Chapter 2: Parties and Afterparties
“Hair? Like... mane hair?” asked Pip.
“Mm-hm!” Replied Icy, who was the only one showing much surprise at the weirdness she was describing.
It was the following day, around noon, and most of the group had gathered again in Pip's basement. Alula, Lance, Pip and Archer had listened to Icy and Truffle recount the previous night's encounter, staying quiet until they had finished, clearly thinking about what this could mean.
“So, we have a filly with a prehensile mane who, from what you're saying, seems... less than entirely sane.” Alula said after a moment. “Does that sound familiar to anyone else?”
“You're not suggesting...?” Archer trailed off with a dismissive shake of her head. “I mean, yeah, sounds like the Mane-iac but...”
Lance raised his hoof to his eyes, then to just in front of the top of his head.
“Exactly,” Archer continued, having paused while Lance moved, “Mane-iac's an adult, she'd probably have larger plans that robbing a café in Ponyville and, let's not forget, she doesn't exist!” The last statement was said with a slight forcefulness that was, Icy had learned, the closest Archer got to shouting.
Alula nodded, face as impassive as it had been throughout the conversation. “Yes. Not impossible that it's her, but improbable. She's probably a copycat, but how did she gain those abilities?”
“Well, couldn't see a horn on her,” Truffle said, “and I couldn't feel any magic around the hair, could you Ic- Are you alright there, Icy?
Icy shook her head, realizing she'd let a bit of distaste enter her expression. She smiled apologetically. “Sorry, yeah, I'm fine. Anyway, what do we...”
“'Sup!” Scootaloo's voice came from the opening door. “Sorry I'm late, guys, swung by Haute's place to see the damage. Shoulda seen the guy, he was going ballistic.” She chuckled as she came up to the table.
“Was it that bad?” Icy asked, puzzled, “It didn't seem that bad.”
“That's why he was screaming.” Scootaloo smirked. “Said he should be open, but the police wouldn't let him.”
“Why is that?” Asked Alula.
“Cause, you know, crime scene, had to cordon off-?”
“No,” Alula interrupted bluntly, “why did he think he should open after a break-in?”
“Oh, right,” Scootaloo winced briefly, “Forgot to say – the only thing stolen was two of their ovens.” She held up a hoof, forestalling any interjections, “Not one of the big ones, one of those with the... you know, the big light bulb.”
“Halogen?” Alula guessed.
“Yeah, that's the one. Anyway, what do we know?”
As the others explained what she and Truffle had seen, Icy was thinking about what she'd just learned. A halogen oven... a big, super-hot bulb plus lenses... Bright light focused by lenses... it wasn't enough to bring up, sounded too implausible, even by their standards, but it could just be possible.
She tried to dismiss it, but one word kept bugging her:
Laser.
Speaking of something bright being focussed into a burning intensity, Pinkie's party was that evening.
To the average citizen of Ponyville, it was standard – a wonderful time, but no more than any of her parties. That was not an insult, by any means – each one was a unique and marvellous experience, but ranking them up against each other was difficult. After all, few besides Pinkie had ever quite grasped the difference between “Superiffic” and “Supertastic”, much to her exasperation. Or the closest she ever got to it, at least.
To Pinkie, it was a rousing success, definitely a 14.834 on the Merriometer (no one had ever dared ask how she calculated this or what it was out of). She'd had a whole week to prepare, and could honestly say that it was thoroughly superiffitastimazingificent. Give or take.
However, both the citizens and Pinkie were used to her normal level of party.
Icy was not.
As such, she was standing in the sidelines, so to speak, trying to recover her energy (and, initially, her breath) after her last foray into the epicenter. She looked to her mom, enjoying the attention, telling stories of some of the things she'd done and places she'd been. She was in her element, but not Icy's. Icy was enjoying herself, to an extent, it was just tiring.
Of course, her recovery would have been easier had it not been for the filly flitting around her and talking so continually that Icy wondered if she had some Pie in her family tree.
“...always make sure to come to Pinkie's parties when we're in town and this punch is amazing!” The filly – Zippo-something, as far as Icy could make out – moved thoughts without breaking flow.
“Yeah, I... guess it is.” Was all Icy could think to say. She wasn't annoyed, as such, just a bit lost and floundering. “Um, do you think you coul-”
“Twitchy Tail!”
The entire party suddenly ground to a halt – music, conversation, everything. Icy tensed up – she'd recognized Pinkie's voice, but didn't know what it meant. She started looking for whatever was wrong, whipping her head round...
CLONK!
Right into the head of another filly, who'd been carrying a tray of candies in her mouth.
“That's weird,” Pinkie's voice came from within the throng, “I don't have one for walking into ponies. Usually a twitchy tail means something fal-”
CLANG!
The tray, thrown up from the impact, landed on Icy's head.
“Oh, there it is! Okay, everyone resume partying!”
Everyone resumed partying.
“Oh my goodneth, I'm tho thorry!” Twist picked up her fallen glasses and put them back on. “Oh, It'th you, Ithy. I’m really thorry, I...” She said, sniffling slightly.
Icy quickly smiled at her. “It's okay, don't worry about it, no harm done!” She said truthfully - there probably wouldn’t even be a bruise and she could hardly blame Twist for the collision. “It's alright.”
“No, it'th not!” Twist blurted out before shrinking back. “Thorry, it'th jutht... I don't know what'th wrong with me lately” She trailed off before looking at the floor. “And now I've ruined a whole tray of lemon dropth.”
Icy's ears perked up unbidden. How Pinkie had known that lemon drops were her favourite sweets, she neither could nor wanted to know. She forced her ears down, though – she had no idea why Twist was this overwrought, but she couldn't help but want to comfort her.
Plus, there were lemon drops on the line.
She put her hoof on Twist's shoulder. “Tell you what, let's clean these up and then I'll help you make some more. Maybe we can get Truffle to help.”
The corner of Twist’s lip twitched upward for a moment at the mention of Truffle - something Icy thought might happen, even if she wasn’t sure why. Twist put her hoof behind her glasses to wipe away the beginnings of tears. “R-really? No, that'th okay. Thith ith your party, you know.”
Icy glanced aside at the massive crowd. “I'll... I think I'll be okay.”
Together, they gathered up the scattered candies and took them to the nearest bin – back behind the storefront next to the stairs. Icy put her hoof down on the pedal, opening it up. She was about to drop the drops in before she noticed something.
“Pinkie?” She called out.
“Yeppers?”
Barely phased at this point by Pinkie’s instant appearance, Icy pointed inside the bin. “What’s that red powder?”
Sure enough, a small amount of that same red powder was sitting in there. Not much, but enough to recognize.
“Dunno!” Pinkie chirped. “I came down last night for a twenty-three-to-midnight snack and stepped on something long and squishy. I couldn't see what it was - at first I thought it was one of Gummy's friends, but when I looked down, it was gone, and that powder was there. So, I picked it up, smelled it, tasted it, it wasn't nice, it tasted like...”
Icy had stopped listening. Twenty-three to... Eleven Thirty-Seven. That was before her encounter with the robber. Nothing here had been stolen... and she did say she'd have to cut that night short... maybe she was scoping this place out before she...
“Pinkie?” She asked slowly.
“...an acceleration of around two hundred and forty metres per second per second... yes?”
“This may sound strange, but... Do you think me and... some friends could help you clean up and maybe... stay the night?”
Icy sighed as the clock struck midnight.
“You know, I kinda didn't think a stakeout would be this, well...”
“Boring?” Archer suggested. The two of them, along with Truffle and Lance were sitting on the stairs to Sugarcube Corner's second floor, peeking over the bannister and keeping an eye on the storefront. Dinky and Scootaloo had had to go home and Alula said she preferred to stay hidden from their enemies as long as she could.
Icy shifted her haunch, the stair she was sitting on horizontally not being the most comfortable seat she'd ever had. “Well, yeah. I mean, don't ponies on stakeouts usually play cards or have snacks or...” She tailed off, realizing how much she sounded like a naïve fantasist.
Truffle chuckled. “Sometimes, but we're not in a great position for that kind of thing, I fear. Of course, I'm positive Mr and Mrs Cake predicted the need for comfortable stakeouts when they designed their bakery, but...”
“Okay, okay, sorry.” Icy interrupted. The sarcasm hadn't been malicious, but she still felt awkward because of it.
“Plus,” Truffle continued, “I don’t think they’d appreciate us eating their snacks without paying. Of course, if we could… oh my!” Icy looked up the stairs to see him patting his belly, a dreamy look on his face.
Of course, she’d had to strain her neck a little - because Truffle and Lance’s suits were so bright, they were high up on the staircase, past the ceiling of the ground floor so that no one could see them from outside. It was dark enough that they probably wouldn’t, but it was better not to take that chance. It helped that Icy’s pale coat and Archer’s dark-blue ensemble would blend in more, so they could be lower down.
A thought occurred to Icy. “Hey, Truffle, Lance? Why are your suits so brightly coloured anyway? They do kind of stick out.”
“Well, of course. That’s the point.” Truffle replied. “On a mission requiring stealth, like this one, it’s not ideal, but we’ve already seen that this filly has enough power that it’s better to have the protection. And if it does come down to a fight, then we’ll be the ones on the front lines. We want as much of the enemy’s attention on us as possible.
Icy nodded. “Oh, I get it. Is that why Lance wears his fancy hat and scarf as well?
She looked up to see slight movement behind Lance’s mask in the eyebrow area. He shook his head firmly, not seeming to like the implication.
Icy frowned in confusion. “So, then… why do you wear them?”
Lance looked to the side for a moment in thought before turning back to Icy and tapping his chest, asking her to try and punch him.
Shrugging, Icy trotted up the stairs, pulled her hoof back and went to strike him - not too hard, but enough to notice through his padding.
In a flurry of motion, Lance whipped his hat off his head and, holding it by the feather, put it between him and Icy. Despite seeming like an ordinary, floppy hat a second ago, Icy felt as if she’d just punched an iron plate. The hat’s fabric deformed slightly under her strike, but didn’t bend back.
Before Icy had time to process this, Lance pulled off his scarf and, picking up Icy’s other front hoof, tied them together in a split second.
Icy tugged at her bonds, falling onto her chest as she did so, but it felt like the scarf’s materials were far stronger than they looked.
Icy blinked, nonplussed. “Well... that answers that, I guess.”
Lance nodded firmly before freeing Icy’s hooves and re-donning his hat and scarf.
Icy trotted back down to sit next to Archer, eyes still a little wide at what had just happened.
“By the way,” Archer whispered, making sure Lance couldn’t hear her, "making ‘em look like something out of a Flyin Arrow film was my idea. Thought it’d be fun.”
Icy exhaled in relief - now things made… a little more sense.
After a minute or so, she exhaled longer. “And now I’m bored again.”
“We could always play I Spy again.” Archer suggested, smirking.
Icy rolled her eyes. There was no shortage of variety for the game, so it wasn't as boring as its reputation suggested. The problem was that, when your opponent is sharp-eyed enough to unerringly follow your eyeline and guess before you'd given the clue, it rather took the fun out of the game.
Still, Archer's observational skills did come in handy, as she straightened up and looked out at the storefront. “Hold it!” she whispered. “We've got incoming.”
The others all looked out at the front window, Lance and Truffle slowly poking their heads beneath the ceiling. A filly-sized silhouette hovered in front of the glass for a few seconds before backing up. Then, a cut started appearing in the glass, making a large circle, seemingly of its own volition.
“What's...” Icy began.
“A hair.” Archer replied – even she was squinting in order to see it. “A single hair.”
Looking again, Icy could just make out one strand of hair, apparently thin and strong enough to act as a glass cutter. Soon, the circle was complete, and a few more hairs slipped through the cracks. However, they didn’t seem like they’d be enough to lift the circle out of the window.
“So,” Icy muttered to herself, “if that's what she does, where does all that brok-”
Without warning, more hairs started slicing the cut-out circle of glass, dividing it into smaller pieces that fell into the mass of hair. Many fell further, slipping through the gaps and breaking on the floor, on both sides of the window, but many others were caught and deposited carefully on the ground. In a few seconds, all the glass had been deposited on the ground in one way or another and the way through the window was clear, the figure floating through with an off-key chuckle.
“Well, that answers that.” Icy mumbled.
The figure floated over the counter and disappeared into the bakery's kitchen. The four on the stairs looked to each other, nodded and snuck after her, taking care not to make any noise (Not an easy feat for a colt in full fencing gear and another who was, in his own words, tremendously fat).
As they reached the kitchen, they saw the figure ransacking the cupboards. It seemed she was looking for something specific, although what she hoped to find in a bakery, Icy couldn't imagine.
The other three straightened up, Archer and Lance drawing their weapons and Truffle rolling his joints, ready for a fight. Icy decided it'd be best to do the same, though how, she wasn't sure. After a second, she settled for flaring her wings and preparing to gather her energy, however that worked.
Without verbal warning, Lance reached over and flicked the lights on, not taking his sword away from pointing at the figure. With the lights on, they could see their opponent.
At first, they just saw a wall of green hair before the filly's body was spun round to face them, confirming what they suspected. From the purple-and-gold bodysuit to the light purple coat to the insane grin, the filly was the image of the Mane-iac but for her age and her eyes, and the latter was only because of her goggles making them look slightly bigger.
She floated up higher, looking down at her opponents. “You again?!” she exclaimed. “And more of you? You dare tangle with the Mane-iac?”
Archer looked her over. “Miniac, more like. And yes, yes we do.”
The costumed filly looked down over her form. “Whatever you want to call me... Utterly irrelevant.” Her speech seemed far smoother than it had the previous night, but she still occasionally halted before speaking. “After all, you'll be out of my mane in only a moment.”
Without warning, tendrils of hair surged forward at the group. They scattered out of the way, but the kitchen, big as it was, didn't leave them much room to manoeuvre. Only Lance remained untouched, slashing off any hair that came near him. As more came towards him, he grabbed his scarf and threw it up like a whip. The scarf stretched as he did so and wrapped around the room’s light socket. Lance then darted off to the side and, keeping hold of the taut scarf, slowly ran up onto the wall. He circled around the room before getting high enough to leap on top of a high cupboard, crouching and preparing to defend his position.
Icy fared less impressively - she managed to freeze a few tendrils, but she wasn't as experienced as the others and quickly got swamped, her wings immobilized and unable to create more freezing winds.
The other two did slightly better. Archer dodged around and managed to remain free enough to fire some shots, but this Miniac was prepared, coils of hair smashing the arrows mid-flight. As for Truffle...
“BANZAI!” The overweight colt had climbed onto a tabletop and, with the agility of someone half his size, leapt straight at the villain, apparently reasoning that he would be too heavy for her hair to deflect.
Unfortunately, the large sack she picked up with it was a bit sturdier. She swung with it, connecting and knocking him back like a baseball. A cloud of sugar was kicked up as the sack burst on impact and the thick tendril holding it was knocked back just as hard, throwing the filly off balance and letting the pressure of her grip loosen a little around Icy.
As Truffle got up and the others dodged and struggled, the wall of hair picked up several more sacks before charging out into the storefront, its body in tow.
“Hold it!” Archer called out, leaping from the kitchen and nocking another arrow
“Don't you get it?! You're mere children!” The Mini-Mane-iac sneered, not seeming to notice the hypocrisy. “You don't have a chance! You are but dandruff before me! You-”
The lights in the bakery’s storefront clicked on, revealing Pinkie Pie at the top of the stairs. Furthermore, now that the filly had paused, they could hear sirens, distant but getting closer.
“...have got me monologuing.” She finished - blaming her opponents for her own grandiosity seemed instinctive. “Very good. Bordering on clever. But unfortunately for you...” Her hair retreated, unlocking the door and rushing through it with the big sacks of sugar that were apparently her goal. “...I'm hair today, gone tomorroooooooow.” With that, her body was pulled through the door and up to the rooftops at immense speed, to be long gone by the time anyone could reach her.
The group sat there, pondering what had just happened as Pinkie descended the stairs and joined them.
“What a weird filly.” She said with no irony whatsoever. “I mean, wow, who'd have thought the Mane-ia-.”
“Not necessarily.” Archer interrupted smoothly. “She's got the look and the power, but there are a couple of things she missed. It's... probably a copycat.”
“Nopey-dopey!” Pinkie shook her head. “That's the Mane-iac, alright. I'd recognise that voice anywhere. I mean, it wasn't a filly's voice last time I heard it, and now that I think of it, she wasn't a filly at all, but other than that... yeah, the voice, the tone, the cadence, all the same.”
Icy wasn't sure what Princess Cadance had to do with it, but still listened. “How do you... I mean, she's a comic book character, how could you hear her?”
Pinkie smiled as a policepony poked his head round the door, switching off the siren on his back.
“Maybe you should talk to the local expert on the Power Ponies.” She said, smiling in what she must have thought was a mysterious way.
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What did it taste like?
What did it taste like!?
Damn It Pinkie! WHAT DID IT TASTE LIKE!? Pepper? Cinnamon? WHAT?
Flawless transition, and I mean that sincerely.
Awesome moment with the glass-cutting hair.
In any case, I'm holding to my current hypothesis regarding the Miniac, though there's evidence both for and against it here. Definitely looking forward to Iota Force meeting with
Spikethe mysterious expert whose identity is not at all clear.She's going full comic-book supervillain, a death ray isn't just plausible but obligatory! I'd suspected it just from the lenses, for exactly that reason.