Entry Thirty
September 21, 1000 ANM
Obviously I needed to request Blueblood’s advice as to this Evral fiasco. Surely, I reasoned, a thousand years of embarking on political quests would have sharpened his mind regarding such things. However, he seemed less than interested when I brought the matter up this afternoon in the Bat Cave, instead preferring to tinker about with his little metal toys.
“They aren’t ‘little metal toys,’ Mother,” he said patiently, fiddling around with the innards of a large blocky monstrosity by means of a long thin implement. I am certain he has tried to tell me what they are called, but I cannot remember those names even for my own sake. “This is the monitor I was telling you about; we will be able to communicate with Micah Jayfill even though she’s thousands of miles away. Or did you forget about her already?”
“Of course not,” I lied. “I shall take pleasure in watching her squirm.”
“Would you mind refreshing my memory regarding exactly how we’re supposed to make her squirm?”
“In truth, I have not entirely fleshed out all of the details. I will freely admit that. But do we not have all the time in the world to determine the perfect method? And that is assuming she does not go mad in the midst of her eternal feast of ravioli, of course.”
“Well, I suppose we’ll see soon enough.” He screwed the last panel shut, then flipped a switch that sent the screen buzzing with static. “Do you want to talk with her first, or would you prefer that I do so?”
“I shall be in charge, of course,” I said proudly, and with shining blue hooves displaced him with an eagerness only matched by a foal stranded in a land of sweetmeats. I tapped the side of the monitor (aha, my memory over the elusive name triumphs!) and hemmed and hawed imperiously, pointing my nose towards the ceiling. “Micah Jayfill, if you are capable of seeing or hearing us — or seeing and hearing us, in case you have a habit of spinning webs of literalism with the words of others — I command you to respond in whatever way you see fit!” After a moment of thought, I added, “But it must be within reason, as should be plain to even you!”
The static dispersed, permitting an inside view of the Asteroid of Friendship. Aside from a barrel-high counter which stood before a hexagonal door that stretched nearly to the ceiling, there was nothing of note. I supposed she might have been asleep.
“Tell me, Blueblood,” I said, waiting as no unicorn came forth, “what manner of horrors lies behind that door?”
“A long hallway leading to misery and suffering,” he replied in satisfaction.
“While I approve of your ideas,” I told him, “it would make everything much simpler if you would actually reveal to me what those ideas were, particularly in terms that are not frustratingly vague. I really must speak with Sister Dearest about you sometime.”
He appeared affronted. “Now, really, Mother, I should think that—”
“Hello!” Suddenly, a golden spider-duck appeared on the screen.
My reaction was, of course, completely justifiable. I would ask you, dear reader of my future tyrannical regime, how you would respond to seeing such a monstrosity manifest itself without a hint or a warning. Presumably you would do something far less dignified than shriek at the top of your lungs, magically wielding a jagged shard of crystal in hopes of impaling the beast and straining against your son’s frantically resisting hooves in your efforts to do so. Admittedly, I cannot invent an example of such behavior offhoof, but I am certain that the common pony could easily discover a method of doing so.
Two hours and seventeen craters later, Blueblood had finally assured me that there was, in fact, absolutely no chance of the gilded demon emerging through the screen to devour me with its terrible claws. Now willing to reason with such an abomination, I could see that it looked vaguely like a pony, or at least like a pony that had been described to a foal of five years who has a tendency towards exaggeration and machinery. Try as I might, however, I could not comprehend what purpose its net-like mane could possibly serve. Perhaps it used that to catch birds, in much the same way that a flytrap catches flies. The comparison is imperfect, but it serves its purpose and I shall not apologize for it.
As I examined it warily, the spider-duck tilted its head to the side. “Are you done?”
“It speaks!” My ears flattened against my head. “It dares to besmirch my good status with its very presence! Tell me, foul creature, what has become of the unicorn Micah Jayfill, lest I come and smite your asteroid with a curse!”
“Oh yeah, her. She was, uh, asleep. Yep. Completely and totally asleep, nothing to do with cheese whiz whatsoever. Sleeping like a filly. Speaking of which, I really gotta see if there’s any more deliciousness stocked up anywhere. Heh, I’m feeling like I’m part Ursa, which I guess I could see thanks to my intimidating and chiseled features …”
As the golden beast chattered to itself, I leaned surreptitiously towards Blueblood. “What is this ‘cheese whiz’ it speaks of, pray tell?”
“It is everything wrong with the common pony, all compressed into a can,” he said. “But I think it’s more important to consider just how such common fare managed to make its way into our little asteroid. It might be a good idea to treat this whole matter with caution.”
A pony’s head popped into view on the screen. From horn to hair, all was splattered with orange goop. Bizarrely, she looked largely unfazed by this. “Hi, Princess Luna,” she said in her usual sleepy manner, levitating a cloth over to wipe herself clean. “Hi, Tightey Whitey. I see you’ve met my new friend, Raven T. Automaton.”
“How unusual,” I murmured, choosing to ignore Blueblood as he spluttered in indignation at the demeaning nickname. “Is your unorthodox new comrade’s name a way of telling me that it is, in fact, a mechanized construct capable of thinking that it thinks and feels like a pony?”
“Hey, now wait a minute!” Raven cut in. “‘It’? I happen to be one hundred percent female, lady! If you think I’m just like a wall or a stupid rock or something, you’ll have another thing coming!” It puffed up its chest indignantly, an action which was certainly not impressive.
“You are not biological,” I told it (her?) with infinite patience. “Therefore, you cannot be female.”
“Now, look here, you—”
“Furthermore, you are entirely incapable of bearing a soul, so I cannot fathom why I am even talking with you. I do not pretend to understand how automatons function, especially in this new age, but it seems intuitive that all of your responses are carefully programmed to match my own words.”
“That’s a load of crap!” She was silent for a moment. Then she turned to Micah Jayfill. “... I-isn’t it?”
“Well,” that pony replied, “I guess there are kinda a lot of debates about the subject … But you’ll have a soul to me!” she added quickly, noticing the automaton’s eyes welling up with tears. “I mean, you have favorite songs, and least favorite politicians, and all kinds of preferences. You don’t pick those kinds of things randomly.”
At that moment, another automaton leaned into view. It was a squat red construct, bearing a transparent head and sipping at a beverage in hooves that appeared barely functional. “Is Raven crying again?” it asked, in a voice that hinted mild sadistic interest.
“No,” snapped the spider-duck, though she leaned into Micah Jayfill for comfort.
“Huh. Well, let me know when you do; I want to watch.” The unknown automaton seemed to notice us noticing it then, for it added, “Well, hey there! You two sure seem like a couple of trustworthy guys. I’m Gem Torque, but my friends call me Torque usually, and—”
“You don’t have any friends,” Raven mumbled.
Torque scoffed at this. “I’ll have you know that I have contacts across the entire planet, thanks to my new networking scheme. I could have you spirited away off to Sibearia within the hour.”
“What does this one speak of?” I demanded. “Blueblood, how many communications devices did we install within this asteroid?”
“Just this one,” he said, unnerved. “And I did go out of my way to make sure it couldn’t be reverse engineered. It’s troubling, to say the least.”
Micah Jayfill looked highly uncomfortable. “I’ve figured out that it’s usually best not to think about these kinds of things.”
“But you created automatons!” My protest did not seem to incite anypony to active discussion, much to my displeasure. “How could you accomplish such a feat in so little time? With magic? Ravioli? Then again, perhaps I do not wish to know. How many more of these monstrosities do you have?”
“Just Jester,” she said, gesturing in a direction offscreen. “He’s outside making some routine repairs.”
“Routine repairs,” I repeated flatly.
“Uh, yep.”
“A matter of mere days has transpired.”
“Sure seems like it.”
I buried my poor face in a sleek blue hoof. “Woe is me,” I lamented, “for I have stared into a form of madness that not even the twisted realms of the Dreamscape can comprehend. Such thoughtless staring will lead to my humiliation and despair.”
“Too bad,” she said, looking sleepily mischievous. “I could have warned you about stares.”
I did not dignify that inanity with a reply. “Blueblood,” I said wearily, “enough is enough. We must torture them. It is for the good of ponykind that neither hide nor hair of these imbeciles is seen or heard. Do you have a suggestion?”
He leered at the motley collection of prisoners. “I could increase the feedback enough that the ventilation cuts out, which would short out their oxygen supply. They would probably last a couple of days.”
“I applaud you for your ingenuity,” I said, and then clopped my hooves against the ground to show that I did, in fact, applaud him. “Yet I would prefer a method that is … less messy. I fear that — I love that it would result in a somber tomb orbiting Equestria, and I would prefer that the tombs I leave in my wake be cheerful constructs.”
“Fair enough.” He considered this for a moment. Then he grinned. It was not a grin that improved his features. “Didn’t you say this peasant liked movies?”
“You refer to films? Yes, she did mention that bit of trivia.”
“Let’s send her some of them,” he said with a thoughtful laugh, and I felt a burst of pride in his willingness to afflict others with what they have earned. “There’s one in particular that springs to mind. Confections.”
“Your suggestion sounds like a sickeningly tame idea.” I scoffed, but then noticed Micah Jayfill as she gaped at us in horror. “That said, it would probably not be harmful to execute it.”
With that declaration said, we sent them the film, which they have viewed in the torture chamber beyond the door. I have not seen their reactions to it at present, for it is apparently seven hours long and not improved by breaking the viewing into sections. Still, I look forward to their reactions on the morrow. I am certain that this innovative and completely original method of torment will prove to Micah Jayfill once and for all that I, Princess Luna Nocturne Cosmos, shall permit no mercy upon those who dare to defy my rightful regime! Let her suffer together with her little automatons. She shall rue the day she acknowledged the existence of my proud Bat Cave!
… But I must not forget that Evral still lingers in the Dreamscape. If she refuses to accept my gracious assistance, I shall devise a suitable punishment for her as well. In addition, I do not wish to be painfully digested within her bloated gut over the course of a thousand years. But enough talk! Supper mocks me with its delectable scents. I have certainly generated a sizable appetite.
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I realized about halfway through the chapter what, exactly, was going on.
On a related note, I find my love for this story growing at an alarming pace.
Yep, Micah just had to go and use those unique parts to construct her autonomic companions…
Well... That happened. Is Luna going to buy a green lab coat now?
So, how long before they start answering letters from the viewers?
And thus Luna accidentally created Pony MST.
3767261
Yep, me too. I was starting to wonder why 'Micah Jayfill' had such a weird name.
If you wonder how he eats and breathes, and other science faaacts...
An update on the EQD submission: it's been rejected due to expository issues (which makes sense) and unlikable characters (which doesn't). I thought it was a long shot, but at least I tried. Thanks to everyone for the support.
I'd be somewhat more excited by this chapter if FIMFiction story regulations didn't prohibit the possibility of an MST-style spinoff.
3880080
What crackhead of an approver thought that they were unlikable?
Repeat to yourself its just a show, you should really just relax and read Mystery Science Pony! 3000!
I warned you about stairs bro!
Loved all the references in this chapter. Super happy about the mystery science theatre 3000 thing going on
3917115
As long as it's original creations they're MST-ing, it should be fine. The MST thing is just against already published stories.
In the not-too-distant future,
way down in the Bat Cave,
Princess Luna and Prince Blueblood
plot to make ev'ryone their slaves.
But disaster for their plot almost did befall
when the janitor Micah overheard it all.
This called for banishment to another place,
so they bopped her on the noggin and they shot her into space!
"We send her cheesy film reels,
the worst we can find. (La la la!)
She has to sit and watch them all,
and we'll monitor her mind!"
Now keep in mind Micah can't control
when the movies are off or on,
because she used those special parts
to build her automatons!
Automaton headcount!
Cambot!
Jester!
Gem Torque!
Raveeeeeeeeeeeen!
If you're wondering how they eat and breathe
and other science facts (La la la!)
repeat to yourself, "It's just a show,
I should really just relax!"
For Equestrian Science Theater 3000!
...
And five years later, Micah escapes from the Asteroid of Friendship on the escape pod that had somehow escaped everypony's notice. Luna quickly sends another janitor, Jewel Hodgepodge, up to take Micah's place. And the readership quickly erupts into a massive flame war over whether Jewel or Micah is better.