Scrap Paper
The hastily-scrawled sign read, "Sudden emergency. Back at 1:00." Rarity frowned, turned away from the library door, and scrutinized the clock tower in the distance. It read 1:04.
Really, Twilight, she thought, it's not like you to be anything but punctual. But to be fair, perhaps this emergency was worse than her friend had expected, and she would appear at any minute, asking forgiveness. Spike must not have returned from his latest business trip to Canterlot, or Twilight would have sent him to say she would be late.
Rarity knew Twilight kept an emergency key under a loose piece of rockery, but her first thought was to wait outside regardless, for politeness's sake. No sooner had she thought this than a shadow fell upon her, and she looked up to see a few dozen pegasi pushing dark clouds into a broad, thick mass above town.
She frowned again. Yes—Rainbow had mentioned something about a thunderstorm scheduled for today. And here came the wind a first sprinkle of rain. In the streets around, passers-by began to trot for cover.
Well, I'm certain she will understand. Rarity glanced around to be sure nopony was looking, then retrieved the hidden key, turned it in the lock, and ducked inside as the rain began in earnest.
Though Spike had only been away a few days, the library's organization had already begun to fly off in all directions. The main floor's central table, and all but one of the chairs, were stacked high with books, scrolls, and crabbed notes. Rarity's first thought was to pass the time by tidying up, but it occurred to her this was probably Twilight's own particular type of creative chaos. Rarity pulled the last unoccupied seat away from the table and sat down to wait.
The first lightning flash cast the darkening room into eerie contrast. In that quarter-second, Rarity's eye happened to fall upon an odd sliver of shadow on the floor, midway between the table and the window. As the thunder rumbled, she looked again, peering through the deepening darkness, and vaguely wondered what it was.
If Rarity had ignored that shadow, the rest of her day would have passed quietly. But something compelled her to light the kerosene lamp from the table and carry it to where she had seen that shadow. The thickening clouds were bringing on a sort of midday dusk, and the bright lamplight recreated that strange thin shadow as Rarity approached its source. One end of a rather short piece of floorboard, likely put there to replace a rotten section of one of its neighbors, stuck upward ever so slightly.
Most would have ignored this, but Rarity's perfectionism compelled her to push down on the offending end. Though it yielded, it rose back up when she raised her hoof from it.
Something was under there.
Her curiosity piqued, Rarity put the lantern down and magically pulled the board loose. There was a gap beneath, filled with dog-eared, coffee-stained papers.
Once, Rarity would have snooped. But having recently been on the receiving end of such shenanigans, she had been trying to get better about it. Resolving to ask Twilight about the papers later, she moved to replace the board. But almost by accident, she glanced at the topmost page and saw the letters "R-a-r-i-t-y." She froze, blinked, and looked again. Yes, there was the capital "R" signifying a proper noun. It was her name, all right.
"Well," she said, thinking aloud, "if you're going to write about somepony, you had better expect her to be interested!" With that, she drew the sheaf from its hiding place and began to read in the lamplight.
I wrapped my forelegs around her, and drew her close enough to feel her quickening breath.
Rarity's body stiffened, but she did not resist. I began to nuzzle one side of her neck...
Rarity's eyes widened. She lowered the page for a few seconds, then re-read the opening paragraph. Her attention now held fast, she perused the rest, word by word. Three quarters of the way down the page, the scene ended with the narrator laying Rarity flat on her back. The vignette was clearly unfinished.
Her mind still not fully comprehending the ramifications, Rarity placed the page aside and began to read the next.
Rarity nickered in animalistic pleasure as Twilight stroked her sensitive belly.
Little by little, her hooves moved lower...
"By Celestia..."
She began skimming the pages rapidly. Some of the stories were told in the first person, while others detailed Twilight's actions in the third. All of them involved Rarity. Most did not involve much preamble, nor a lot of denouement. The longest was eight single-spaced pages. Others were not stories at all—just descriptions coupled with action, and then abandoned.
In the back of Rarity's mind, there percolated the thought that Twilight might walk in at any second. But curiosity—perhaps of more than one kind—kept her going. As she made her way through the stack, the actions and descriptions grew more intense, and she caught herself breathing a bit faster. Halfway through the collection, she paused to fan herself with a page.
"Well!" she said to herself. "Who would have guessed Twilight felt this way? I suppose it's all very flattering. And I must admit, one could certainly do worse than her. But does she have to be quite so... lascivious?"
She skimmed the next few pages, then stopped again.
"Oh my gracious..." she murmured.
The stories had begun to change.
Twilight flicked the riding crop, first against one diamond pattern, then the other.
Crying out at each strike, Rarity pulled uselessly against the chains...
There was another, brighter flash from outside, and thunder followed almost immediately. The hairs on Rarity's back began to stand up as she went through page after page, each one's contents more twisted than the last. Whips and chains were only the beginning. Farther on, Twilight began using Rarity's own sewing tools as torture devices. Four fifths of the way through the stack, there was no longer any reciprocity, or even consent. Rarity's counterpart screamed in agony, and Twilight's laughed and cooed with sadistic glee. Reading it, she could almost feel the needles rending her flesh, and smell the smoke when Twilight scorched "T&R" into her hide with magic.
Rarity willed her turgid eyes to look away, but morbid curiosity overpowered her fear, and she turned the pages faster yet. Finally reaching the bottom of the last page, she recoiled at the vivid description of a razor passing across her throat, and her coat staining crimson with lifeblood. The last sentence had Twilight playfully licking at the wound.
At last, Rarity put the last page on top of the stack and leaned heavily on her fore-hooves, trying to steady herself. How long had Twilight been writing these? Was this some secret shame of hers, or was it the real Twilight? Had Rarity been friends with a facade these past two years? And now that her "friend" had indulged herself in writing of this sort, would it escalate farther?
Might Twilight's fantasies move beyond the written word?
From just outside the door, there came a clip-clop of hoof-falls.
Catalyzed by a bolt of fear, Rarity stuffed the papers back into the gap in the floor, slammed the board down upon them, seized the lamp, and lunged back toward the empty seat. Just as she regained it, the door swung open, and Twilight Sparkle, mane sopping wet and hooves muddied, stumbled through.
"Rarity! I'm so sorry for being late, but..." Twilight took a few steps toward her friend before realizing she was dripping on the floor. "There was a big argument at Town Hall..." She turned around and wiped her hooves on the mat, then shook herself, dog-like. "I had to mediate between the Mayor on one side and half the farmers on the other..." She trotted to the nearest chair, lifted a stack of books from it, and plopped down. "I've learned you just can't plan for these things. Sorry again."
"Oh, it's quite alright. I wasn't bored." Rarity had spent the last few seconds trying to calm her breathing and assume a nonchalant composure. Now, she could not help sneaking a glance back at the hidden alcove. There had not been time to replace the loose board properly, and one end still stuck upward—more so than it had before.
What if Twilight noticed?
Further, had Twilight seen Rarity retaking her seat in a rush?
"I'm so glad," Twilight said. "I must be getting better about worrying, 'cause a few months ago, I would've beaten myself up for being so late. But I know you understand. Right?" She looked just a little concerned.
"Oh. Yes. Quite." Rarity unsuccessfully tried to meet Twilight's gaze.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
Rarity twitched a little. "W-wrong? Surely not. That is, er, yes. But, you know, it's the storm. A foalhood fear. Quite foolish, really. You understand, of course."
"Uh... alright."
It was a weak explanation. At the least, Twilight would wonder why Rarity's fear of thunderstorms had grown more acute since their first slumber party a year and a half ago.
Rarity noticed a rhythmic tapping from somewhere nearby. It took a moment to realize it was one of her own hooves against the floor. She willed the limb to stillness. How long had she been doing that without noticing?
Twilight, who had been staring at the unruly leg, raised an eyebrow. "Rarity, are you sure you're okay?"
"Yes!" But even as Rarity said it, she realized her tone was a bit too vehement.
Twilight made as if to respond, but paused for a moment, apparently to consider her next words. Then she brightened.
"Hey," she said, "I don't know when Spike will get back, but I heard this storm isn't scheduled to end until tomorrow morning. Why don't you stay the night?"
Rarity's mind went blank.
"I mean, if you want," Twilight said. "It could be fun with just two of us."
The mares' eyes met for an instant. Rarity saw, or thought she saw, a little smile at the corners of Twilight's mouth. Again, her hackles began to rise.
"O-oh, I wouldn't want to impose..."
"Don't worry, Rarity. My house is yours." Twilight spoke casually—a little too casually, Rarity thought.
"Well, it's just that I, well, well..." Rarity tried to think of a reason to leave, but found herself babbling.
"Okay, seriously." Twilight said, now businesslike. "I know anxiety. And you can trust me with anything. So what's on your mind?"
Rarity rolled her tongue around in her mouth to loosen it, and considered her options. At last, she decided the only thing she could do was ask for the truth.
"T-Twilight, I am not sure how to ask this, but... Are you sure I know everything that you think of me?"
There was another long pause. Twilight looked away, brow furrowed, and bit her lower lip. Then she brightened, as if struck by an epiphany.
"Rarity, do you mean..." Her smile broadened, and she leaned forward. "If that's how you feel, you don't have anything to worry about!"
Rarity's heart leaped into her mouth.
"This is great!" Twilight continued. "And I thought you would never be into it." She hopped up and began closing the meager distance between them. "Now you should definitely stay the night!"
Exploding into action, Rarity sprang from her chair and galloped headlong out the door and into the storm.
"W-what the...?" Twilight stared, dumbfounded, at her friend's retreating form, then leaped forward and gave chase. "Rarity, wait!"
The two mares vanished into the raging storm.
There came a particularly heavy gust, and the door slammed shut.
* * *
Ten minutes later the door opened again, this time permitting entry to a small, stocky figure that walked on two legs. Tired by the journey from Canterlot, Spike dropped his umbrella, halfheartedly wiped his feet, and plopped down in one of the two unoccupied chairs.
He frowned when he saw no one else was home. He supposed Twilight must have gone out and forgotten to lock the door. And of course, the main floor was a mess. Worse, one of the lamps was burning unattended, which was not only wasteful, but also dangerous with so many loose papers about.
I'm gone three days, and the place starts falling apart, he thought, shaking his head.
He decided to do a little light reading before resuming his usual duties. Not wanting to disturb Twilight's research—at least, that was probably what this mess was—he picked up the lamp, approached the shelf closest to the window, and withdrew a book of short stories. As he turned back to the table, he noticed a wedge-shaped shadow on the floor.
He paused, approached the alcove, and clawed at the lid until it came loose. Then he picked up the papers within and scrutinized them.
"Better be more careful," he said to himself. "Somepony might have found this."
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Oh dear Celestia..
This crap is completely insane.
Good stuff, can't wait to see the next one.
i.imgur.com/KHWKP.jpg
In all seriousness, good execution. I laughed even though I knew what would happen because we discussed the idea before you wrote it. ^_^
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I mean, it was good but...ya know...
(Warning: spoilers!)
All right, let's read this! My reactions in order:
1) It doesn't sound too thriller-y so far, apart from the classic thunderstorm, of course.
2) What, secret porn stash? I'd start to grin if this was a comedy, but let's see where are we going...
3) Uh, umm, ooo-kaay... You know, Rarity, this is the part where you should slowly back up and leave before Twilight arrives home...
4) DON'T STAY THERE! Don't stay there! I swear, if you stay there, you deserve what you get!
5) Ending: I hate you so, so much, Horse Voice.
Upvoted with extreme prejudice.
1493652
I'll get "Pinkamena" done before season 3 starts. Promise.
1540950
1541164
Really? Who was he? The only Hungarian FIMFic user I know is Zay-el. And myself, of course. Can't forget that nice guy!
(Btw, I just read The Savage Way. I didn't want to comment there just to say it was awesome, but it was.)
1541189
http://www.fimfiction.net/user/Frigo This follower of mine listed Hungary as his country of origin on some other forum, where he was plugging "The Writing on the Wall".
Also, thank you very much! But I'm curious. I assume you found me through today's blog post, but it seems like you read "Scrap Paper" first. Why? Or have I misunderstood?
1541295
Yes, I found you via the blog post about The Savage Way. You seemed like a fun fellow, and since I'm more of a comedy guy, I thought I'd check your other stories first, in case you've written a comedy. Turned out you haven't, but both Scrap Paper and The Savage Way had an interesting premise, so I decided to read them. Why Scrap Paper first? Because Rarity's my favorite character, that's why!
Spike has some...interesting ideas concerning Rarity.
Favoriting to see what "Pinkemana" will look like.
This was an interesting story...
1541295 I don't get it, did Twilight Sparkle write those short stories or did Spike because how did Spike know about any of this?
Spoilers ahead
You know what's cool?* From what we know of dragons in the show, I can see a dragon getting into that kind of fetish. * You don't need me to tell you, but well done.
I somehow knew it was going to be Spike. Not that it made it any less enjoyable to read over, of course! I like how it slowly deepened in the depravity in the pages that Rarity found, and you did a wonderful job at illustrating the acute trauma that one would no doubt suffer at reading such things. There was something a bit similar in a game I played before, where the main character had found that there were 50+ photographs and writings about him in a room within an old cult house. Rarity's reaction was similar to his, and I think rightly so. Even though in the end I knew it was going to be Spike's fiction, I still couldn't help giggling over the last lines. As an aside - For a baby dragon, Spike sure is kinky!
ALL OF MY
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(It being Spike's writing, which I figured it would end up being, MAKES IT EVEN WORSE AND IT WAS ALREADY TERRIBLE)
Oh, Spike....
Great twist, and great horror.
Spike you little fiend! LOLOLOL! Very nice! Had me going there!
Wow nice twist.
Ohh, that twist. This is some good stuff.
Cringy, but in a really cute was.
But is Spike's claw writing so close to Twilight's horn writing that Rarity wouldn't have noticed a difference?
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Six years later, someone finally points out the plot hole that makes the whole thing fall apart.
Some context may be in order. This double-feature was an early experiment with schlock writing. Looking at this and my other early work, I'm glad I didn't go farther down this path. As it is, this remains one of the red-headed stepchildren of the Horse Voice bibliography.
Hahahahaha. Niiiiiice ending.