Death by Dragon

by Compendium of Steve

Interim 1

Interim 1

Gentle rays of Celestia’s sun light up the room like some cheerful blaze. By which I mean it's too freakin’ bright for this time of the morning. Luckily, I’ve been awake for almost half an hour and ate my fill of scones, so my mind and body are adjusted to the misery of wakefulness. Plus, it certainly helps the mood when you have an expert tending to your wounds with all the keen tenderness of a teddy bear surgeon.

“There, that should do it,” she says after patting down the last bandage on my leg. I swear she must’ve been debating whether or not to kiss it for good measure. “You’ve healed up plenty as is, but these should hurry it along. I say you can take them off in an hour or so.”

I nod to her. “Thanks, Flutters. I could’ve done without, but Twi would have a fit if I came in all cut up, so I appreciate it.”

“Oh, don’t mention it.” She blushes out of habit. “It’s my sworn duty, after all. And of course, what are friends for?”

Fluttershy: Her Majesty’s Royal Healer-slash-Animal Wrangler. Perhaps the only one of the group who’s stayed the same all these years. Soft-spoken, kind, caring, and doesn’t object when a blood-soaked dragon stumbles in and crashes for the night. There might be a scream and some tossed pots involved, but she’s never been one to turn away an injured creature. Her cottage hasn’t changed, either: still the very embodiment of “cozy,” with throw rugs, pillows and doilies all over. Can’t recall the last time I slept as hard and as well as last night under this thatched roof (even without the blood loss to help).

“Well, I won’t bother you any longer.” I hop out of the chair. “Gotta find some clothes and get to work.” Before I take a step she mumbles something.

“W-wait, before you go!” She trots off somewhere, and in a second she comes back with my tattered, blood-stained suit balanced on her wing. No, correction: my freshly sewn, mostly cleaned-up suit.

“I decided to repair your clothes as best I could,” she says meekly as I take them. “It’s not entirely restored, but you shouldn’t have to go home to change. I hope.”

I unfurl the suit and give it a look over. Every hole and tear is gone, replaced by barely-visible stitching. Much of the blood is gone too, and what’s left blends in with the black of the suit. Some would call this restoration a miracle given what little time she had to work with. I swear, this girl could give Rarity a run for her money.

“...You didn’t have to,” I state my added appreciation while slipping on the duds.

“It’s no trouble, really. As I said, what are friends for?”

A true angel she is. Not like that hell bunny she had (Celestia rest his soul). Once the suit is on, I pat down any lingering wrinkles and feel a lump on the left breast. I reach inside and pull out my shades, sans one lens. I make a faux look of dejection to get an awkward smile out of her. It works.

“Um, I’m sorry. I don’t really keep around things for sunglasses repair, but I still shined it. Hope that’s okay.” Why does she always have to make that look of unwarranted guilt? It’s too damn adorable, I can’t help but grin to provide assurance.

“That’s okay. I’ll just do without them for now.” I put the shades back into my suit, and turning around I head for the door.

“Oh, don’t forget about your, um... sword.”

Oh yeah, darn it. I look to my left and spot it lying in its sheath on a coffee table. I reach down and pick it up, and grabbing the hilt I pull it out enough until the morning light gleams off metal. A nice blade, one that's been very reliable over the years. Some would call it beautiful. I thought it was meant to be symbolic when it was first given to me... until the neck of my first offender was presented to me ten minutes later. Then I learned exactly what it meant.

The sword clacks back into the sheath as I turn back to the door. A shame leaving this place so soon, but duty calls and I’ve slept long enough. Opening the door, I glance back at my generous hostess.

“See you around, Flutters. And sorry again for the scare.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I sense her polite nod. “Come back and visit soon.”

Under better circumstances hopefully, I think as I step out into the waning mists of morning. Despite the insane brightness of the sun, the air is cool and there’s still dew on the grass as I cross the stream near the cottage. I feel a bit exposed without my shades, but there shouldn’t be any ponies out this early on a Friday. By my reckoning I have fifteen minutes to report in, so I increase my pace slightly.

The stroll, silent save for the occasional bird chirp and tree rustle, allows me time for some Reflection. I think back to Fluttershy, and the overall nature of the town. From the outside, everything appears unchanged from nearly a decade ago. Pastel houses, clean air, citizens moving to and fro on the ebb and flow of life. But at its core, it’s completely different. Simple lives dictated by one thing: Order. That changes things deep within, unseen, but nevertheless critical. Fluttershy managed to stay the same, but most everyone else? Not so lucky.

I’m a minute early when I get to the door of the Librarium. I put my claw on the handle and think a few moments if I should’ve gone home and got another pair of shades instead. Maybe put on what I got? Nah, that would be goofy. I suck it up my doubts before going inside.

The place is aglow with royal busywork, even at this hour (I instantly regret not stopping by the house first). Approaching the room’s center, I put down my sword and stand in place as Her Highness floats down, regal wear flowing, from on high onto the Grand Collection (the friggin’ big book pile I mentioned). She spreads her wings with some added glitter before turning her gaze down on me with a blank royal look... that quickly softens into a welcoming smile.

“Spike,” she speaks. “First, I wish to express how very pleased I am with the success of last night’s assignment. Mrs. Belljar appeared to have hoarded more books than originally believed, and for returning them unharmed you have my humble gratitude and that of all Equestrian literature. And I trust the offender has been dealt with just as masterfully?”

“Affirmative, Your Highness,” I respond. “She put up more of a fight than I had anticipated, but justice was dealt.”

“I trust you didn’t sustain any grave injuries in carrying out your duty, Spike?” That authoritative yet concerned tone. Guess she noticed the stitching, the bandage on my leg, or the painfully obvious lack of shades. Well, one thing I learned in my service to Twi: honesty is the best policy.

“Some injuries, but none were grave, and I sought the Royal Healer afterward, who graciously took me in for the night. Rest assure, I’ve been treated extensively and had considerable rest.”

She gives an approving nod. “I’m happy to hear that. It’s never wise to push past one’s limits, and it would pain me if you had overexerted yourself, even for the sake of duty.”

The fact she still cares for me in her own way is why she still gets the (most) truth from me. Even if that weren’t the case, lying to the princess is ill-advised. The ascension gave her a keen eye for body language and deception, so anypony these days would be hard-pressed to slip anything past her. And if they tried, it’d be especially detrimental to their health.

“Before we begin today’s work, there is yet one other task I request of you to perform.” Already? “Worry not, it’s merely an errand. A simple one at that.”

Heh, almost had me going there. “Very well. What am I to do, Your Highness?” She turns in a flourish to make her decree.

“You, Most Loyal Vanguard, are to go to the home of the Royal Confectioner and bring me a specially-prepared strudel.”

“...I’m sorry?”

“I made the order yesterday, so it should be ready at the time of opening, which was five minutes ago. Therefore, it is ready for pickup.”

I pause, trying to think up the right words. I stumble instead (though in a professional fashion). “Are you sure? It does seem a little late for breakfast, and I’d imagine you would have had it much sooner.”

She chuckles. “But of course I have, dear Spike. However, it’s important to give patronage to our most loyal subjects, not to mention our dear friends. Since it has been some time since you yourself paid them a visit, I thought it would be fitting for you to say hello in my favor.”

From the upper reaches of the Librarium, a jingling pouch floats down to me and nestles into one of my suit pockets.

“Take a moment to share a few words, but make sure not to dawdle too long. We have to maintain a schedule for the good of the citizens, after all.”

The money sack weighs heavily, but I only sigh mentally and bow. “As you wish, Your Highness.” I straighten back up, and just as I ready to turn,

“One other thing, Spike.” She turns her gaze up to the rafters, and brings down a pair of magic-encased sunglasses, which she places gently onto my snout. I see her make another smile through the tint. “Have to look your finest, right?”

I nod curtly. “Right. Thank you.” I turn around, take up my sword, reach the door, and step out to embrace the day once more. Shame I’m feeling rather bothered at the moment.

It’s weird, the way she can still dote on me even after all these years. Occasionally treating me like I’m still a kid. Granted, becoming a princess makes her Mother to Us All, but she’s essentially been like that to me since the day I was born. Even when the blood of ponies is spilled to preserve the balance of society, she finds time to play big sister. It demeans at times, and most sickening of all, it always comes off as adorable. Which further worsens the demeaning factor.

However, that stint of insecurity pales in the face of the dread I feel as I turn into view of my destination: Sugarcube Corner. The gingerbread and cupcake decor remains as bright and sweet-looking as ever, as though taunting me, knowing I’d go out of my way to stay out of that house of sugary delights. I curl my lip at its inviting visage, then resume my pace. Why drag this out further than need be?

The place looks dead as I approach. So does most of the town for that matter, save for two or three earlybirds setting up shop. I ascend the steps and stop before the door, which is as closed up as everything else. Funny, how’d you expect a business that’s open to have a door to match. I lift a palm and push it, and shocker of all shockers, it isn’t locked. With an extra push the door gives way into the interior, the outside light dispersing the darkness within. I look around, and then I make my first big mistake of the day: I take a step inside.

“Anyone home?”

A “shring” of metal raises my spines and I immediately leap into a roll, narrowly avoiding the guillotine set into the doorframe. The thunk of several knives hitting wood follow as I roll past the counter, and getting back on my feet I make a quick hop over the hole that just opened in the floor. I bend back to stop myself from running into the bladed pendulum, and straighten myself to avoid having the anvil crush my head. I pause a moment and decide things have stopped trying to kill me. For the moment.

A laugh reverberates through the bakery, followed by, “Good to see you’re staying on your toes, Spikey-boy!”

“How bout showing yourself instead of throwing lame death traps at me?”

I immediately bring up my sheath to deflect the knife flung from across the room. It has pink streamers on the grip.

“Watch your tone, lizard boy: you’re in MY house now.”

A pink blur comes at me next and I bat it away, but I turn to bat away another blur. Two more blur-tacks come at me fast, and the last one zips off to the stairs. Looking toward them, I spot my assailant, the bane of my existence, my immortal tormentor: Pinkie Pie.

Coat as blindingly pink as ever, mane as poofy as ever, and same gleeful, sadistic smile as ever. Her eyepatch is black as ever, though, which you’d think was odd for a pink-obsessed demon to have. Then again, I stand in my reasoning that she does it solely to feel like a pirate, all the time. In any event, she’s the most pirate-looking nonpirate imaginable, and has the attitude to match (though none of the jargon).

“Ask and you shall receive. It’s been a while, Spike!” Even deranged she sounds bubbly peppy.

“Isn’t it a bit early for this, Pinkie? I’ve got work to do.”

“Cheh! Going soft on me already? Inexcusable! Apparently my little warm-up just wasn’t INVIGORATING enough.” It’s actually kind of freaky how she can sound intimidating and friendly at the same time. But having been around her a good chunk of my adolescence, that effect of uncertainty has long worn off.

I hold up a warding claw. “Look, I’m good, ‘kay? Your sagely guidance hasn’t faded from me or anything. You don’t need to go flying all over the place for my sake.”

“Your sake? HA! This isn’t just your warm-up.” She hops onto her hindlegs and punches the air. Oh Celestia please no. “Have to show that this old mare’s still got it.”

In a blink she launches right at me, and I barely draw my blade in time to catch her in midair, foreleg outstretched and her hooves now covered in metal clawed gauntlets. She flips off and slides across the floor, crouching like some pink tiger and an equally pink spitting cobra hybrid.

“Now come at me, you PUNK-ASS!”

She pounces like grease lightning, and I connect with my steel. Sparks fly as she strikes thrice in rapid succession before swinging around a hindleg, looking to disembowel me. I throw down an arm and shove the leg away, but not without being pushed back from sheer hyper kinetic energy. Pinkie takes that for an opening and launches at me like a grinning comet.

My sword goes up to connect, and after a harsh clang I bring it around to connect again. Three more of these mad rushes I deflect before Pinkie shoots up in front of my face and swings around her leg. I duck before she manages to slice my head off and I quickly spring back up with a swirling slash. In a blink the pink assailant is back-flipping all the way back to the stairs, and with one hefty spring she somersaults and lands back in her previous spot on her hindlegs.

Not a speck of sweat on her and she's still smiling like a madmare. The smile drops instantly when she brings up her tail and notices a missing amount of fluff (that happens to be lying close to my feet). She looks to me with a rare stern look, but I don't waver in the slightest.

“It’s too early for this, Pinkie.” My even tone speaks volumes, and gives an added edge to the blade held before me. We just stand there, staring down each other (like so many other pointless times). Then Pinkie relaxes and plants her legs on her hips and bellows out in laughter like some crusty old fishmonger. And still managing to sound bubbly.

“WAHAHAHAHA! There’s hope for you yet, slacker!” She gets back down on all fours. “Now that that's outta the way, we can finally get down to business.” She looks to the counter. “The storm has past; you can come out now.”

From behind the protection of the counter, the familiar heads of the Cakes peep up. They regard me warmly, if somewhat nervously.

“Top of the morning to you, Spike,” Mr. Cake greets me, ever stocky and yellow.

“Hey Mr. Cake, Mrs. Cake.”

“Sorry about the hassle, Spike,” the plump Mrs. Cake apologizes as she goes to take down the knives sticking from the nearby wall. “Pinkie insisted that we set these up for your arrival. Please don’t hold us against it.”

I shake my head before saying, “The thought never crossed my mind.”

“Hey! Have you come here for something, or did you stop by just to yap it up?” Ugh, I really hate having to put up with this. Especially at the start of the day.

“You very well know why I’m here, Pinkie. It’s in your job description.” I let the tone of annoyance seep into my words. That just seems to entice her.

“Then ya shoulda said something sooner, instead of wasting our time. Still the inconsiderate jack-off it seems.”

“Oh, about that, Spike: the order is in back. I’ll go get it.” Mr. Cake slips off into the back of the store.

“I see you had something of a rough night, or are you slacking in proper clothes as well?” Pinkie resumes.

“It was a job,” I explain. “Crazy old bird, unconventional fight style. You two might’ve gotten along.”

“Unconventional, eh? Heh, you’re practically drawn to those types, aintcha?”

I tilt my head at her. “Guess it’s a curse. Passed on by you.”

“Be whatever it may be, you got to stay wary of your surroundings at all times. Cuz in your scales, danger lurks around every corner.” She taps a hoof and I spread my feet apart as a trap door opens beneath me. I furrow my brows to convey my contempt.

“Really, Pinkie? After a set-up that obvious?” She only smiles.

“You think that’s all?”

“Huh?” I feel a rush of air before my lower half is entrapped in some soft, sticky embrace. I fall to the floor and I see the massive muscular form of the vicious, toothless alligator that’s trying to swallow me whole. I plant my claws on both its jaws and pry them off my legs, but then it rears back and lunges atop me, trying to suck at my head as I beat its face with the hilt of my sword.

“Oh my,” Mrs. Cake remarks while I’m grappling for my life. “I didn’t know you had put Gummy in the basement, Pinkie.”

“Did it last night, Mrs. Cake. It’s been a long time since he’s seen Spike, so I thought I’d bring him over to say hello to his fellow reptile. Heeheeheeheh.”

---

Some intense gator wrestling and several saliva-soaked towels later, I’m back on my feet enjoying a few biscottis, compliments of the house. The one-eyed scourge had wandered off with her pet, so I can relax. Can’t hold it against Gummy. He’s gotten more friendly toward ponies over the years, but having stubby legs makes it hard to give out hugs, so a mouth free of teeth would be the next best thing. Started off cute at first, but sadly, through the passage of time, that kind of thing goes from cute to the stuff of nightmares. Which is precisely the sort of thing Pinkie can make use of in her twisted day-to-day endeavors.

It’s just me and Mr. Cake for the moment with the package resting on the counter, a simple blue affair with a bow. The missus rejoins us after wiping up the last of Gummy’s drool (couldn’t even bother to clean up her own pet’s mess).

“Okay, I think we can finally open shop,” she says in relief before looking to her husband. “Carrot, can you get the kids?”

“Sure thing, honey bun.” He goes over to the door that leads to the back room. “Kids, it’s time for school!”

The clopping of little hooves and in comes the Cake youngsters: Pound and Pumpkin. Despite sharing the same house with a bonafide psychopath, they turned out alright. Good kids, get into their share of trouble like anyone else their age (Pumpkin especially, odd enough). They’re wearing their saddlebags, ready to unleash their excess energy onto the world at large. Pumpkin gets waylaid by her mom, who wipes her cheek with a cloth.

“Mooom, quit it!” she whines. That combined with her baby blue ribbons makes for a cutesy image (to her dismay, from the looks of it).

“Don’t get too dirty today, dear,” Mrs. Cake dotes as her daughter breaks away to rejoin her brother, who’s come over to me.

“Hey Spike!”

“Hey Spike!” Her sister repeats. They come sit before me like attention-starved pups. Guess someone with a look and job like mine would have that effect on kids.

“Hey guys,” I nod to them. “Staying out of trouble? Or at least making some effort?”

“Oh I’m not a troublemaker,” Pound denies. “It’s Pumpkin who gets into trouble.”

“Do not!” Pumpkin punches her brother in the shoulder, and after a wince he returns the favor.

“Kids, don’t fight while there’s company,” Mr. Cake says to reign them in.

“It’s fine, Mr. Cake,” I say. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“Been doing any work, Spike?” Pound asks, forgetting her sister’s offense. “Going places, fighting bad guys?”

“Actually, I did some work last night.”

“Oh really??” Pound's face lights up.

“Did you kill anyone?” his sister's face lights up as brilliantly.

“Now really, kids, that’s not something you ask somebody.”

“Actually I did,” I say without hesitation. Their smiles widen like they just saw the ice cream cart.

“Cool!”

“Way cool!”

“How did you do it? Was it all messy?”

“Honestly, Pumpkin Cake.” Heh, best wrap this up (I feel for ya, Mrs. Cake).

“I’ll give you the details when you’re older.”

“Awww, but how long will that be?” Pound asks glumly, joining his sister for a combined look of double disappointment.

“Long enough. Now scram you two.” They nod and gallop out to the door. I look to their vexed parents. “Still the affectionate little scamps I see.”

“Yes, and they behave themselves for the most part.” Mr. Cake answers. “We’d just prefer if they didn’t ask so much about violence, like it was something cool.”

“That’s how it seems to them at that age.” (And for several more years after). “Look at it this way: if they haven’t become hell-raisers by now, then you’ve done a good job.”

“Glad you think so,” he says, a bit unsure. There’s a stomp at the other end of the shop.

“Sticking around creating public unrest, are ya?” Pinkie asks with an insulting eye. “Aren’t you on royal assignment or just goofing around?”

“I was about to leave, now that you mention it,” I say stiffly as I snatch the package off the counter.

“Here.” A brown bag slaps me on the chest, and I catch it before it falls to the floor. “Have some coffee for your trouble. You’ll have to brew it yourself, though.” Where’d she even get it?

“I don’t really do coffee...”

“Ohh, don’t be a pussy.” She snort-scoffs. “Your line of work requires being tough, HARDY. And what’s more hardy than Pinkie Pie’s special ultra-tough blend? It will certainly grow hair on that slick chest of yours.”

“I can’t grow hair...”

“It’s called being figurative, wise-ass.” She turns around sharply, acting fed up. “Better run along now. Can’t keep the princess waiting.” Finally you say something sensible.

“I’ll get to it then.” I nod at the Cakes. “Nice seeing you.”

“Be sure to stop by again,” Mrs. Cake waves. “I’ll make sure there aren’t any surprises the next time.” A side glance. “Well, I’ll make an effort.”

“Much obliged by that, ma’am.” I turn around, and with coffee and package in claw, I head for the door.

“Yo, Spike?”

I stop to look back, and my feet leave the floor as half my face folds before a high-velocity hoof punch. I keep the two carry-ons to my chest in a death grip, but my shades fall and clatter over the floor as I bounce clear across the store, out the door, and onto my back in the middle of the street. My shades bounce out of the shop and land neatly on my stomach while I lay there (they tend to do that whenever she knocks me down).

“I can’t believe you fell for that! ALWAYS stay on the alert, numbnuts! When are you gonna make up your mind whether or not to be a disappointment already? HAhahahahaha!!”

My exit, combined with Pinkie’s loud-as-all-hell laughter, draws the attention of the morning commuters onto my sorry self. Not the first time since I’ve been thrown out of someplace violently (especially this place), so I brush myself off, put my shades back on, and get back on my feet. The ponies go back to minding their own businesses, a few giving wary looks at me before turning away. I look over the two packages, and seeing them unscathed, I turn in the direction of the Librarium and go on my way. I stop a moment and look back at Sugarcube Corner, and give it my hardest death glare before turning forward.

To think, there was a time I liked going there.

Author's Note:

If egophiliac is reading this by some freak happenstance, thanks for Slice of Life. Now make those updates faster!

Comments

[Jdts7]

What in the unholy name of hell happened to pinkie!?

Did someone tell her Santa clause doesn't exist!?!

[Pyro The Reader]

Damn, must be rough, almost dying just to get breakfast.

[DarkDMan]

This is fun!

[DX-1118 C]

2440560>>2441204>>3121047 I read all her lines as tenma sukumoto from school rumble

[Fawkes]

I picture spike looking classy as fuck and fighting to music like this