• Published 16th Dec 2011
  • 2,942 Views, 335 Comments

Tales of Interest! - Pascoite



Random unrelated short stories

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Luck of the Draw

Another Summer Sun Celebration, and a decade since the last one in Ponyville. Lots of things had changed in the interim. Lots of things hadn’t.

Derpy trotted past streamers, bunting, and balloons tied to any convenient anchor point. All the committees—Pinkie Pie, that is—had arranged wonderful decorations, music, food.

Near the town square now, Derpy eased her pace and came to the center of the festivities. Ticket holders only. The attendant took hers and tossed it into a large glass bowl.

Derpy had been every year for as long as she could remember, no matter where in Equestria. The small-town ones were her favorites, though. Not too fancy. She had to save all year—the ticket itself was two months’ salary, to say nothing of transportation or a hotel—but it was worth it. Her own little treat to herself.

Dinky was off playing in the kids’ area—young enough to get in free, but just barely. Derpy couldn’t afford tickets for both of them, so this might be her last year. She sighed and stared at that ticket.

A few ponies waved to her on her way to the refreshment tables, but only if she waved first. Flitter, Thunderlane, Rainbow Dash... Carrot Top. Actually, Carrot Top waved as soon as she saw Derpy. She was always so sweet. Derpy started heading over to her, but the three ponies with her exchanged a whisper. No, she wouldn’t do that to her friend.

Grabbing just one muffin—she needed to pace herself—she found an out-of-the-way hay bale to sit on. The sun would rise soon.


All day long: get up, grab muffin, sit, eat, wait. That was okay. Watching everypony else having fun was fun, too.

And with the setting sun touching the horizon, it was time. The ceremonial knife lay beside the dignitaries’ cake, a front-row seat for the Wonderbolts’ show awaited an occupant, and the band stood ready to play the traditional first dance. One lucky pony would get to do it all.

Celestia rummaged through the glass bowl and pulled a ticket out. “And the honorary Grand Marshal this year is... Derpy!”

Dead silence.

Derpy’s knees shook, and her breath rasped. A few ponies snickered and looked at that large knife. “How many ponies will get hurt?” they seemed to ask. The band members glanced at each other. “If she can’t keep the beat, just play on—it’ll be over with soon enough,” their faces said. And whom would she choose for the honor of sharing that dance? Caramel stared at his feet, Thunderlane studied the architecture, Noteworthy stepped behind a wagon... Even the mares. All except Carrot Top, but Derpy wouldn’t do that to her.

“No.” Derpy’s hoarse whisper carried throughout the square. She turned and ran.


Somepony stepped into the alley where Derpy was huddled. Shouts and cheers echoed from the square, but they were muffled here. She didn’t look up.

“May I have this dance?” Big Mac asked.

“You don’t have to,” she said into her hooves.

“Exactly.”

She sniffled and waited. But he didn’t leave.

“Carrot Top was worried. I told her I’d find you. Ain’t fair how you’ve been treated.” Big Mac took her foreleg and pulled her to her hooves. “C’mon.” And alone in the dimness, they danced.

Swaying side to side, slowly spinning, all to a quiet country waltz that he hummed. She stumbled, tripped, knocked over a rain barrel. But each time, he held her up and adjusted his music to her rhythm.

She curled her forelegs around him and pressed her face into his neck, tears trickling from her closed eyes. And they danced.

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