The Hostess

by Gaekub

Chapter 4

1002 CE (2 years after the return of Princess Luna)

A large red pony slept, peacefully. He let out a small snort occasionally, body twitching whenever he did so. His cutie mark, an apple half, was almost completely concealed by the surface he lay on. This was the missing Big Macintosh, sleeping like a baby.

It would have seemed like any normal night, if it were not for the fact that he was spread eagled and strapped to a steel plate. Tiny wired suction cups were placed precisely on his body. All around him was a room of metal and rubber, an unnatural place that had no place in Ponyville.

Big Macintosh awoke, alerted by the natural clock that years of farm work had induced in him. He strained against his bonds, more out of principle then out of any real hope they would break. Big Macintosh was strong, but the rubbery straps were stronger. He tried each one in turn, first his front hooves, then his back, then the large one around his waist. All were secure. He relaxed and waited.

Big Macintosh was incredibly simple. Many ponies mistook that for stupid, but it was far from; he just saw the world as it was. Most ponies spent most of their lives worrying about the future, and the past, what could be and what would. For Big Macintosh, the world was a clear-cut place.

He had been kidnapped by creatures he didn’t recognize. That didn’t particularly bother him. There were a lot of creatures he didn’t know. Now he was strapped to a metal plate. He wasn’t very happy about it, but he didn’t see any point in worrying. That was the situation. He just waited for the situation to change to one he could do something about.

He stared at the blinking lights opposite his position, and thought about nothing in particular. What monks spend decades trying to achieve, Big Macintosh did naturally.

His non-thoughts were interrupted when one of his abductors entered the room. Big Macintosh only glanced at it for a second, and then looked back towards the blinking lights. The creature stalked in front of his field of view, a predator’s walk.

“I sssuposse you’d like me to let you go…” it hissed.

“Ehyup” Big Macintosh replied.

“Hah!” it laughed, a disgusting wet sound “Did you really think I would just release you?”

“Eh-nope” Big Macintosh replied, his low voice level.

The thing snorted, annoyed. It had been trying to make him angry. It enjoyed the anger of lower life forms. It found it entertaining. “We know about your family. Your sssistersss, and your grandmother.”

Big Macintosh stayed silent.

“Wouldn’t it be a ssshame if ssssomething were to… happen to them?” It asked with a hiss.

Big Macintosh turned his head to look at his attempted tormenter. “If you touch them, I will do my best to kill you.” He stated, voice quiet. It wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t a promise. It was just a fact. A necessity, a consequence of the way the world was.

A chill ran down what passed for the creature’s spine. Fear wasn’t something it was particularly well acquainted with. It had fought in a thousand battles, charged into war with no feeling in its heart but joy. However, there was something about the way this pony talked, in his calm, low voice. It was left with no illusions about what would happen to those who harmed the Apple family.

It padded quietly from the room, and left Big Macintosh to his Zen contemplation of the flashing lights.

---

When Twilight arrived home, all the lights were off. She opened the door and walked upstairs to find Spike asleep in his bed, and a note lying on her pillow.

“Not so worried after all. Why do I ever think you care where I am?” Twilight asked herself, smiling down at the sleeping dragon. She magically lifted the note from her bed, opening it with a thought. It was written in Spike’s angular, scratchy script.

Twilight-

I don’t know where you are, but I’m going to bed.

Don’t wake me up when you get home.

Dinner’s in the oven.

-Spike

Twilight gave a happy little jump. With all the excitement, she’d forgotten how hungry she was.

“Spike, you are the best.” She whispered, kissing him on the scaly forehead as she passed his basket. One foot twitched and he murmured “Mommy?” but didn’t wake up.

Twilight got her now cold dinner from the stove and floated it over to her work table. As she bent over to sweep the seismic charts from the table, a ruler fell out from behind her ear. She stared at it for a second, and let out a sudden bark of laughter.

Scooping it out of the way as well, she floated her All-Encompassing Atlas over to the table next to her dinner. As she took a bite of the potatoes, she flipped to G in the book.

“Gallifrey, Gallifrey… Hm.” It wasn’t there.

The Species Spotters guide was next. “Time… Time… Timean Monkey… No Time Lord or Mare.”

Magical Vehicles throughout the Ages had no mention of a TARDIS, and although there was a “Regenerate” spell detailed in The Tomb of Transformative Magics, it did not sound at all like what had been described to her.

She made an annoyed sound. Books had failed her, and she didn’t like that. Books were supposed to have all the answers. Out of ideas and exhausted, she tromped up to bed and flopped down on the mattress, falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

---

John walked back to his store, and noticed a white piece of paper taped to his door. Like Twilight, somepony had left him a note. Unlike Twilight, his note was written in the gentle, looping curves of a unicorn’s telekinetic grip.

John-

Came to pick up my watch today. You weren’t around.

Next time you tell me to get my order, please remember to stay in the shop.

-Lyra

John groaned and leaned forwards, his head hitting the door. He’d completely forgotten Lyra was picking up her order today. He couldn’t afford to lose Lyra, he was barely staying afloat as it was. Nopony wanted clocks made by an earth pony, and most of the bits he did make ended up in either his present for Mayor Mare, or his other project.

Lyra was his best customer. That pony had some strange obsession with watches, not that John was complaining. If he annoyed her enough to go to Canterlot for her watches, he’d lose half his business in one fell swoop.

John slammed his head against the door a few more times, picked up his mail, and then headed inside. The only unusual aspect of the mail was a large package, heavy enough to pull a grunt of effort from his lips when he picked it up.

Saving the package for later, he picked the last of the silver watch pieces off the floor. He regretted not letting Applejack help him pick them all up. Not that he particularly needed the help, but he didn’t get to see Applejack nearly enough.

“She’s your friend’s little sister” He muttered to himself as trotted into the kitchen “Off limits.”

He opened the icebox, and looked at the sparse selection. He managed to find some pre-packaged casserole that hadn’t quite passed the expiration date and threw it on the stove. He sorted through his mail as he waited for it to get warm enough to eat.

“Bill… bill… bill… oof, big bill…” He sorted through the array of envelopes, and then threw them aside in favor of the large package he’d brought in.

He gripped the plain twine bow in his teeth, and then pulled it free from the brown paper parcel. It unfolded easily, all in one piece, like a Hearth’s Warming Eve gift. John’s jaw dropped.

Inside the parcel was a cardboard box stuffed with bits, and a small white note, perfectly rectangular. On the note was blocky writing that John didn’t recognize.

There are precisely 2342 bits in this box.

Use them wisely. They are yours.

Do not worry about where they came from.

No return address. No stamps. Nothing to indicate it’d been through the mail system.

John stared. This was more money in one place then he’d ever seen. With these… with these he could pay off all his debt. He could buy any clockwork pieces he wanted. He could turn his business around, even expand it. He… He…

He couldn’t use them.

He didn’t know where they came from; he couldn’t put himself in debt to someone when he didn’t even know who they were. He didn’t know a lot about finance, but he knew owing a mysterious stranger was a bad idea. With a heavy sigh he rewrapped the package and shoved it in a cupboard. He added ‘investigation of mysterious bits’ to his mental to-do list, which was becoming overwhelmingly long.

He sighed again, but this time his nostrils detected the smell of smoke. He spun on his hooves and saw his casserole burning.

“OH, BUCK ME.” He yelled, exasperated. He hadn’t thought this day could get worse, but now people were sending him money, (which usually he’d file under ‘good news’, but these were strange circumstances) and his dinner was burnt.

But not, he decided after taking it off the stove, too burnt to eat. He picked up the pan with the special padded handle designed for those without horns to use, and headed towards his bedroom.

But instead of entering his ransacked domicile, he turned left and opened a slightly smaller than usual door. The door swung open with a creak, revealing steps leading down to the basement. Benches lined the walls, each one strewn with tools. He trotted down the stairs and sat on the floor, leaning against a large wooden cabinet that sat in the middle of the room.

Placing the casserole on the floor, he blew on it, and took a careful bite. It scorched his tongue, but he managed to swallow the bite.

“So.” He announced, seemingly to no-one “Your owner woke up. I suppose you sensed it”

The cabinet against which his back rested made a quiet noise, like a congested giant breathing out.

“Thought so. And no, she hasn’t asked about you.” John said.

The same noise.

“I’m sure she didn’t forget about you. She’s been busy. And I think she’s been having some trouble with her memories. That regeneration-disguise combo really did a number on her.” He took a few more bites of his casserole.

After a few moments of silence, during which John ate hungrily, the noise sounded again.

John lifted a hoof and patted the side of the cabinet. “Don’t worry, I’m sure she’s fine.” He polished off the last of the casserole, and then yawned “Well, I’m off to bed. See you tomorrow.”

The cabinet made the noise a few more times as John trotted up the stairs, and then quieted down for the night. Those who were watching would have gotten the strangest feeling that the box was sleeping.

---

The Hostess galloped through the door of cupcake corner, and then skidded to a halt. It looked fine. It was empty, except for a harmless looking pegasus with mismatched eyes. The cash register was where she had left it, and all the displays were full and unbroken. Her relief was cut short, however, when she noticed that the door behind the counter had smoke drifting out through the cracks.

She bolted for it, and the grey pegasus addressed her in a strange voice. “Pinkie, I think something’s wrong with your kitchen”

“I’m not Pinkie Pie. I’m a Time Mare called the Hostess” she yelled, in too much of a hurry to say anything but the truth.

“What’s a Time Mare? Is it like a Time Lord?” The googly eyed pony mused.

“Yes, yes, it’s… hold on.” The Hostess skidded to a halt yet again, inches from the kitchen door. “What did you just say?”

“Uhh… nothing.” The pegasus replied, backing towards the door.

The Hostess eyes narrowed as she followed her. “Did you just say Time Lord? How do you know about Time Lords?”

Both ponies stared at each other and then burst into a run at the same time. The pegasus managed to get to the door first, and she took off out of the Hostesses reach.

The Hostess stared after her, trying to figure out what that could possibly mean. How did that pegasus know about Time Lords? Had John told her? Was there another of her kind in Ponyville?

Kitchenkitchenkitchenkitchen Pinkie chanted, trying desperately to get the Hostesses attention.

“Damnit!” the Hostess shouted in frustration as she ran back towards the kitchen, mystery of the derpy pegasus pushed aside for the moment. She leaped over the counter, bouncing off all four feet at once. She pushed through the door to behold a bizarre tableau.

A small orange pegasus crouched near the door, wings beating furiously in an attempt to stop the smoke from escaping.

A sink that was somehow producing fire instead of water had its handle wrapped in a telekinetic field. The source of the field crouched on the other side of the room, a tiny white unicorn. She was trying desperately to turn it off.

A miniature earth pony was the most active of the three, bouncing around with a glass. She would fill it from the slushy mess on the floor, and then attempt to throw it on the fire. The pitiful attempt only seemed to encourage the flames.

All three stopped in their attempts as soon as the pink pony burst into the room. The Hostess’s face contorted into a mixture of horror, confusion, and anger.

All three fillies recognized that face. Sweetie Bell recognized it as the face Rarity made when she accidentally used her prized creations as towels. Applebloom recognized it as the face Applejack made when she forgot to lock the cellar and a day’s crop was eaten by animals.

Scootaloo recognized it as the face Rarity or Applejack made when she did pretty much anything.

All three fillies knew it meant it was time to run, and they all did so. The blown open back door provided a wonderful exit, and they used it with great haste. The Hostess stood, shocked, and heard the sound of a scooter driving away at top speed.

The Hostess tried to get angry. She could do something with anger. She could use it. Instead, she just felt tired and annoyed. They were just kids; she couldn’t really get mad at them.

She observed the carnage around her. How long do we have? She thought.

The Cakes get back in the morning, replied Pinkie Pie, worried.

“Right. Let’s get to work then” she said out loud. She attempted to crack her knuckles, and then felt foolish.

---

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

John rolled over in his bed.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

He cracked open one eye to look at his alarm clock.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“What the…” he moaned, and then heaved himself out of bed.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“IT’S 5 AM!” John yelled as he stumbled down the hall way, eyes heavy with sleep.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“WHAT DO YOU WAN-“ he yelled as he flung the door open, managing to stifle a surprised scream for the first time in his life.

The Hostess looked terrible. Her clothes were covered in stains, her bowtie was undone, and her hair was frizzy and unkempt. Well, it was always frizzy and unkempt, but more so than usual. Bits of it fell over her face, but not far enough to obscure the giant bags under her eyes.

“I need your alarm clock” she said as she pushed past him, voice gravelly.

“Are you alright? You look…” He paused, looking for a word that wouldn’t hurt her feelings, and decided there wasn’t one. “…tired” he finished lamely. “Did you sleep?”

“No. Didn’t have time. Can you tell?” She asked, turning to him.

He nodded.

“Is it bad?”

He nodded again.

She sighed. “Alright, I’m going to try something. Just a sec.” Her eyes closed, and she took a deep breath in, and then let it out. And then exploded.

With a noise like a balloon inflating and a flash of pink light, the Hostess changed. Her hair was back into its customary puffs, the bags under her eyes were gone, and her bowtie was somehow tied. John tasted cupcakes for a second.

“Now, where is your bedroom?” She asked, voice back to normal.

John pointed. “How… how did you do that?”

“I didn’t. Pinkie Pie did. Don’t ask me how, I don’t know. She’s won’t tell me.” She trotted down the hall he’d indicated.

“So… wait, Pinkie Pie is still…” he asked, following.

“She’s still around, yes. Refuses to leave. Don’t tell Twi though, I-“

“Twi?” John interrupted.

The Hostess stopped in her tracks, and then pressed her head against the wall. “Don’t tell Miss Sparkle, I don’t want to get her hopes up.” She continued into John’s room.

John stood in the hallway, thinking about what he’d just learned. Pinkie Pie was still around. She was trapped in the Hostess and THE HOSTESS WAS IN HIS ROOM. He bolted through the door.

The Hostess had his alarm clock in her mouth, and was looking at the magazines she’d pulled out from under his bed. She looked at him, raised an eyebrow, smiled at the blushing stallion, and then left without a word.

John cursed his own carelessness as he grabbed his saddlebags. He had a feeling he’d end up carrying a lot of stuff today. He started to head out the door, but as an afterthought, he went to the basement and grabbed a tool from his workshop. Taking one last look around, he locked the store up. He made sure to leave Lyra’s watch on the stoop with an apology note, and headed to Cupcake Corner.

---

The Hostess pushed through the door of Cupcake Corner, and headed for the stairs. She was stopped by the voice of a female pony.

“Pinkie, what is this?” Asked Mrs Cake, a metal box balanced on her back. The box appeared to be the scorched remains of an oven, stuffed full of varied mechanical parts.

The Hostess tucked the clock into one of her pockets. Rarity had been quite generous with the pocket dimensions, at the Hostess’s request. She liked pockets, and now that she lacked hands, she liked them even more.

“That’s a microwave Mrs Cake” she replied, continuing up the stairs.

“What’s a ‘microwave’?” asked the befuddled baker pony. Pinkie Pie did strange stuff, but she had never rebuilt the kitchen from scratch before.

“Err… it’s like a faster oven. You know what, just don’t use it until I can explain it.” She bolted to her room before her boss could ask any more questions. The room was full of devices in the same style as the microwave, cobbled together out of bits and pieces. A large one dominated the centre of the room, the green goop spread on a baking tray in the middle of it.

John came through the door as she was fixing the alarm clock into place. He looked around the room in wonder. “What did you do last night?” He asked, stunned by the room around him.

“Well, for one, I think I advanced your culinary science by sixty years at least. But if you’re referring to these machines, only this one’s mine. The rest are Pinkie’s, and she refuses to tell me what they do.” she said, directing the last line at the giggle between her ears.

John started to be surprised at Pinkie’s mechanical prowess, and then realized he wasn’t. “Didn’t Pinkie have an alarm clock you could use?” he asked instead.

“She did, but it sort of exploded” the Hostess replied, gesturing to a piece of scorched clockwork embedded in the wall. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m ninety-eight percent sure it will work this time” she added, seeing the look on John’s face.

The pink pony finished hooking the new alarm clock up to the machine, and then flicked a switch. The whole thing began to rotate and make a horrendous grinding noise.

“Hostess” John began, speaking over the sound of the machine “I was thinking. Why do we need to identify this goop stuff? Why don’t you just tell us who’s following you?”

The Hostess’s body tensed up. This was a conversation she had wanted to avoid. “I don’t remember.” She shouted, slightly louder then she needed to do be heard.

“Hostess…”

“Oh, look, it’s done!” she interrupted, false excitement in her voice. “Read the numbers off the clock, if you would.”

John sighed, but obediently trotted over to his former alarm clock. It was still technically his, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to be getting it back. The hands spun wildly, both stopping on the same number every few seconds.

“7… 3… 3… 3… 9… 11… 2… 5… 10… 6… 6… 4” As he read off the final number, the alarm clock made a popping sound, smoked, and both hands fell off of the clock face. His feeling had been correct.

“Four? The last number was a four?” The Hostess asked, walking uncomfortably close to him. “You’re sure?”

“Yes I’m sure. Four.” John replied “I know how to read a clock”

“You’re sure it wasn’t perhaps another six?”

“Yes! It was a four.”

“Damnit” The Hostess muttered.

“What? What does that mean?” John asked, worried.

“Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s gibberish. So either the machine is broken “ she held a hoof to John’s mouth, stopping him from talking “-and it’s not, I’m sure of that- or we’re dealing with a creature without a defined genetic code.”

“Uhhh…” John made an exaggerated confused face.

“A shapeshifter. We’re dealing with a shapeshifter.” The Hostess explained.

“Oh. Alright, so what do we do?” John asked.

“Same thing we were going to do before. Go get Miss Sparkle, head down to Sweet Apple Acres, and look for clues.”

---

It was 5:30 AM when Spike was roused from his dreams of a particular white unicorn. Somepony was knocking at the door. He rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.

The knock rang out for a second time, but Spike had his pillow over his ears. He would have been able to get a few more hours of sleep, had not his pillow decided to float away from him.

“Spike, somepony’s at the door” Twilight murmured, levitating the pillow effortlessly.

“Why don’t you get it?” the dragon grumbled, already knowing the answer.

“Because you’re my assistant, and this is assisting me.” Twilight replied, not even fully awake. She brought Spike’s pillow up to her bed and put her head on it.

Spike stomped downstairs, ready to yell at whoever had interrupted his much needed rest. As soon as he opened the door though, his plans changed. “Oh, hey Pinkie Pie. What are you doing here? Who’s this guy?” There was no point yelling at Pinkie Pie. She either smiled all the way through, or, infinitely worse, started to cry.

“My word. You’re the dragon, yes?” the Hostess asked.

John rolled his eyes. “I’m John Smith. I’m a friend of Twilights. Can I go get her?”

Spike waved him in. “Uh, yeah Pinkie. I’m a dragon.”

John left the interrogating Time Mare and her victim behind as he trotted up the stairs.

His eyes spotted the purple unicorn lying comfortably in bed, sleeping peacefully, and a sense of schadenfreude spread his lips in an evil grin. After all, he rationalized as he tip-toed up to her bed, why didn’t she deserve the same rude awakening he got?

He leaned as close as he could over her ear, opened his mouth, screamed “MORNING TWILIGHT!”, and immediately regretted it.

Her eyes snapped open, pure white from top to bottom, and her horn exploded in a nova of light. A blast of pure force hit John in the chest, driving him into the air and across the room. He slammed into the wall, driving out what little air was left in his lungs. He slid to the floor, head spinning, and blacked out.

When he came to, a few seconds later, three Twilights were crouching over him, looks of worry on their faces. “Are you all right?” they asked, immediately before morphing together into two.

“…yes…” he grunted with lungs that refused to respond.

Two Twilights became one, and then hit him across the face. “Then you deserve it, you unbelievable mule.”

A pained chuckle escaped John’s lips as Twilight prepared herself for the day. He tenderly touched his underside, checking for broken ribs. He winced a few times at tender ones, but none seemed particularly painful. Not that he had any idea what a broken rib was supposed to feel like.

Twilight, mane brushed and face rinsed, walked up to him. She grudgingly held out a leg to help him. He gave her a smile, and accepted. She pulled him to his feet, and smiled back. An unspoken understanding was reached, and they walked down the stairs side by side.

Spike had been slowly backed across the room by the Hostess’s incessant questioning, and was now standing with his tail pressed into a corner. “Twilight?” He asked, nervously “Am I warm-blooded or cold-blooded?”

“Warm. Hostess, shouldn’t we get going?”

“Er… yes, of course. I’d just like to find out how he breathes fire, if I may-“

“Hostess.” John deadpanned.

“Oh, alright, fine. Let’s go” she said as she reluctantly turned away from the terrified baby dragon.

“I’ve got a question for you two actually” the Hostess mentioned as they walked through the door, her voice forcibly casual “Do either of you know a grey pegasus with mismatched golden eyes?”

John made a distasteful face “Oh, you mean Derpy Hooves?”

“John!” Twilight admonished him “Her name is Ditzy Doo. Derpy Hooves is not a nice thing to call her.”

"But that rainbow maned weather pony calls her Derpy all the time" John pointed out.

"Well, Rainbow Dash... is not very subtle." Twilight said carefully.

“I take it you don’t like her John?” observed the Hostess.

“No. I mean, I only met her once, so I guess I shouldn’t judge. But she was so annoying. She told me I was a doctor, and then got mad at me when I told her I wasn’t. Honestly, I don’t think she’s got a full load of-“

The Hostess spun to face him “A doctor, or the Doctor?”

John blinked “Is it important?”

“Extremely” she said, dead serious.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Twilight asked, only to be hushed by a pink hoof.

“Uh… I don’t know. It was years ago, I barely remember it at all.”

“John, it is vitally important that you remember. Did she call you the Doctor?”

“Umm… yeah, I think so. I thought it was weird at the time. Wait, why does this matter?”

“It doesn’t” she responded, turning back down the road.

“But you just said-” Twilight began.

“I know what I said. It’s a Time Mare thing. Don’t worry about it” she interrupted, the suggestion more of an order. As if to prove the conversation was over, she went around the corner as soon as she was finished talking.

And ran directly into Big Macintosh.

Comments

[Tech_Priest]

Oh boy this is good!

[Gaekub]

Chapter 4 was slightly edited to address The Last Round Up. Of course, as soon as I bring in Derpy/Ditzy, they put out an episode with her.