a chill from the thing, but instinctively knew that his was nothing to do with Pinkie Pie. She barely read books at all, let alone large leather-bound tomes of questionable origins.
Clearly then, she deduced, this must have been something left behind by Mr. Door.
Picking it up and balancing it on her back she headed back downstairs, after giving Gummy an affectionate pat. Placing the book in her saddlebags, she slung them over her shoulders and called out to Mr. Cake in the kitchen.
“She’s not in her room, and her guest left something behind, so I’m going to go out looking for them. Mind the store, would you, dear?”
“Mshh honhey bhun.”
* That is to say, the ability to see things that aren’t there yet but very soon will be.
In the city of Ankh-Morpork below, as the lanterns and torches were lit and the ‘late afternoon’ trading began, an evening service was about to take place in the city’s newest and most popular place of worship.
“Welcome to the First Cathedral of the Pink Pony of Death, please take a complementary canopé and order of service.”
The Junior Hosts greeted newcomers off the streets, handing out drinks, entrées and party hats to the faithful. Many of the established followers of the Pink One were decked in their robes of rose and fuschia, conical hats held high as they made their way to the inner sanctum of the cathedral, a newly purchased building that was once a temple of Offler the Crocodile God. Ankh-Morpork was always quick to jump on a new idea, and this new faith had gripped the city in a party fever.
Her Generousness, The Grand Hostess Aminata I, looked down from the balconies at the gathered congregation below, and was pleased. From their humble beginning barely weeks before, her little flock had leapt from a mere death-cult to a mainstream belief, rubbing shoulders with such established favourites as Blind Io and The Great God Om.
Taking up her place at the stand, she opened Glod Glodsdottir’s Book of Essential Party Songs and waited for silence. A reverent and expectant air swept through the building, bringing with it the smell of fresh cake.
“Honoured guests!” she began, voice echoing off the cathedral stone even without the aid of amplification.
“Honoured guests! We all are gathered here today in blessed community to share in the warmth and spirit that resides in each of us! We thank the Pink Pony of Death for showing us that the afterlife is worth living, but that there is also no reason to wait! Now join with me, as we sing our opening chant; For She’s A Jolly Good Fellow.”
The congregation (at least, those who were still mostly sober) stood, and their voices swelled and croaked with the first strains of song. By the time they’d reached the third verse, it was nearly in tune.
“... For she’s a jolly good fellow, and so... say...”
The song died in their throats as, suddenly, a figure hung in the air before them. Four legs. Pink. Wearing a black cloak, and carrying a scythe.
It couldn’t possibly be anyone else.
She stared at Aminata, locking the dull, dead eyes of the Grand Hostess with her own, burning bright as the stars.
Surprise.
“Fluttershy, dear, you need to come up for air.”
The yellow head submerged in the water trough outside Rarity’s laundry room only bubbled in response. Sighing, Rarity gently tugged on the pegasus’ mane until she broke the surface.
“Better?” the unicorn asked.
“Haaaah... Haaah...” Fluttershy replied, taking deep gulps of air and still ‘fanning’ her mouth with her hoof.
“I could put some mango on it to cool it down a little, dear.”
Fluttershy nodded gratefully, although truthfully she was understandably nervous about trying the dish again, no matter what Rarity did to it.
She dried her face on a towel and followed Rarity back indoors to find Bill Door had already finished his serving, and the plate was remarkably spotless. The stallion was staring at the other two plates with longing.
Fluttershy saw her chance to squeeze her way out without upsetting either party, and seized it with both hooves.
“O-oh, if you’re s-still hungry...” she mumbled, nudging the plate towards Bill Door. He blinked at it, then at her, then smiled gratefully.
“That’s very kind of you, thank you. I hope your tongue isn’t burnt.”
“Oh, no, I’ll be fine. I’m just... I wasn’t expecting it to be so spicy.” She caught herself and glanced nervously at Rarity, who seemed oblivious of the conversation. “Not that I don’t like it or anything! I thought it was v-very nice, but I... Uhm...”
She was interrupted from digging herself deeper by a sudden knock on the door. Rarity swallowed her mounting frustration and forced herself to smile, walking back through the shopfront and swinging open the door.
“Oh! Mrs. Cake, do come in, what can I do for you?”
“Rarity, dearie! I wasn’t sure if you were in. I’ve been looking for Pinkie Pie’s guest, a Mister ‘Bill Door’, and Lotus and Aloe told me he might be with you...?” Mrs. Cake asked, stepping inside Carousel Boutique. Rarity blinked.
“... P-Pinkie Pie’s guest? I... See.”
“You’ve met him then, dearie?” Mrs. Cake replied, raising an eyebrow.
“I have, yes. If he knows Pinkie, that might go some way to... Explaining things.”
“Like what?”
“Well, earlier he kept walking int-”
Rarity was cut off by a yelp and a loud crash coming from the kitchen. Rolling her eyes, she ran back across the shopfront, followed by Mrs. Cake, and peeked her head through the kitchen door. Her jaw fell agape.
The table had been knocked over, the curry now decorating the kitchen floor, and the chairs were knocked aside. Fluttershy was entwined with Bill Door on the tiles, wings outstretched and mane draped over his chest, pinning him down. Bill Door was lying helpless on his back, his suit unbuttoned and thrown open..
They both looked up at Rarity and Mrs. Cake, faces rapidly going crimson.
“... I swear this isn’t what it looks like.”
“... I... Uhm... We... Eep!”
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May your Hearts and Hearths be Warmed this eve, all.
Well, Pinkie seems to have inherited death's penchant for AWESOME. That, or her own brand of awesome just happens to fit the Discworld's Death shaped hole.
Fluttershy and Bill Door... bwhahahaha! Also, how!?
Happy Hearth's Warming to you to!
temporal hyperopia*
i believe the term your referring to is actually called precognition (same definition but this is the actual term i think)... sorry but seeing a incorrect term here and there like that in stories is beginning to bug me a bit
Inb4 Flutterapist
84573 Could it have occurred to you that it might be referring to that medium's ability (whose name I can't remember) explained in the Discworld stories, hmm? Not that I actually remember anymore is it really the case as I don't have my books nearby but I am pretty sure it is so. Throw me with a book if Im wrong.
84573
85010
It's a deliberate misuse, hyperopia is far-sightedness, which is what the Mrs. Cake of Discworld (first seen in Reaper Man, my favourite book) is described as possessing.
'Twas the night before christmas and all through the house, just one creature was stirring, Clicking his mouse.
He'd beaten his game and was bored out of his mind, so he went to EQD to see what he might find
He browsed through the round-up then he checked on the fics, in hope that some authors would get him his fix
he was just 'bout to leave, when what did he spy? His favourite Story, 'bout Death (and Pinkie Pie)
"Oh Jubilations!" Our Brony freind Cried. His boredom was vanquished, he was revitalised
He read it with vigour, he read it with Speed. When he got to the ending, he chortled with glee
Dear Miyajima (thats a hard name to rhyme) Thanks give improving my Christmas time
As you probably can tell i've too much time on my hands. Your fic is one of few that meet my high demands
Your style fits with Pratchett and for that I am Glad. I've seen people attempt Fanfics that were really quite bad.
Unlike some fanfics I'd Consign to hell, You mesh Ponies and pratchett really quite well
I like where its going, I like where its been, this fics greatness is very nearly Obscene.
One final thing to say, to you who share in my delight; Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night
SURPRISE No one expects the Pink Pony Inqusition!
85241
Hot diggidy damn man,that was was pretty good!
And getting back on topic great chapter too, Happy Holidays!!
85203
I feel like I ought to print this off and frame it.
85374
. Glad you liked it.
Aww Shucks.
85374
I think will
Yes, finally fluttershy is being assertive and asserting her will onto others.
but seriously, great chapter and can't wait to read what happens next.
Oh~ for she's a jolly good fellow!
do i get a party hat now?
awesome work bro, keep it up!
I would argue that Aminata's title should be "Her Generosity", but I suppose that would be the church of a different pony.
In any case, fantastic update. Glad to see the Auditors can't keep a good psychopomp down, regardless of species.
Death and Pinkie Pie are best Deaths.
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO DOHGGY~! Is it getting hot in here, or is it just me? (try talking your way out of THIS Bill)
Some of this is interesting... some of this is hilarious
Just sheer awesome - that's all I can say really
Favorite fanfic of all time. It reads just like Pratchett's work. So much fun! Such perfect writing! QuQ
SURPRISE.
absolutely loved that part
SPOILER ALERT!!!
(Realized partway through this that I had already PMed you commentary on this chapter, going to post this anyway, since my thought processes may have been different this time. I REMEMBERED the events roughly, but I didn't think to check my out-box, only the comments for the chapter.)
NO. she repeated. The world writhed beneath her hooves.
-Good girl...
The air shimmered as the scythe appeared by her side,
-Thought she would need that, although at the time throwing it away WAS more important.
AND IF A GUEST IS UNRULY, IS IT NOT ‘THE DUTY’ OF THE HOST TO DEAL WITH THEM?
-And she starts to combine the two... I don't think she is QUITE back to the point of giving out "Well, you are dead, but here is a cupcake." cupcakes. Maybe she will reach that point, maybe not.
“Nhhro dhearh.” he replied around a mouthful of pipe-bag.
-What is a pipe-bag?
It has (and will) come in handy a great deal in living with Miss Pie.
-Yes, but I'm not sure how high Gummy ranks on the scale of "Matters of Concern When Cohabitating with the Partying Reality Warper". Then again, it does keep the ability in the mind of the reader, and even small blessings are blessings.
It has (and will) come in handy a great deal in living with Miss Pie.
-Incorrect in this case, but then again she doesn't understand the company that Pinkie has been keeping.
I... What.
You just rendered Pinkamena Diane Pie as a complete bad-ass. This is awesome.
2710943
Well, if anyone could bend the rules like that, it would be the pink one.
1841730 YES.
2710943 She's not Pinkie, exactly. And she's not Death, either. She's something else.
She is awesomeness incarnate.
I feel that "canopé" is not getting the recognition it deserves.
Hope Pinkie Pie kicks some flank
O..k... What happening in Raritys kitchen?
Froge🐸
Mmm myes froge