Elsewhere...
“And that’s it?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
Within the confines of a somewhat smoky gaming parlor, two acquaintances are five minutes into a chess match. One is a fair lady in a silk dress of white and golden yellow, and the other is an old bloke in a patchwork tweed suit and wearing a weathered bowler derby. Piano jazz plays softly from somewhere in the back as the lady moves a white knight.
“Not really the ending I had anticipated,” the bloke says while absentmindedly moving a pawn. “Far too sappy given the circumstances. He really should’ve gone with my suggestion. It would’ve fit thematically, and there’s nothing like old-fashion tragedy to leave the readers shuddering to the core.”
“That’s true in most cases, but this ending conveys more of the ‘light in the darkness’ feel, the hope for redemption and so forth.” The lady overtakes a black bishop with the knight from before. “You really should be paying more attention.”
“But that hope-filled ending crap has been done to death!” he exclaims, completely ignoring his opponent’s advice by sending a rook straight at a pawn.
“And so has old-fashion tragedy. Basically the success of an ending lies in the execution and the build-up leading to it.” She moves a bishop into position, which the bloke takes out with his queen. “Besides, I think it’s kind of cute, having them re-establish an old familial dynamic under the promise of a brighter future.”
“Enough, you’re making me sick! And I suppose those two should have kissed as well. Now there’s something to draw in readers with minimal effort.” He moves his queen to take out his opponent’s. "HA!"
“Draw out their ire, perhaps. From what I recall, that’s not a very well-received pairing.”
“Still makes for controversy, and that my dear leads to publicity.”
“Say what you will. As it is, it’s a fairly good conclusion.” The lady’s faithful knight takes down the bloke’s queen, bringing it in range of the valuable and exposed black king. “Check.” Her opponent groans.
“You know I don’t like this game, Celestia.” He moves his king to the side. “I prefer bringing chess pieces to life rather than actually playing chess.”
“You don’t like it because you never think long-term, and there is considerable strategy involved with every move.” A deft placement of a pawn, left unnoticed to the far right of the board, tightens the noose. “Check.”
“Hmph, perhaps for anal-retentives there is. Besides, a game like this is too limited. It’s excluding our generous host.” It’s then that the two look over to the third individual at the table: an unassuming chap in a sharp white suit, with plain glasses and a large forehead made more pronounced by a massive bald spot. His fingers are interlocked during the proceedings.
“Oh, it’s perfectly fine,” he speaks. “I’m okay with only observing.”
“Yes, all whilst cheery ponies get butchered for the sake of ‘artistic endeavor’,” the bloke points out, taking the opportunity to lean back in his chair. “Now that it’s over I’m obligated to ask: was all the mayhem and butchering of established characterizations worth it?”
The host shrugs. “It served its purpose: gave me a reason to write, and I got a kick from it. Helped me develop new respect for characters I had never cared for before as well.”
“Unlike with the likes of Tia here. And Luna, and Cadance, and all the others you did grave injustice to. Either by killing them off too quickly or having them disappear after one or two scenes.”
“It may seem like favoritism in some minds,” adds the lady.
“I might explore them some more in side stuff. I just didn’t have the time to do it all; I was only able to finish this up about a week after the game it was inspired by got released. That’s over six months for a hundred K worth of words. I haven't written that much on a single story in years! I was beginning to burn out.”
“That was fairly apparent, I won’t lie,” the lady remarks.
“Because Heaven forbid that a story of novel-length should take a long time to write down, much less be properly organized and prepared for mass consumption," the bloke balks. "The latter of which, I’d like to point out, has been done poorly: dry exposition, a grossly limited array of speaking verbs, fragmented sentences and typos up the wazoo, that rush job at the end, and even now you’ve resorted to that most lazy of writing conventions, ‘floating heads’. Tsk tsk, author. And another thing, 'bloke'? Seriously? I know there's a certain whimsical quality to my voice, but I'm not Cockney if that's what you're going for.”
“This has all been a writing exercise at its core: just something to keep the cobwebs out of my head. I can still go back and fix it up whenever I want. That’s the beauty of the digital age,” the host defends, somewhat vexed.
“Sure, you tell yourself that.”
"You're damn right I ordered the Code Red!" The host slams down a fist for emphasis, but after a pause he awkwardly coughs and fiddles with his collar. "Uh, I meant, damn right I'll tell myself that..."
“The game that originally inspired all this, how did it turn out?” the lady in white asks.
“Ehhhh, it was different from what I expected,” the host answers. “Not as compelling as I hoped. Pretty average, to be honest. I still enjoyed it, don’t get me wrong.”
“Mm-hm,” the lady nods. “Certainly makes it easier to write in the spirit of something if you only have a vague understanding of what that something is.”
“I still believe I kept a Suda51 feel in places.”
“Rarely,” the bloke balks. “Some overly elaborate boss fights and quirks to the format. Honestly, this has been a bloated exercise in self-indulgence, like most of your other stories. Take my chapter for instance. You did it simply to make yourself come off as ‘post-modern’ by ripping off other post-modern works without giving a damn how the reader would feel having to navigate all that.”
“Well, you are the Embodiment of Chaos,” the host counters.
“And what do you call this meeting here?” The bloke waves his hand around the air. “Even MORE shameless self-wankery, your honor.”
“Least it’s better than the ending I originally planned. Basically, you and Celestia would just reform in space somewhere as the primordial forces of Good and Evil. You’d laugh like Kun Lan and that’d be it. It might have made things more Suda, but only because it would be a direct ripoff of Suda.”
“A valid point,” the lady agrees. “There’s nothing wrong with a tribute, but there is such as thing as restricting how much you’re borrowing before you’re outright copying.” She gazes over the untouched chess board. “It seems our game has been completely ignored this whole time.”
“Everyone stopped caring about that thing twenty paragraphs ago, Tia,” the bloke says before kicking his feet onto the chess board, scattering pieces while the lady merely shrugs.
“I suppose so.” A silence befalls the group, just as the host separates his fingers and puts them down to his sides.
“Still was a good run,” he half-mutters. “Though, on the matter of making things more Suda...”
The pause lasts two seconds before it’s ripped by the sounds of weapons being drawn and pointed at multiple targets. The trio remain sitting erect, with firm yet playful looks, each one having two guns aimed at their faces. Held among the three are a pair of Glocks, a pair of Barettas, and a pair of long-barreled revolvers, cocked and ready to go.
“Wouldn’t be a proper Suda tribute without some hard-boiled gunplay,” the host remarks.
“Wouldn’t be Killer7, you mean,” the lady quips.
“You people just have to be so dramatic,” the bloke comments, eyes darting from lady to host, never easing his dual aim. “Luckily, this kind of dramatic I can get a kick out of.”
“You know a good number of people are going to be confused by this,” the lady tells the host, remaining cool as ice despite the predicament.
“Further alienating what few fans you have.”
“Yeah, but at least we get to have some fun.”
“At the cost of author credibility.”
“Which one of you said that?”
“I don’t know. I’m not even sure who I am.”
“I believe you’re our host.”
“Yeah, that's right. And you’re Celestia.”
“Correct.”
“Not once has anyone said ‘Discord’, I now only realize.”
“Better late than never, old chap.”
“This is definitely the kind of nonsense Suda would pull.”
“Yes, quite Suda.”
“Definitely Suda.”
“Fo sho.”
"Still makes a lot more sense than 'Flower, Sun and Rain' I bet."
"Yep."
"No doubt."
A short break in the conversation before the bloke says, “I think it’s only fair to have our good host do the honors.”
“Yes, it’d be most fitting,” the lady agrees.
“I guess I can do it.”
“Don’t act like you don't want to.”
“I just don’t see why either of you two can’t.”
“False modesty isn’t the hallmark of good character.”
“I can still be gracious about it.”
“As if you ever cared.”
“Who?”
“GODDAMN these floating heads!”
“Fine, have it your way.”
“More like your way.”
“I’d have to agree.”
“Fine! Anyway, it’s Friday night.”
“...Let’s Schlacht!”
And the rest is bulletstorm.
Conceived, Written, and Infringed
by
COMPENDIUM OF STEVE
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That was the ending i was waiting for.
Great work! This is going to my personal story vault.
See you around.
3160187
)
Most classy of you
(Though it probably doesn't deserve it
Sequel?
This has to be one of the most epic stories I've read on this site (which is saying something considering I've read 300+).
Now all we need is someone to make this into a game......
Only criticism: Discords part of the story seems unfinished. If he infact did twist their minds, what is to stop him from doing it again, seeing as how he's still at large?
And for the million dollar question: Eventual Sequel?
3162858
Ah yes, you bring up a valid question regarding Discord.
=SPOILER=
)
The answer: the jig is up, more or less. Things didn't end the way he had wanted because his arrogance let him spill the beans a bit too soon, hoping to get some extra squirms out of Spike before the bloody conclusion. The same trick won't work twice, so for the time being he's taking a vacation from the world, content at the corrosion he achieved. If he gets bored he may devise something more sinister, but for now he'll try other things. Like maybe how to not suck at chess so much (doubtful
=SPOILER=
As for sequel: none. Things are as they should be by my book. Now for everything that happened leading up to these events, well, that's another story...
3160654 Yeah, that comment really only applied to the very first chapter.
The rest of it was... more ott epic boss fight style every chapter.
Although, I will admit that the scenes where Spike was fighting the Royal Guard and the farmers got repetitive quickly. At least, until Celestia/Big Mac stepped in.
3498700 Ain't no reincarnation for the wicked. Or person that was turned wicked.
3498923
Not so much wicked as hopelessly broken by madness and other such pleasantries
Very solidly done.
Congrats on the EQD feature
....or whatever the hell they call it
4363846
Thanky you. Finally, a place to put my pony magnum opus
4582511
Not nearly bald enough, though :/