• Published 4th Oct 2012
  • 9,520 Views, 361 Comments

The Majestic Tale (of a Mad-Pony in a Box) - R5h



Death sends the Tenth Doctor somewhere he never could have expected. With new friends to make and ancient foes from two universes to fight, only one thing is certain: there's an awful lot of running left to do.

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Great and Powerful (b)

We now return to Great and Powerful.


Despite everything, it had been a good day for Trixie.

After saving Vinyl, Octavia, and the Doctor from the Order, Octavia had invited her to stay the night in their hotel suite, despite Vinyl’s protests. After having spent umpteen nights in a cart without heat, running water, or a soft bed, Trixie had felt no urge to say no to a free room. She'd parked her cart in the garage of the Hotel Palomino and gone in.

The first thing she'd done was to dash into their bathroom, jump into the shower, and set the water temperature to blazing. For the first time in ages, she'd gotten to hog the hot water, and it felt gorgeous.

After what felt like an hour, Trixie accepted that she should probably get out of the shower before her skin wrinkled. It's been a wonderful day, she thought, stepping out and toweling herself off. She had a bed, her bag was full of bits, and the show had—very nearly—gone well. Things were looking up.

She left the bathroom just as Octavia came in through the hotel room’s door. Trixie hadn't realized Octavia had left the room, but it had been a long shower.

Octavia nodded in greeting to Trixie, then addressed the Doctor and Vinyl, who were still awake. “Back from the police station. I told them everything we'd seen—the glowing eyes, the Order, etcetera.”

“And?” the Doctor asked.

She grimaced. “They said it was, and I quote, 'the funniest thing they'd heard all week'.”

The Doctor sighed. “Would have been nice, having some outside help for once... looks like we're on our own.”

“Hold on, we?” Vinyl said. “Octy and I have that concert-thing to do, remember? Probably gonna cut into snoopy-time.”

The Doctor turned to Trixie, but she answered before he asked. “Trixie's only staying until morning, and then she's out.” Vinyl snorted, causing her to correct herself. “I'm out.”

“I wish it worked like that.” The Doctor slumped forward, resting his face on his front hooves. “I called the stampede an experiment before—maybe I should have called it a dry run. A small-scale test. But if small-scale is a stampede, then what's full-scale?”

“Mind-controlling regular ponies?” Vinyl suggested. “That's pretty evil, right?”

“Maybe... but we need more information. Sorry, I need.” He scowled and scratched his neck. “Right now, what matters is what we do know. And that they know that we know. They were willing to kill us to get rid of witnesses, but we're still alive—so we're still targets. None of us are 'out', Trixie.”

"On that cheery note, I think I'll get my shower,” said Octavia, and entered and closed the bathroom. The sound of rushing water reached Trixie's ears seconds later.

“And Trixie would like to get to bed,” she said.

Vinyl snorted. “Sorry, babe, the hotel couldn't find a mattress large enough for your great and powerful ego. Hey-o!”

“Oh, you're one to talk.” The Doctor rolled his eyes, then pointed to a mattress lying in the corner of the room, complete with sheets, comforter and pillow. “That's yours.”

Keeping her priorities straight, Trixie strode to the bed and flopped down onto it, closing her eyes. She would be asleep quickly, if nopony interrupted her.

Which the Doctor proceeded to do. “Seriously, Trixie, do be careful. It's not over.”

“You be careful. Trixie's the one who can take care of herself.” She grabbed the pillow and dropped it on her head to block out light and sound. She was falling asleep, though not as quickly as she'd hoped; after sleeping on a cot for so long, the bed was almost too comfortable. What a nice problem to have, she mused.

“Ten bits says I get her with the ol' shaving cream on the hoof trick before she wakes up,” she heard Vinyl whisper.

“Oh, Octavia must love rooming with you,” the Doctor sighed. They were silent after that, and after a few minutes Trixie fell asleep.


Trixie woke at what she thought was about five-thirty, and immediately checked her face and hooves for whipped cream. When she was assured of their absence, she rose and found her hat and wizard's robe, then peered around the dark room. She was a bit surprised to see Vinyl and Octavia in separate beds—she'd been pretty sure they were an item—but was more surprised not to see the Doctor anywhere. She'd hoped to be the first to rise. Well, at least I won't have to talk with Vinyl Scratch.

Not wanting to make much fuss, she crossed the room and quietly let herself out. She walked down to the ground floor and entered the garage, thinking of new places to stage her show—and ways to spend her new money—as she looked for her cart. It didn't take long to find it, but she noticed an odd smell from inside and a hoof-written note resting on its harness. She frowned and illuminated her horn to read it.

Trixie:

I figured you'd leave bright and early, but there's a few things you should know. I'm doing some snooping around about this cult business of ours, and hopefully it won't provoke them into action—if it does, I'm sorry. Again, and I can't emphasize this enough, be careful.

If we don't see you again, then it was a pleasure to meet you and you put on a hell of a show. I hope you like breakfast—I made do with what I had.

Razzle-dazzle 'em,

The Doctor

She opened her cart to find a steaming mug of tea on the floor, next to a plate piled high with grilled tomatoes.


Step one: Investigate the Everfree Forest. The Doctor wasn't sure what steps two, three, or beyond might be, but in his experience they usually presented themselves fairly clearly.

For that matter, so did his path into Everfree, thanks to the damage left by the previous night's stampede. He only had to walk two blocks from the hotel garage to find it: a street with benches upturned, shop windows smashed, and trees toppled. He followed the trail of destruction, and within half an hour he reached the edge of the city and took a good look at Everfree.

He'd seen it from Ponyville, and on the train ride to Fillydelphia, but only now that he was really investigating did he notice how very dark the forest floor was; how much the trees tangled and twisted with each other; and perhaps most importantly, how wide the gap was between the city and the forest. The only path in was the one left by the stampede. There were no hiking trails or bike paths—not that there were bikes in Equestria, but if there had been the Doctor doubted that their paths would lead into this dark place. Perhaps pre-dawn isn't the best time to go in alone.

After a minute spent hesitating at the city limits, he came to a decision: Whatever's in there, I've seen worse. Ten minutes later, he crossed the train tracks and entered the forest, following the torn branches and trampled plants.

Half an hour after that, the Doctor was poking holes in the path with his sonic screwdriver out of sheer boredom. He almost wanted something to attack him; at the very least, it would be interesting. As it was, he had found no clues of any kind. Perhaps the stampede had crushed any possible leads beyond recognition; perhaps the Order had covered their tracks; however, the Doctor suspected that he simply didn't know the land well enough. Maybe I should head back and get a proper breakfast. His stomach grumbled, and he imagined the smell of food... a nice soup, perhaps.

It took a few seconds for him to realize that he wasn't imagining the smell. Somewhere in the Everfree Forest, a place avoided by most sentient life, someone was making soup. Butternut squash soup, in fact. There's my step two: Follow my nose.

He concentrated and walked down the trampled path in the direction of the smell. Eventually he found a small path through the growth that he'd missed earlier, and followed it. It took about a minute for him make his way to the clearing at the end of the path. In the middle of that clearing was a hut carved out of an old gnarled tree, from which the aroma was rising. Trinkets and tribal masks were hung from various branches of the tree, or draped over its many protruding roots. So, the Doctor pondered, what's my plan of attack?

He walked up to the house and knocked. After a few seconds, the door opened a tad, and the zebra from the night before poked his head out. It took another few seconds before his eyes widened in recognition. “You! Why are you here now, at this time?”

“Hello again! You forgot to rhyme,” the Doctor said. The zebra smiled, and a moment later the Doctor realized that he'd finished the rhyme himself. “Oh, you cheeky... anyway, just popped in to see how you were doing. How your injury's holding up, you know. What's your name, by the way?”

“My name is Zanzi, and my wound is doing well; 'twill heal soon.” Zanzi opened the door wider, and the Doctor saw a bandage wrapped around his body. “Please, Doctor, come into my home. You look famished to the bone.”

The Doctor walked past Zanzi into the hut, and saw the pot of butternut squash soup hanging over the fire. He sat down in front of it and let it warm himself up.

“My question is unanswered still: why did you come out in the chill?” Zanzi sat down next to him.

“I'm trying to figure out what exactly happened last night. Do you remember anything unusual? Strange, hooded ponies; magic; disturbed animals?”

Zanzi took a moment to think, then shook his head. “One second, I was in my home; then the city, with a broken bone. Besides that, nothing was bizarre.” The Doctor sighed. “I'm sorry that you came so far,” Zanzi finished.

“Well... not your fault. Still!” He made the effort to appear cheerful. “No worries. I'll figure them out in time. Until then—”

He was interrupted by more knocks came from the door. Zanzi tried to stand up, but cringed in pain from his broken rib.

“Don't exert yourself, I'll get it,” the Doctor said, and walked to the door with a frown. Who else wanders the Everfree Forest at six in the morning?

He stuck his head out to see a unicorn wearing a nervous smile and blue scrubs. “Hi, I'm Doctor Chestnut from Fillydelphia General—just wanted to pop in to check up on my patient—could you let me in, please? Don't want to be outside too long in Everfree, you know."

The Doctor's eyes narrowed. “What do you need scrubs for in the middle of a forest?”

“Well, you know... lots of... unsanitary stuff out here, and as a doctor I...” He hesitated a moment longer, then wound up and punched the Doctor in the jaw.

The Doctor tumbled to the floor in pain, and 'Doctor Chestnut' stepped over him. In his peripheral vision, the Doctor saw the unicorn's horn light up red, and a knife slid out from underneath the scrubs. Zanzi hobbled backward as if it would help him.

The Doctor forced himself to his hooves and tackled the unicorn into the wall, breaking his concentration and causing the knife to drop to the floor. The Doctor tried to pin his opponent, but was still disoriented; the unicorn managed to throw him to the floor and trap his back legs. The knife glowed red and rose back into the air—

Zanzi grabbed the pot from above the fire and splashed its contents at the unicorn's hooves. He screamed in pain and dropped the knife once more, trying to scrape the burning hot soup from his legs. It was enough distraction for Zanzi to swing the pot into his head and knock him out.

The Doctor rose unsteadily to his feet, careful not to step in the hot liquid. “Thanks for the help,” he said, and picked up the knife to scrape the soup off of the unicorn. Attempted murderer or not, no one deserves those burns.

“No, no. I should thank you, my friend.” Zanzi winced, apparently remembering his wound once more, and sat back down. “But why attack me? To what end?”

“He must be part of the Order that did last night. Must have tailed me in here, wanted to get rid of potential witnesses...” The Doctor smacked his head. “Oh, I'm thick! Thicktacular Doctor! We thought they'd be all obvious and cultish about it!”

“What do you mean?” Zanzi said, but the Doctor had no time to hear the rest. He bolted out the door, down the path, and back to Fillydelphia. Thick, stupid and thick, getting separated from Vinyl and Octavia. And now the Order is moving.


“Hmm....” Vinyl crouched down and looked from side to side at each 'antennifier', as she had christened them. Each one was a metal spire several stories tall, with a space in the base from which a musician would play their instrument. The antennifier would amplify that music and create a light show to go with it. Later that night, when it was being used, it would supposedly look impressive. For the moment it was merely heavy. Octavia, watching from a safe distance, felt sympathy for the four large, sweaty unicorns who had been assigned to levitate them.

“No. A few inches to the left,” Vinyl concluded, turning back to the stallions and pointing at a spot on the floor incrementally to the left of the contraption's position. “There. They've got to be symmetrical.” The unicorns groaned with exhaustion as they moved to pick the device back up.

Octavia had seen enough, and walked over to the middle of the stage. “It's fine,” she said, waving off the stallions with a polite smile. “Vinyl and I can handle the rest of the preparations. Thank you for your help.” They sighed in relief and walked away.

Octavia's smile turned into a glower once they'd gotten out of sight, and she turned on Vinyl. “From now on, you let me supervise the preparations.”

“Oh, come on, baby, you can trust me!” Vinyl exclaimed. Octavia took a deep breath and walked through the curtain. Easy... let’s just give ourselves some time to calm down before something blows up.

“Hey, what'd I do?” In her peripheral vision, she saw Vinyl burst through the curtain behind her. “I just want the concert to be perfect for us... me... us.”

So much for calming down. “It was fine,” Octavia replied, turning back around. “But like usual, you just couldn't keep your mouth shut.”

“Like usual? Name one time.”

“I could name twenty. Do you want the most recent example?”

“Hit me with it, Octy. I bet you're gonna have to go back months.”

“Only one day.”

Vinyl took a moment to think about this, then used her magic to pull one eyebrow high onto her face in an exaggerated expression of surprise. “You're still annoyed about the thing with Trixie? All I was doing was giving as good as I got!” Octavia sighed and looked away. “You're the one who let her stay at our hotel! How can you even stand her?”

“I've had plenty of practice,” Octavia muttered.

“Uhh... what?”

“She's you!” Octavia looked Vinyl right in the eyes. “An entertainer who can't shut up to save her life, who can't help but toot her own horn, who gets into arguments all the time—tell me, which one of you am I talking about?”

“What? Nahhh, we're plenty different!” Vinyl protested.

“You're right. She's been living on the road for months—she has a reason to be bad-tempered! But you!” Octavia took a deep breath before continuing. “You were simply winding her up without reason. And when you do something so stupidly insensitive, you make it... difficult... to be your friend.”

“Then maybe we should be more than friends, eh?” Vinyl revealed a toothy grin.

“Save the jokes.” Octavia went to tune her cello. At least I can control my cello.

For a few minutes, the only noises backstage were the careful sounds of strings being played and played again, as Octavia tuned each one to within an inch of its life. The exercise did some of its work; she became more aware of her own heartbeat, the tension in her limbs, and the activity in her brain. On the other hoof, that heartbeat was still elevated, her limbs were still tense, and vindictive thoughts still swirled in her head—thoughts like how Vinyl probably wouldn't be able to talk with a bow jammed down her throat.

At a break in the tuning, Vinyl cleared her throat, and Octavia looked up to see no smile on her friend's face. This was worth paying attention to.

“Okay, hear me out. I've been thinking, and I think you're half right. I mean, Trixie kinda got Ponyville nearly destroyed, and she is absolutely a stuck up word I probably shouldn't say in polite company—but. I talk too much. You're right there. So I'm sorry for that."

Octavia wondered if she ought to accept this halfhearted apology, but her attention was diverted before she had the chance to decide. The theatre's curtain parted to admit three stagehands, one of which was hitched up to a wheeled box half again as large as himself.

“Oh, hi guys!” Vinyl exclaimed, turning to them. “Turns out we probably don't... um.” She looked back at Octavia, who was gazing at the ceiling in resignation. “Sorry, you wanna take this one?” Vinyl asked.

Octavia sighed inwardly, turned her head to the stagehands, and smiled. “As my friend was saying, the equipment outside will suffice for our performance. None of the usual back-stage kerfuffle this time.”

“Sorry, Miss Octavia, but we’re going to have to ask you to look at this,” one of the stagehands said, indicating the box.

“What is it?” Octavia asked.

“It's for you. Please, come and see.”

“That answer isn’t even as straight as I am!” Vinyl exclaimed, pushing in front of Octavia to get to the box. “What's in here?” She opened it up with her magic, and froze. It was empty.

Octavia felt two forelegs close around her body, covering her mouth and nose with a damp, sweet-smelling cloth. Chloroform, she thought, and did her best not to breathe.

“What the hell—” Vinyl started toward Octavia, before the other 'stagehand' smothered her with more chloroform. She struggled, until the stallion pulling the cart punched her viciously in the stomach, forcing her to gasp in pain. Then she sagged and fell unconscious.

Octavia would have gasped, but she was still struggling not to breathe. However, the cart-pulling stallion then started walking toward her with a vicious smirk. She decided that she did not want to get punched in the stomach, and so breathed in deeply. The last thing of which she was aware was Vinyl’s body being loaded into the box.


The dummy's lower half and tail turned two different shades of gray. A treble clef cutie mark appeared on its flank, and its legs started writhing in pain. It was a perfect copy of Octavia's rear in every respect but one: the tail was much too short. There simply wasn't enough hair there to replicate the long, full tail Trixie remembered so well.

She tsked at herself and stemmed the flow of magic. The dummy lay lifeless once more on the table in her cart. Note to self: Only use assistants with shorter tails for this trick. She decided to practice again, and her horn glowed blue. The dummy turned two shades of brown, and a golden hourglass appeared as its cutie mark.

She sighed and let it go once more. I really should not be fixating like this. I met them, we did some things—pretty crazy things—but it's over. I literally can't afford to stay in touch—gotta keep moving on.

Something moved in the corner of her eye. She turned and saw a piece of paper that had been stuck under her door. With a frown she used her magic to pick it up and read the message, which was composed of words cut from several newspapers pasted onto a notecard.

IF YOU WANT YOUR FRIENDS TO LIVE, DO NOT INTERFERE.

Trixie really, really wished she didn't know exactly who they were talking about. No, they're not my friends. Really, we only met once. Vinyl, Octavia, that Doctor—they're not my friends.

Okay, she decided. It was settled. She didn't have to worry about it, because they weren't her friends. Even though the Doctor had given her some of the first sympathy she'd gotten in months, if not years, and saved her show to boot. Even though Octavia had offered her a free warm bed. Even though Vinyl Scratch—for all the bickering and insulting—had gone on stage and helped her turn a good act into a great one.

Despite all that, they definitely were not her friends.

… no, she hadn't thought she would be able to convince herself. But even though they were her friends, there wasn't anything for her to do, was there? She couldn't very well run in with a big sword, scaring away cultists left, right, and center? She definitely couldn't do that.

Stop coming up with reasons to interfere, she told herself. This time, they'll kill them if I do anything. It's completely different. The best thing for me to do would definitely be to sit right here and keep practicing my act. I shouldn't get involved. I shouldn't get involved.

She sat still for about a minute, not practicing—just repeating it in her head, over and over. I shouldn't get involved. I shouldn't get involved. I shouldn't... Finally, she groaned in defeat and bolted out her cart door. Looks like I'm not out after all. Horsefeathers.


It took only two minutes at a dead gallop to escape from the Everfree Forest, and another five minutes to cross the land between the forest and Fillydelphia, but the Doctor knew deep down that it wasn't fast enough. It's still a further five minutes to the theatre, and if they've started moving against witnesses...

After what seemed an eternity of running, he was finally rewarded by the sight of the concert center before him. It was similar to the venue that Vinyl and Octavia had had in Ponyville only in that it was an amphitheatre, but differed in most other respects. Chief among them was size, for the Fillydelphia amphitheatre was easily twice as large as Ponyville's.

This was only background detail to the fact that, as the Doctor spied the stage, he saw neither Vinyl nor Octavia upon it. No. Not again. He plowed on, running through the large standing room area to the stage itself and bursting through the curtain.

“Vinyl! Octavia!” he yelled.

Two stagehands looked up at him with mild annoyance. “They're not here right now, they're out having lunch,” one of them said.

The Doctor's eyes narrowed. “Don't bother.”

“What?” the 'stagehand' said, taken aback.

“I never forget a face. Even if yours was hooded when you cornered us in the alley last night.” The cultist's eyes widened at the Doctor’s words. “Now tell me where they are,” the Doctor ordered.

The cultist recovered quickly from his surprise. “They've been removed, like every obstacle in the path of the Order of Four. Like you will be, soon.”

“Oh, I think you'll find I'm a bit more tenacious than that,” the Doctor snarled. “Now I want you to listen very carefully: this ends now. You return my friends to me immediately, or—”

“Or what?” the first cultist sneered.

“Or you start running. You run as far as you can, and hope beyond reason that we never meet again. And I swear to you that hope will be empty.”

The cultist who had responded to him laughed, but the other one shrank back in fear. “What should we do?” he asked his partner. “Should we listen to him, or...”

“Oh, for Brother's sake!” the first one exclaimed. “Get him!” The other unicorn gulped, but his horn glowed and magically pulled a rag from under his coat.

The Doctor detected a whiff of chloroform in the air, and put two and two together. Time to go, he decided, and turned for the curtains. The more zealous cultist was too fast, however; he ran to the curtains as well, cutting off that method of retreat, and leaving him with no apparent options.

Then again, there was always one option. “Wait, hold up a minute, there's something you should probably know before you, ah, ‘get’ me. Something about this theatre.”

The minion holding the rag hesitated. “What about it?”

“That it's gorgeous!” The Doctor threw on a careless smile, behind which he scanned the room for other escape routes. It didn't take long. “Now I'm probably going to sound like a theatre geek, but bear with me, because I've done my homework on this place—just wanted to reconnoiter a bit before my friends popped in—and it is an absolute marvel of modern Equestrian engineering. Built on taxpayer bits from the ground up just three years ago—lovely to know that Fillydelphia knows how to support the arts.”

The two unicorns watched him warily, apparently wondering if he might make a move. They were completely unaware that, as he ambled through the room, he was busy making it. I've out-talked Daleks, for goodness' sake—the homicidal rubbish bins themselves! These blokes are small potatoes. “Just look at that arched ceiling! Perfectly designed for perfect acoustics, and then magically enhanced to become beyond perfect! And out there in the stands, they've terraformed the ground for even better quality! There's spotlights here capable of shining through the performers, eliminating any shadows! And just ask me about the trapdoors.”

“Fine, what about the trapdoors?” the more aggressive of the two asked.

“Well, that's the best part about this being such a modern theatre!” The Doctor slipped a hoof into his coat pocket. “The catches are made of metal.” He pressed the button on his sonic screwdriver, and the catch on the trapdoor beneath him opened. With a final, fierce grin he fell into the dark under-stage. Like a charm, he thought, kicking the door shut above him to prevent the cultists from following.

Clutching his screwdriver in his mouth for use as a makeshift torch, he quickly made his way out through a back door, then dashed off to the city's center. There was one more target to check up on.


Stay tuned for the conclusion to Great and Powerful.