Dat's Our Ragamuffin!

by PresentPerfect

Six

Dat's Our Ragamuffin!
by Present Perfect

Six

"All right, class," said Miss Cheerilee, "now that we've arrived in Neighgypt, Miss Somnambula will take over our history lesson. Remember, don't break anything without permission!"

It was a really good thing they built the old pyramids so close to the airport, thought Fluttershy. They literally just got off the plane and walked over here. There was nothing else in Neighgypt, either. Had there been, they could have wasted valuable time wandering around, or even getting lost.

"Hello, class."

The woman who addressed them was tall and lithe, with rosy orange skin and dual-tone green-striped hair. She wore thick black mascara and a white headdress that complimented her traditional dress. The stares of many of the students stood in testament to one fact: she was gorgeous.

"Today, I will be leading you in an up close, personal tour of the Great Pyramids!" The woman smiled, and Fluttershy could swear the sun shone a little brighter behind her.

"But first," she continued, holding up a finger, "I must ask each and every one of you to respect our ancient artifacts. Please, keep your eyes and ears open, but your hands to yourselves!" She tittered demurely. "Now, please, everyone follow me!"

The pyramid loomed above them, enormous and uncanny. Sure, some might say it was just a huge stone triangle, but how many huge stone triangles had those people made in their lives? Probably not many.

"I want to start our tour by dispelling myths some of you may have heard," Somnambula said, a smile evident in her voice. "For instance, these pyramids were created by human hands, not by aliens."

At least one student let out a disappointed "aww". Another raised a hand and was called on.

"What about mummy curses?"

Miss Somnambula smiled beatifically. "Also superstition, though mummies are very real. Ancient kings, queens and other people of great important were mummified after death and entombed in the pyramids to preserve their legacies forevermore."

Another hand. "Will we see any mummies on this trip?"

She shook her head. "I am afraid not, though if we make good time, there is a priceless if empty sarcophagus inside this pyramid. Now, some facts to make up for the lack of mystery..."

Fluttershy zoned out a bit as Somnambula gave a very detailed discussion of ramps and pulleys. One might think Miss Somnambula had actually been there herself, so detailed were her descriptions, but mechanical stuff didn't really interest Fluttershy. Even if it was amazing to think that ancient people had moved giant stone blocks without electrical machines.

Mostly, she was just wondering what sorts of animal friends might be around. Cute snakes lived in the desert, the ones who so cleverly travelled by rippling their long bodies. So too did scorpions; she was such a fan of the way they had venomous stinger-tails hovering above their heads. It was such a clever defense, and she adored their little claws. Maybe she could make friends with a scorpion using her animal speech powers. Oh, if only none of the other students noticed... She was sure none of them would really understand.

"Stop!"

The pyramid had snuck up on them, as far as she could tell. It was now more a huge wall than a huge triangle, rising up in a point directly at the sun. She looked around, trying to figure out who was being yelled at.

Miss Somnambula held a shocked hand to her mouth, pointing to where pyramid met sand. There, the blond head of an orange-skinned boy could just be seen above the stone. He had both hands on the edge of the pyramid, and as Fluttershy watched, he reared back, opened his mouth, and lunged forward, biting down.

"What are you doing?"

Fluttershy sighed and facepalmed. "Goddammit to hell, Ragamuffin."

Her friends had been texting her all week, sharing their 'experiences' with this strange boy. She hadn't seen him before -- truthfully, none of them knew where he'd come from in the first place, whether he went to their school or not -- but there was no one else it could possibly be.

"Excuse me, Miss Somnambula?" Fluttershy moved up to the teacher's side. "I don't exactly know who that boy is, but his name is Ragamuffin and apparently, he does this sort of thing all the time. He's harmless, if creepy." She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. "And in just a minute, I'm sure he'll declare it's a real pyramid or something and take off to wherever he came from."

Only he didn't.

As the class watched, Ragamuffin began to convulse, teeth still latched onto the ancient stone. A red mist started to accumulate around him. He lifted up off the sand, literally floating, and his eyes rolled back in his head, turning a deep, viscous black.

Fluttershy became consumed in the dark, churning void where Ragamuffin's eyes had been. He saw, not just through her skin and into her organs, but deep into her mind, her very soul, and the history of moments that made up her meek, pathetic life. He opened a mouth as black as death and as wide as creation, and spoke in a voice as old as time.

W͇͙̫̖h̫̫a̮͓͎̗̞̞t ̧̼̭i̧̱̩͚̤̰ͅn̝͓͢ t̜̤̹̘h̺̝̲̠̮͕͉e͎̭̜̻ ̙̱n̥̝̭͍͠i͙n̙͖̪̗̻͠e͈̪̮̠̪͈̳ ̥̬͎̺͍ḩ̗e҉͎̞͉l̝̗̤̲͖̤ḽ̴̯̟ṣ̬̙͈̳̗̼́ ͖͕̫͇̭̠d̻͎i̗̥͎͞d̛͉̲̖s̢̰̙̪̺̤t͚̱͍͇́ t̢͖͔̜̯̹̯h͓̖͈̙͝o̺͜u ̘͟j͙̖̯͇̦u̻s̜̻͘t̝̻̲̤̟̠͝ ҉̲̪̟̠̠̣ͅs̝̲̗̲a͙͢y̬ ̵̟t͍͓̫̤ͅo̥ ̡̞͚̰̜̭̦ṳ̰̫s,̺̼̝͙̬͓̰̕ ̻̲̩͉̙̬̙t̯̝̖̩̳h̲͈͇̙̰o̶̻̱̦̘ͅu̢̻ ̡̱w̧̬͙̬̯̘o̗r̛̦͚̠͕ț̘͖͞h̝̩̳̭̬̟̳l̟e̴͉͈şs̸̲͓̮̤̜͇̬ ̭̖̯͕̠́m̼̩̠ơ͔̲͔̥̦r̸̭̭͓͔̣̻̲ta̢͍̺̼̲̦͉l̙ ̣̼w̥͖̹̩̙ò͕͚r͔̱̭̦̱̺͍m҉̬ͅ?̱̟
͕̞̗̦̥̺̬
͏W̵̦e̖̤͎̖̩͍ ̬̹͙̞̘͟a͎̻̮̥̝̰̜r͈̕e̙ ͏͇̜̥̲̝̘̖án̷̹͇̜ ̹̦͎̙̤u̘͖̯̠̣̙̟ņk̳̻̫̗n̷͖o͉͇̼̹̻͙̤͢w̥͙̲͔a̱̫͚̯͢b̩̻̣̘͇͉l̲͓͡e̺̤͉̱͙͞ ̥̤̳͢e̯͓̦n̻̟̕ţ̼̜i͎͖͍ͅt͖̯͞ͅy̖͉̜̬̲,͏̮ ͍̜̥̪͠b̮͈i͈̗r͉͎t̙̰̙̟̪h̦̪̗̝̰̱̘͞e̛̝d͕̲̟̟ ̼̰f̸̩̟̦͚̜͕r̲o̡͈̗̹ͅm̘͖̯̞̫̻͡ͅ ̥̗͈̩͍͟t̗̦̬͡ḥ̥͖ẹ̞̠̮̺ ̻͖̮͙ͅd̡͖̪e̺̹̕ẹ͍̪̲p̱͚e͔̮̦̙̙̞͞s̲̺̫̞̤͜ț̢ ͏̝̠̰͔̳̮e͇̳̱̤c̖̟̗̰ͅh͔͙͈̝e͕͖̲̭̫͉ͅl̙͓̘o̮̭̱͓̫͓n̪̞̮̜̟̱̞s͎̥͇ ̛͎̳̳̗͇̦ͅo͉̙̼̕f͎͍̝̰ ̭̻̥͍͔͓͎͡àn͔͔͟c̩̭̥̕i̝̱̹̕e̢̫̺͕n̹̫̙̮̝̣t̷͕͔̲̮ ̻͔̪̖̫kn̙̳͠o̝̻̠͎͙w̘̙̙i̺͎̮̠̙̤n͍̹͎͟g,̮̘͢ a̼n̲͉d ҉͙͚͉w̥̫è͇ ̵̯͉̥̺͈̺h̭̦̤̤̹͎̰av͔̬͓͉̞̖ͅe͍ ͏b̘̣̘́ȩ͎̞ͅe̲͚̼̬̪͇̼n̳̣͍̭ ̡͎s͏u̙͇̹̭̗͠m̴̗̥mon̞̥ͅͅe̜d̳͔͇ ̹̜in c̱ͅo̶̗̻̰̗̖͓̤u̶̠̹̲n̵͍t҉̬̩̗̘ͅl͈ę̼̲͔̰̬s̥̖̠͓̱s̹͈͎̻͡ ̙b̨la̶̟̩̲͙͉̰͙c͇͍̭͈̭̟̘̀k͕̘ ̢̮̜̙r͇͔̕i̧t͖͖͙͉u̼̻͇a͍͕͇̺͔l̨̩̦͇̩̦̲͖s͉̲͓̰̺,̥̲ ͟a͡n͙̠̞̭̯̞͞d̢̝̟͙͕̩̳͕ ̪͓̤w͉̗͉̠e̩̞͇̩̰͎ ̱͖̫̜̯͈͇h͚̼̖̥̹͖a̧̳̲͇̜̤v̯͕͖̜̲̘̝e̲ ̵̝̥̗̮̬̞̜t̼̬̪͞a̛̲̖k̶̞̰̳̬͍̣̟e̜̻͟n͍̳ ̴̠̹̘̬̳o̖̘͖v̗̭̫̱͓͠é̳̘̺r̖ ̡͉̠̲͖ͅ30̹͔͍͇0̷ͅ ̘̝̝͍b̵͙͇̤͕i̞l͘l͏̮̜̰̙͙i̙o͉͚͇n̦̞̺̜͎ ̯̪s͎̫̣̭͖͜o͘u̪̘͇̪͓͉l̵͈s̴̬͚̺͕̩̬̬.̦̪̣͈̰̜
̕
̛̤W͈̲̫͓̲̠̟e͚̳̣͕͕̣̺ a̝̗̪̙̠r̠̰̦̜̮̹̖͟ẹ̟̟ ̗̭͎͝p̝̱̞̘o͇̰s̬s̛e̱͍̩̙s͓̪̘s̘̻̤͇̬̰̘e̸̖̥̬̪d̺͉͎̹̮̝̱ ̴͔̭̟̝͔̮ǫ̣f̰ ̹̯u̧̞̺̭͙̻n̥̜̫f̥͚̱̹̟̠̺a͈̣̤t̗͝h͎̲͎͠o͓͞m̛̗̪̼̯̙̲a͓̠͚͡b̗̱̰̤̻̙͜l̳̝̟̝e̪͍̤̩̣̜̰͡ ̶̼͎̹̯p̡͓̙̺o̰w̬͇̗̭̥ͅe͏̤̟̙̗̦ͅr̴ ͉͔̩̟̹̙͝ͅa̸͚͕͈̜̗̣n̖̱͙̫͡d͓̝̀ ̜͎͇͚̦̦͝w̗̳̟̭e̙ ͚̤̰̹͜a͚͉̫͈͖ŗ̙e̷ ̤t̺͉h̷̪è̯̦͙̭̹̟ ̮̬̟̤̠̪s̴̜̹̥͖̲̣t͞r͖͓͡o͔͕̣̝̭̮̦n̦̺̻̬͕̜̕g̤̩̦̖̼eş̤̰t̮͇ ̼̥̗̦̙̠̮e̛̩̪̳̯͓l̥̙̞̲d͏̮̱̖̝̠̳ͅe̢͔͔r̶͖̩̹̯̙̮ ̸̻̭̰̰b̻̘̰̼e̸̱̥͎̱̝̼ͅi̙͕̺n͓͓̟̰̬g͇̫̭̜͖ ͔͈̪i̲̲͚͈̻̪n̛̳ ̨̼̯͓͎̰̠o͢u̪̻̕r̦̘ ̖ẹ̘͘ldr̮̝͇i̛͉̙̳͕̝̩t͖̱̲͚̦ͅc̼̞̭̟̤̜͎̀h̙̱̩̞̞̪̝ ̢͇̭̟̹p̮͠a̹̞̦͔̝̳n͉̖͍͟t͖̣̞̫h͇͉e̗ơ̘̥n̯.̸̟̱͚̙̯̞ ̖͓̪̱ ̖̗͙̻̳Ț̠͍͓͙͙h͏̲͓̠͚̯o̻͎̤͚u̝̲̩͙̮͙ a̖͕͙ŕ͙̼͎͚̼t̳̯̟̝ ͍́n҉͓̦̖̦̹ͅo̶͔͓t̤͉̼h̭͚͓̟i͍̲̖̘ͅn̴͓g̦͙̫̥̙ ͇t̢͇͉̜͙o͎͉̠̠͉ ͎u҉͚̺̭͓̖̼s̞̜̝̰ b͙͇̖̩̠͓u͉͘t j̛̰̼̝̳͉̮̝u͚s͓͓̺̗̞̣̹͞t̫͉̖̱͟ ͖̞̞̬a҉̬ṋ̞͉o͏͍̖ṭ̹̹̥̤̥ẖe͟r̹̜̞͇̹̝ ͈̤̼̬̞t̩̟̤̭̫i͚͓͙̟̥̕n͍̦y͚̟͠ ͖̪͞s̯͔̣̪̬p͚͜é̺͉͓̗̟c͏͔̹̼͓͇̣͙k̵͎͚̣ ̲̺̫̮o̷̦̠̖f̮̘ ̪̥̬̟̹̦̤i҉̰n͔̰͜s̞͚ͅi̳g͇̫ni̮̝̭̜̮f̴͕͙͇̻̮i̫c̘̰͔a̙̬̠͔̳͘nt̢͇ ͈͇͕͓̠d̛uṣ̺̫t͔̗.̖͍̟̩̺̘ͅ
̝̪̪̳͎̩͕
͕̲͉̙̻̦̦W̡̦̪̞̤̺͕ͅe̛̞͇͍̭̘̮̙ ̱͙͖̞̕ͅw҉̻̺il̷̳ḽ̖ ̦͇͙r̩̹̻͙̞̠e̛̼͍͕̤n͕̯̳d͏̘̫̭̟ ͙̱͓̥y̡͔͔͎̠̟̙̬o͖u̴̘̩̘̘̟r̤͈̰͙̲ ̹͕̫s̖̤̰̩̺̥̫͠o̮̰̭͇͘u̩̞̜l̦ ͅf̫̜͎͈̟̺̳r̛͎̮o͏̯̫̙̼͔̠m҉͔̫͇͇ ̜̥͔̘̤̲y͓̲o̙͚͉ͅu͘r̥̣ ̺̬̪̝̩̞m̗͎̠͝o̭͔̪̖̘̭͙r͓͓̰̗̣̱̀t̷a̷̠͎l̼̪̘̕ ̥͖̜̜̫̬̣bo̵͉̥d̼̝̰͖̞͈̮y̤̯͜ͅ ͔̗͇w̧̝̮̻i̖̣̟͖̹t̗̪̹͔͙̺̯h͝ ҉̬̠ḍ͕̣̥̰͎a͉̦̻̜͉͍͢r͇̫̫̪͔̰k̘̫̜͝ͅ ̛̲͉p͉̘̰͖̖̙o̥͕̗w͖͚e̟͡ŗ̭̯̝s̠ ̷͎ṵ̵̩̳̬̝̲n̴̼̥̱̱͓̝s̱̥e̘̬͙̰͉̻͉e̸̺̗̹̹̮͙n̢̫̹̫̩̭̲ͅ ̷̩̥o̠̼̖͘n̝͎̻͖ t͈h̖̲̖i̵̠͇̩͙̰̪͈s ͇̜̹̥p̵̣̘̥͍͍̭u͔͍͙̭͕n͉͖̣̪y̩͖͢ ̗̰̖͉͔̣͞p̠̟̲̝͍͔̫l͏̦à̗̘̖̯n̖͈̗̟̖͡e̺̮̼̣̦̰ṭ̲̝͔͜ ̀i̢̭͉͎̮̫n̜̝̥̱͖̞ ̼̼̲͙̬m̠̜̳̻͍̜i͍͇̣̦͎l̡͉̘͔̘̘̟̰l̡e͚̥͚͉n̜̟̤̖̲͝n̼͈̮͖i̥̖̠̰̦̤̱a̛̭̣̥͎̣, ̜̙͚̹͙̘̭h̰̲͔e̯̲̰̭̯̦e̡͓̜̘̙ḍ̘̖͓̪̮̰ ͖̖̣̜̲o̤̳̹͈͙̠͝u͖͕̼͙̘̮̝r̼̝͈̠̱͈ͅ ̯̭̟̠͟p̨u̳i̩̩̹̫̖͜ss̶̮̞͇̱a̝͠n̩ͅt͉̫̳͢ ͏̣͖͈͚̪̖w̩͕͍̳̖̱̫͠o͏̳͓̫̻͔̬̩r̝̳d̘̫̣̼̙͟s̴͔̘̣̟̼.̼̭̹̜̬̯͔
͕͓
̭̦͕̹Th̥̩̻i͇͇͙̫̥͔͞n̷k̛̟̣̥e͉̬̦̩s̰̝̼͉̳̥t ҉̞̥̞̫̫̘t̲͈̞̗̹͚h̵̙̺̙͇͎͈ò͓̘u͈̮̳̮̫ ̼̲̟̤͔̳t̟̗̟͙̯h̷̙̬̪̮̭o͓͙̖͚͎̟ų̘͓͕͖̲̬ͅ ̵͎͕̝͇͍c̘̻͙̮̕a̮̝͚̤̬̱̱n͔͉̳s̢̜̳͉̪t̯͎ ̳̙̜͟s̻͇̮̣̩̭ͅp̠̞̥͙͉̀e̝͢a̸̫k̶̻͖̭͉ s̗͍͟o̘͖̩ ̴t͉̪̩ò ̢͍̯̮ț̖̘̱͇h͉̘i̦̮̭͉̳s͙̣̲ ̺̰̀mo͔̤͉r̬͢t̰͔͕a͓͔̗͇̣̫l͏ v̪̱̲̟͢e͜s̡̺̬ͅse̛̬̻̞͉͇͍l̯̥͕̠̹͜ ͕̣̗̼̫̠̥͘w͡i̻̘t͜h͔͇͙͓͉̭̣ơ̤u̜̻̘͍t̟̟̬̫̻ͅ ͈̱̜͓̝̻͞c̙͈͔͞o̭̞͔̳ͅn̩̝̣͎ś̖̞̟̙̻̜̱ę̗̯q̳̱̮̻͚̰ṳ̷̟͇̼̮e̘̻̮͙̬̖ǹ̳̝c͏e̮͔̩̜͔͔̮͘?
̼͘
͎͉̞̳͎R̨̘͚͇͔̼̺e͚̪̳̻c̵̬̜o̳̳̳n̴̝̭s̴̟̮i̴͔̠̜ͅḍ͙͞ͅe̥͎͍͔̼̜͈͡r͔͞ ̞͕̲̙̙͍̫t̫̘̫̝ḫ͠ỵ͕̥̮͕ ̳͎l̵͔͇i̜̣͈̳f͓̺e͎ ̫̠͔͚c͈̱̯̺͟h͚͈o̼͉i̺̞͎͇͔̱c̜̞͘e̬͎̹͚͎̥s̶,̵̝͔̪ ̤̼̩̙̲ma̡̘͕̬g̯̳̯̗g̱̞ot͚̙͎͝.̣
̯̲͕̥̬͚̳
̞A͏̱͍̥̰̟t͉͍͖̗͢ ͔͉̞̘̭͟t̶h͏̫̰i͖̘s ̡͚͎̜̹ͅm̢̺̬̫om̰e̟͈n͎͓̕t̥̩̕,͈͟ͅ ̡͓̙̼̘͈̟w͚ḙ̸̗͖̘ ̵̬̙͕ͅạ̷̻͍͖͕̦̙r̠͔̦̙̗̗̮e̢̞͚̝̩̩̯͙ ̲̲g̙͈a͈̟͖̰t̠̹͔̺͙̘̣ẖ̟͎͙e̷̻̝͍̳̳͈̼r̖̮͖͢i̱n̸̼͙̮̺̩̙̭g͖͇̼̻̻ ̨̹o͏̳̜̮̺̹u̶̗r̡̦ ̘̼͓̼͍̗̬͝l̹͚̯̩̤̮ͅe̝̫͉̗̼̼͝g͏̤͙̜͓̦i̡̩̣o̧̯̥̳̞̤n̠̥̬̭̱̩ ̰̝̟̝͍o̢͈͎ͅf̹͉̺̝̯̦ ̨͙͓͍̰m̧̟̟̤̲i̱̫̣̣̺͍n̹̮̤̖̘̗͇͡i̮o̴͚̤n̜͇̥͓̞s̺͠ ̧̩͎͇f̩̮͝r͕͝o̧̞̟̗̗̙͚̟m̼̱̝ ̛̗̠͙̗a̵̖͍̻͍̰̠c͚̬͍̘͚ͅr̵͓o̪̼͇̻s̜s͙̹͎͖͚͉ͅ ̙̜̟̟̱͈̭t̷h҉̱̙͚e ̨̳̘̙̺̪̰̠cọ̱̻͘s̶͈̯̗͕̥̬ͅm̱̬̫͓̳o̼̪̦̱̲͢s̯̟͖̭͉͚͖ ̖̝͙ͅa̷̺͖̹̹͙n̖̯̼̝̦̞̖d҉ ̩̻̥͇̻t̯̪͔͖̝̞͠r͍͠a͔͓̝͖̩̘ͅc̵̥͎͍̞i̭̺͓n̪ͅģ͍̝̱̯̘ͅ ̦̗̟̖͙̥͓t̗̝̟h̢e͓͙̼̲ ͉̖̼͎̤ͅth͙̭̱r̖̤͝eͅa҉d̴͙̤͇̞s̪̦̼͕ t̳͙h͈a̢̘̻̼͈̞͖t f͈̙̭o͕̗͙̬̪̦ͅr҉͖m̯̲͈̦̩̱̯ ̘̙̳̘̜͎̖ṭ͉̙̕h̜͈͙̝͠e͏̗̮ ̻͍w̩̞̳̜͔̙ͅo̤͓͇̙̖ͅr̡͓̫t҉͇̻̱̻̪̻͕h̰l̹̰̹͇̰͖͍e̞̙̮͈̘̘s͖̼̳̱͖͇̖s̻̫̗͞ ̶͎̝̙̗͉ͅn̢̥̤e̢͍̯͎͈̼t̜̖̣ͅw̨̜̜̠̦͉o̩̠̲̤r͔̖͔̞̱̮̤k̼͉̤͓̙͈ ̷t͔̦̩̭̺h̳̗͚͈̙͉͈o̻̟̝͚͙͍̘͠u̧͕̼̰̳͕̠ ̱̖̻c̟̞̜͍a̛̤̲͕̜l͍̮̻͓͍̝͎l͏̞ṣ̮͍t̗̫̳̞̼͎͈ ̗̬̭̤̺͙̘a͏̫̳̬̞̳̗͈ ͘m̷̞̻̖̟̭̪̝in̼̺̖͖͖̰͓d͇ ͚̼͡s̠͖͖̩o͍̞̬̙̦̥̝ ̨p̴̯̳̦r͕̥̻e̷̝̺̣p͚͡a̛͓̘̳̼͖̦r̷̝̘e͕̙͘ ̠ṯhy̶͙͚s̡̲e̴̲̼̱l̬̦̗̮͉͠f̛ ̝͔f̱̯̯̻͈̦o͘r̖̙͉̙̞̗ ̴̠͈t̞̻̻̹̜̻h̥̞̭ę̥ ̦͓͢c̴͇͔̤o̻m͓̳͢ͅi̸̱̖̣̟̦n̥̭̮̲̝̠g̼͖̬͍̞ ̫̦̩̤͔͞ͅm̟̺͔a̮̦̙̖̳̦e͔̜l͔s̘̱̦̺͎t͏͚͇͎͕r͓͠o̬m͓̖̗͇̥͚,̪͙̹ͅ ͔̯̟̬͜í͉͓̥̮̩̭n̵̥͓̪̗s͍̹̗ḙ̻c̺̮̝̥t̜̺͓̹̰̦͞.̜̱̱̟̜̤̻
͈̺
̼'̩T͎̟ͅw̢͉̼͍̥ͅi͓̗̮̲͡ļ̠̟̼l̡ ͕̼͍̗̘͍̭b̝̤͈̼e a͚̺̝̱̫͞ ̷̭̗ș̬̹͓̱͇ͅt͟o̷̘ṛ̭͎͉̖͙ͅm̻͈͖̭̹̀ ͈̟̱͕t͔͎͎̫͎͞h͖͚̞̬a̴̫̻̥t̯ ͔̰̗͔̫͠a̩̖n͙̼̝̥̭̪n̬̫i҉̤̟̰̝̲̟h̥̝̯̳i̝̤̪͕͉̳̠l͎̼̳̜̠̖̟a̘̦̰̩t̸̮e͇̱̻̜̺s̤̻͓͖̟͔ ̹͕͈̞͉t҉̻͚h̳̻̮̺̰y̧ ̞l͖̩̪̪̭͙͟i͓̲̳̟͖f̧̫̲̞͓̰̤̬e ̩̭s͙p̤ar̢k͓͖.̘̻̝
͏̖
҉͈͇̠̪̫̱͖T̫͔͎ͅh͇̹̜̝̲͎̦o̰̼̗͍̯ͅų ͕͇͈͘ar̡̘̘t̘͕̬͉͍̞̖ ̰͖̙̻̯̜̺͡a̵̱l͎̦̼̮̖͉r̻e҉ad̞̪y̸̼̺ ͇͇̘͇̜p̯͈̺̭̝̻͔e͖͔͙̹͖̭̳r̞̫is͓h͏̱̞͕̼͎e̦͕̣͘d̢̞͍̩͚̬̪.̤͖̥̰̼͔͉
̪͔̝ͅ
̶̹̫̤͕̹W͇̫̩e̻̦͔͘ ́a̺r̖͙͇̙͟e ̳͍͔͔e͝v҉̳e̞̰̻̭͉̹͡ry̞̱w̞̻͙̭͍h̩͎͙̪ę̟̜̙̹r̸̜̗̜͇̳̹̩e҉̬̗̫,̧ ͉͇̺̖a̵̟͍̖ͅt҉̠͇ ̪̺̘̟͠e̤̘̞͙̻̼ve͈̩̹̠̙̜̟r҉̣͔̝y҉͇ ̲͈̯t͔͍̼̼̻̱i͈̰̥͚̻͟m͕̤͙͚̮̬̕ͅe̶̦̪͖̰̩̝͔,̨̗͈̜̮ ̵͓͓̥a͙̝͎̤n҉͓̪̥̪͉d̩̖͔͓͈̻̭ ̭̠̮̹we̹͎̬̩̤̞ ͖͍͍c̼̘̺͖̱̻͠a̠͈n̘̬ ̮̼̰̥̲̙̲͝ḍ̮̤͜e͏̪̤͉̮ş͓͉̭̳tṛ̷̻͕͎͎o͔̺̘͉͟y̪̥ ̸̘̘̲̜t̶̲̫͇̞̥̪̞h͏͖̫͔̤̖ee̗̻ ͓̖̼̰͍͖̦i̫̩̼͎n̡͔̫̣̖ o͉̬v̛͎̙̗̰̜̩̮ę͚r̛̖̣̙̹͈ ̰͇͉s̰̤̲͟e͕̭̯̲͇͚̙v̶̯̳e̜̗̪̗̩͚n̢ ̯t͏̘̝̝̝̻̺ͅh͉̯͝o̢̺̤̟̹͍͈͈u̷̙͈͇̦ş̯͓a̰̲̳̩̩̟̙n̶̠̤̯̬̫ͅd͍̖̤͕̝̭͘ ͎ẃ͕̯̟ạ̹͝y̨͇s̮̗̫͉̖̗͔̕,̷̺̠ ̙̩̜͍̭̜͍͝ąn̲̝̗̳̕d̞̼͡ ̠̼͇͍̖̥͟w͓̲̗̩̞i̼̭̺̺̗̭̕ͅt̳̹̹̺͓͖͟h͖̦͚̣͎͝ ̻̻̣̬͍͠on̗̼̯ͅly͉͙͍̰ ̖ṱ͈̠͝h̖̹e̤̲̺͓̳̦͜ m̢͎̘͍͓͍e͍̩̗͙̜͟r̦͈e͏͇̮͇͕s̜̱̲͎ṭ͖͙ i̖͙o͚̫̥̯͙̤ͅt̮̙̘aͅ ̶̦̣̞̳̘̠o̻̳̙̝̣̬f̜ ̷͉̱̺̖p͇̰̝̕o͕͙͍̠̺w͙̳̻ͅe̝̬͙̭̺̟r͢ ̶i͚̳̺n̞͚̪̣̯̝̙ ͎̣͟ọ̲͖̙̤́u̫͚͙͙r͓̦͙ v҉͎̲̯̺̼e̢̤̹͙̞̩s̠̫̞̻͙̤͟s̶̥e̗͎͈̝͡l̳.̰̩̖̮̻́
̩̥͠
̭N̩̹͓̕o̖̗̘t̥̭̲̱̗̣̫͡ ͈͢o̶n͚̞̖͎l̶͈̦y͜ ͚̮a̭͉͙̗̥̪̫r̝̠̫̫͘e̡͍̱̹͓ ̸̳̼̲͙͓͕w͙̭̱̪͡e a ͕d̶̦̰̱̘r̗̻͝e͔̦͙̱̫̘ͅa͈̼͙d̠ ̡̹̮̰̱͎̩ͅw̢̦̟̳iz͈̟̺͇̯̼̤a̴̘͚̲̺͎r̵͙̥̘͙͖d̦̙̥,͚ ̶̺̩̲͔b̩͓̦ųt̷̝ ҉̞̜̳̯̺w͎̣̭͝e͏ ͕̙̟̰̯h҉͚̗a͖̪͍̺̱v̷̦͚e̗͞ ̷̰̱a̛̪͙̝̜c͖͖̳̦̗͕c͕̥e͍͍̬̤͔ͅs̗̖̳̣̦s̨̞̺̩̠̹̮̤ ̜t͕̗͔͍͉͎o̪͡ ͍̱̩̹̥̗ͅt̡̺̣̤h̶̫͉̦o͚̬us̥͇̤͞á̘̰̞̞̖̩n̞͉̟̲͍͝d̼̩͙s͙̲̹̲͇͞ o͎̬͚̗͠f̟̜́ ͔̻͖͍̤͈̗c̹̻͚͙̀re̬͕̰̖͕͇̜at̛͕u̯̱r͏̪̪̙e̸͕̖͇͎̞̞s̤͈ ̹͘fr͕̼̹o̼͖̻̰̟͉m̲̩̩ ̯̼͈̪͖̹̰͢b̗̩͍͙̩͍e̖͇̺̱̠͔̕ͅyond̥ͅ ̹̰̖̖ͅt҉̹͓̤̪̱͉ͅo̜̰̱̤͓̱ ̖̖̝̩͢s͖̟̟̙͠t̲͙ar͞s̭͇̦͎͇ ̞̻̖̝̣͓̜a̦̹͚̜̙͓n̘̣̪̫̭͔̞d̖͇͚ ̗̪͉̀I̜̗͍̰͘ ̫̜w̯̼̺̮̜ͅi͍̳͚̳͟l̬͕l̝̮̲͚ ̲̙̫̙͈̖͕u͔s̗̹̗̫̱͚̦ḛ̥͔̤͙̙̯͢ ̻̩̜̱̲̬t̸h҉e͉͙̫͉͈̦ir̴͖͚̞̹̘̫͔ ̞̲̮m̧͔̘ig̴̤h҉̩̬̝̰̱t͜ ̸̭̗̯̳͓̪t̤̙̰͍̩̗͡o͕͍͡ ͓̩̺͉̝it̙͉̮̝͉s ̨f̧̭̩̟͎̥̦̙u̲̫͇͕͖͍̬l̯̰͇͚̲̦ͅl͈̀ ̢̥e̱̦͚x̬̟̬̟̙̣t͕͉͈̥͢e̹͇͚̬̘̺͞n̨̼͇t͉ ̵͉̹t̡̜̭̤̱͖̝̱ò̜ ͙̰̟w̢̬̲͎͙ͅi͞p̠̦̗̣͎̼̟͞e̷̲̰͔̜̣̫ ̟̮̬̥̠̼t̵̥͙h͔͞y̞̣̳͇͖̘ ̷m҉̦ͅi̝̝͍̙̙̖s̮͈̝̹̭̖er̨̙̩͚a̛̗͕b̬͕l͎̖̞e̤̲͕̘̩̫ ̧̪̼̟͓ͅe͏̱̗̖̮̗̖x͍̩̙ͅi̘͇̳̼s̡̮̫̘͓̭t̼̝̜̱̤̪̣e̦̜͈̣͜n͍̫̖͘c̰͖e̼̥̱̮̦ ҉̪͎̤f͏̙̻͕r̡̫ọ̘͓͚̥̞̼̕m̱̪ ̹͓̗̣̥̹̟t̷͔h͔̗̣̯̝ͅi̻s̱̣̖̳ ̱̳̖̻̹ͅu̵n̤͍̥i͙̻͔̗ͅv҉̣ḛ͍̣̻̹rs̺̗e͍̟,̬͎͈̺ ̟̖̞͕th̗͖͉̙̯o̡̩u̞̣̬ ̡͉̱m͎̹͢i҉̰͈̹͍̭s̫̪̮͎̯̕e̲̫͞r̳̙a̧̗̠͕̤̤̙͖b̥̫͞le̳̳̱̹͢ͅ ̷c̶̩̯u̠r̶̹͉̫̦̳̭̝.̢̜̦̲̩͈̬̼
̺̮̙̤͙
̺̺̱͙̪̮͘I̳̠̥͜f̯̫̖̜͖͇ ͉̻̀ͅo̲̖͚̤̪̘n̫̭l̥͇͘ͅy̬͚ ̦̩͓̲͟ţ̦h͖͔̳o̦̭̦̤̹̟͉u̯̮̯ ̵̯̣̩̝̫c̛̤̟̠o͝u͓̭̦̠l̲d͏̲̭s̷͉̜͙t͟ ̩̬̰ḥ̴a͉̜̥͇̙͕ve̴͕͔̥ ̠̠̘̪̣c͔̞̲͉̙̫͙͟o̜̦̞͓͚m̳̩̭p̟͖̜̖͇͢r̮̫̮͞ͅe̲̜͍̘͖ͅͅh҉͕̦̲̻e̝̰n̞͓͖̫͢ͅd̻̮̱̩̖e̙d͍̯͍͚̼ͅͅ ̛̙͕͖t̶͈h͍͈e̫ ͕̲u̟̦̬̩̫͉͡n̴̲h̴̫̟̗̘͓͍ò̰l̙̟̺͟y̗͇͎͚̫̟͢ͅ ̫̮͍̹̣̲re͈̤͈̬͖t̬̪̫ͅr̳̪̯̺̠͖͕i̜̞͕͚̼̤b͜ụ̫̠̱̮t̶̞̼̼͙̻̣͙i̯o̧̹n̯͔̖͍̱̺͇ ̯̖͓̗th͚̜̝̬̣y ̵̭̤̬̱p̣͚̬͓̹͇̥i̞̻̲̟̝̜t͟i̻f̛̠u̗̯l̘͎͓͕͠ ̝wo̡r̬d͏͉̤s̷̭͕̹ ̡̤̦͍̯̙̘w̭͍͇͕̮̞ḙ͓͎̤̤re̺̕ ̲̯͓͓͠àb̧̜o̞̻̫͡u̥͉̠̜t͔̗ ̷͈̯̲̗t̡̥o͈͓̞ ͠b̦̲̤r̦̳̙̙̳͈̳̕įn͓̦̫͟g̖̥͍̱̺̩ͅ ͕̦̲͓̞͕̜d̵̯͕̠ͅo̘̙̲̳̲͜w̱͞ͅn̝ ̖̩͎̺̮̮́u̷͓̝̝̪͙͚ͅpo̙͕̦̖̝̫͕n̼̱̯̦͢ ̼̲̲̻͜t͞h̸̘͇͈̱̙̜e̫͎̭͔͙̥͉e̸̜̰̖̲͙̪̫,̨̻̮̗̯ ̖̥ḿ̠̗͍̹̤͈̫a̡̬͖̰̮͎̤̳y̧̦̺̩̠̺b͕͔̪̳e̦͍̞̯͘ ̭̜̼̙̟t̷̻̲h͓͉̟ơ̱u̸̜̙̦̺̯͉̜ ̭̥̲͇̪̮w̯̖͈͉̫̜o̺̖̝̣ͅu͚l̶̟̭ͅd̳st̹͈̥ͅ h̻̖̦̲͝a̼̺͓̞̯̲v̘̖͎͙͘e̵ ̶̠̭̳h̤͓e̬̳̮̦̣̦͡l̥͙̮̼d ̴t͙͔̻̻̣̬ͅh̩̞̰͚y̨ ̺͇͉̲͚͓̹w̥̜͔r̻͇̼͟e̠̥̖̻̮t̹̭͉̟c̴̼̩͍͎h͉̟͚̟̟̳̯e̞̪͟d̲̝̙̞ ̺͕͢ṭ̩̗̼̭̮̖ó̬n͉̪̪g̪͉̘̗͕͢u̝͉̫̹̬͓̬e͖̭̱̪̪̻̹.̖͖̠
̲̮̗̪͙͇̮͘
̥̰̘̮̩B̭u͍͎t̀ ͉̘̺̫̱̹̮t̶̪̘̱͇̦̺ḩ͍͎̱̺͓̣o̫ͅṷ ͚̥͎͕͕̙͉c̘͈͈͚̻̘͞o̬u͏̺̣̤̪͇̮̩l̠ḍ̷͈͇̻̬͓̝s̤͇̳ͅt̳̲̞̣͔̣̯̕ ͕ṉ͜o͖͉̞ț,̫̞̰͟ ͇̗̰̙̪ͅt͙̪̠̗̩͍h̜̱̗͇̺̱͠o͕͍̯̳͟u͚͖͚̯̞͞ ̧d͓̼̤̞͘i҉̟̤̣d͖̬͖̥̲͖̕s̘̖̩̭̹̪̥̕t̜̞̤̹̪̪̗͞ ̴͉̙̙n̷̬̺̺o̖͔͖̖̩̲t̨͙͓,͎ ͏͉̙a͕͚̣̯̰̤ṇ̢̰̖̣͚d̙̭ ̘̪͈͕̩ͅn̡̝̣̬̙̦̭ow̜̲̟̥̩͕ͅ ̬͍̖t̬̤̗̗̠͞ͅh̤̯̣̹o̢̖u̳̩̩͔ w͈̤̻̮͙i̢lt̘͇̰͖ ̜̞̮̻p͎͞a̗͚̼̻y̷̻͓̠̯̜ͅ ̛͎̩̦̭̙t̤͓̺ḥ͙̱e͇͍̹ ̴͙̱̲͖̰̩̮u̴̗̗̝̟̜̖̩l͔̣ṭ̪͕̟̮i͚͍̩͈̤̖m̤a̠͈̫̖̱͢ț̘é̙̺̰̦̥̜̝ ̥̰̪͖̤͈͜ͅp͇͎͠r͔i̦̼̼̩cé͖̭͖͓̩,͎̼̖̥͕ ̺̦ͅț̷ͅh̯̯̭͙̕o͍͞ͅu̺̦̬ ̵͖̱̪̳̹i͔͖d̶̪͓͇͓͉͕͕i̯̬̼o̤t̥̲̘͚̤̪ ͞a̶̖͍ ͓t̫̮͙͔̗̮͡ho҉͉͚̳̯̻u҉̲͕̱͇ͅͅs̸͖̗͙̗a̹̘n̦̫͝d͙̤̩̯ ̹̭̬͍̜̼̘t̺̮͙͠i̬͔̰m͍̳͇e̷͇͇̰͖̺s̴̞̮͚̯ ̠̫͔͍̟d̗̮͈̭͘ͅḁ͕̮͖͈́m̲̖̟̯͙n̳̹e̱̹͉͓̠̜d̟͓͉̮̝͎̕.̞̖͙͎̙̜̥
̨̪̺͙
͖̻͝W̱̖̘͕͡e̟̰̮ ̰̼̥͟w̡͔̰̗̭͉̦i̧͔̱̳̗͎͕̜l̮̳̰͔̘̻ͅl͓͇͈͉̤̙͖ ̻̺̦̮͙ͅb̺̙r҉͈͙i̫̟͡n̙͍g̙̭͖̥ ̷̤͉͕t̟̞͖̙͉̩͔͟h̳̠̘̝ę̻ ͏̤͎f̜̖͓͉̹̱̫͡u̧̻r̹̦͈͎͝y̵̯̦̳ ͉͚̣̲̭̜̤o̹̙̗̫̘f̼ a̤͕̩̝̟͚̟ ͏̲͚̫͚̗͕̩m͎͉̮̻̲͇̭i̫̙ͅl͇̲͙̘͙ͅl͈̙̤í̳̪̯͖̞̩o͖̰ņ̱͍͎ͅ ̘ra̘̬͙̱͜ͅg͉͎̙̟̣̤i̟͎̲͍̭̬n̜͍̳̣ͅg̥̙̮̯͝ ̵̫̮̠͎͙s̞̯̜͈u̢ṋ̜̯̰s̠̭̼̺̙͕ ̱̜͕͕̼͕d̬͔͎o̳͓̪w̳n̮̗̼̲͜ ̷̰u̝̥̰̯̺p͇̮̩͙̘ͅon̸̟ ̰̜͖̯̦̬ͅt͇̙̻h̠̀e̸e̬̙̙͚̣ ̜͇̤͕̜͘a̹̣ͅn̮̗̠̣d҉ ͙̙̺͓͈̤̟t̠̙̫̹͢ho͏u̝͎ ̬̳̰̳͙̯͡w̫̲͕̬̭i͍̘̭͚͞l̺̣̪͎t̲͈ ͎͔̘̝̦ͅb̖͍̞u͏̹r̢̝͍̹̟̥n̖͚͚̫͓.͕̣͍͖̟͓̤
̱
̸̤͈T̛̼̖̖̠h̡̠y̧̟͙̦͈̳ ͏̦l̶i̦͍̻̣͇̺͔f̲̀ȩ̫̭͚̭͙ ҉̭̞ͅì͖̟̖͙̰̩͖s͇̗ ̝͚̞f̷̦̰̱̰̳̩o̗̱̥r̝̣͎̰̙̼f̴̜͓̟͕e̴̤̻̗͇̖̩i̞̟̣͓͔͉t̰̤̦,̝̥͔̰̥͓̗͜ ҉c͈̯͓hi̷̪̖̹͈̘̘l͍d̻̣̮̺̟̮̫.

Most of the students by this point were writhing in agony, vomiting or suffering from boils. Octavia loosened her bow tie and said, without any trace of her usual posh accent:

"As I live and breathe, I shall never be British again."

Miss Somnambula fainted.

Fluttershy turned her head away and clucked her tongue. "Ragamuffin, you're such a creepy motherfucker."

Ragamuffin, restored to his usual, mortal self, swung his arms left and right. "Wakka wakka!"

And that's how we learned the pyramids were not built by aliens after all.

THE END

Author's Note:

And that's the end of my fic!

Donk.

Comments

[NaiadSagaIotaOar]

This is a thing.

All the women in her family had had the Sense, for as far back as she knew. Hers and Limestone's were tied inexorably to rock-related things. Pinkie's let her forecast disasters. Marble's... was best left unmentioned. There was a reason the girl was so quiet.

This is a thing with a really nice bit of headcanon in it.

This a thing that makes fun of Ragamuffin.

Have an upvote.

[Aurora Dimmet]

Did... Ragamuffin just Navy Seal Copypasta us in Zalgo?

[Lack of Tact]

T̫͔͎ͅh͇̹̜̝̲͎̦o̰̼̗͍̯ͅų ͕͇͈͘ar̡̘̘t̘͕̬͉͍̞̖ ̰͖̙̻̯̜̺͡a̵̱l͎̦̼̮̖͉r̻e҉ad̞̪y̸̼̺ ͇͇̘͇̜p̯͈̺̭̝̻͔e͖͔͙̹͖̭̳r̞̫is͓h͏̱̞͕̼͎e̦͕̣͘d̢̞͍̩͚̬̪.̤͖̥̰̼͔͉

Nani?!

[PresentPerfect]

9576154
It took me like an hour to transcribe. :B

[Aurora Dimmet]

9576276

Worth it.

[Therizzen]

British people are so zany!

This was a mistake.

[CoffeeMinion]

I hearby declare that I shall storm the gates and seeketh a character tag for our great and terrible Lord Ragamuffin.

So let it be written

So let it be done

[PresentPerfect]

9576541
Yeah, lemme know if that works out, for srs :B

[MJP]

It’s all rainbow dash’s fault

[moonbutters]

Ok

[Claw in Cursive]

"Dat's Our Ragamuffin!" a.k.a. "Ragamuffin Turns Everyone Into a Lesbian."

Decent crackfic. You get a thumbs up.

[Saberking2012]

Its like, 2 in the morning and yet, I'm seeing this. I have but one question- wot?

[kits]

Ragamuffin is such an easy to hate character. Hopefully they won’t try to shoehorn him into more things like they did with glimmer.

[kits]

9578351
Not PG

“Hold up a sec. You, Mrs Anti-frou-frou, kissed Pinkie Pie?”

Rainbow put a hand to her chin and her eyes screwed up in thought. “Does it count as a kiss if it’s not using the lips on your mouth?”

[FanOfMostEverything]

Remember, don't break anything without permission!

I feel like there's a story here...

Also this chapter is not mobile-friendly.

In any case, wonderfully disturbing bit of... whatever this was. Thank you for it.

[PresentPerfect]

9581827
You're welcome! :D

[MJP]

Needs more capper

[The Cloptimist]

Ever wonder why so many awful American actors trying to do "British" accents end up sounding vaguely Australian?

The Australian accent itself actually comes from 18th- and 19th Century British emigrants (and convicts!) from the South of England; the London ("Cockney") accent takes on Australian vowel sounds if you try to pronounce words in Cockney while straining and stretching your face, as if wincing while working in the unfamiliar, unrelenting bright hot glare of the sun. (Try it!) In time, that simply became the way everyone there talked, even when cities with lots of shade (and lots of indoor jobs) started to spring up.

I think the same thing happens with non-British VAs who try to do British accents - I imagine they can't help but pull stupid Dick Van Dyke faces in the recording booth, and so the same inadvertent transformation of vowel sounds takes place, with the same results.

Anyway, I always wondered about the Pyramids, so it's good to have that cleared up.

[Ri2]

9602665
Ohhhhhh

[kits]

9581814
Lies.

It’s always time for Scott Pilgrim references.

[Ri2]

9602665
She shouldn't have much trouble with Ragamuffin, then.

[SunflowerSwirl]

"But first," she continued, holding up a finger, "I must ask each and every one of you to respect our ancient artifacts. Please, keep your eyes and ears open, but your hands to yourselves!" She tittered demurely. "Now, please, everyone follow me!"

Oh no... You just know what's going to happen, but it's still funny.

[B_Munro]

"There was nothing else in Neighgypt, either. Had there been, they could have wasted valuable time wandering around, or even getting lost."

Under orders from the Canterlot Ministry of Propaganda, no foreign nation can be portrayed in a MLP production as anything bigger than a small village or minor slum.

(Foreigners are to be shown as hapless saps in need of Pony assistance, save for Hippogriffs/Seaponies, which are always half Pony, to avoid cognitive dissonance)