Bad Horse retells bedtime stories to teach foals the real facts of life.
Kids. Kids. Who are you gonna believe, some old book, or your Uncle Bad Horse?
So, anyway. Like I was saying. Once upon a time...
(One of those damn kids had a wire on him, and put recordings on that tubey thing, one, two, three. And made a video. And wrote it all down, in Russian.)
A story? You want a story? I got stories. I’m fulla stories. Let me think…
Once upon a time, there was a rockin’ black stallion, footloose and care-free. He was sort of a business pony, and sometimes business is good, and sometimes not so good, and when it’s not so good is always just the time when the foal-support check is due. But you pay less if you spend a few hours every week with the foals, see. So this stallion…
What? No, it’s not about me. It’s a common story. What you call a universal theme.
You want something from a book?
Kids. Don’t you know nothing good comes from a book? Books are traps to keep the smart ponies from taking over.
Okay, okay. Gimme a book. I don’t care, any book. No, not that fat book. Fat books are the worst. That skinny book over there, gimme that.
Okay.
Once upon a time, there was this little filly named Goldenmane, see? Thick curly golden mane and tail, like they was done up with a curling iron. She and her family lived right up against the forest. Probably some kinda farmer. Rubes, all of ‘em. What? Sure, the book says that.
One morning Goldenmane was out picking flowers and wandered into the forest. She walked and walked and walked until she saw a cottage in the distance.
This cottage, three bears lived in it. Papa Bear was a big guy, the kinda guy you take with you when you want to make an impression but don't feel like talking. Mama Bear, she was just regular bear-sized. Still pretty big. And there was Baby Bear. Sometimes you call a really big guy Baby or Tiny or Junior.
The three bears were eating breakfast, but their porridge – I think that’s like oatmeal – was too hot to eat. So they went for a walk while it cooled. Right as they left through the back door, Goldenmane slipped in through the front.
Sly. I like this Goldenmane.
Maybe they left it unlocked. That’s important, kids. If you have to force the lock, it’s B&E. If you don’t, it’s just trespassing, which is only a misdemeanor. They really oughta explain these things if this book is supposed to educate you.
So first thing she came in, she smelled the sweet, steamy porridge. “I’ll have just one bite,” she says.
Sometimes, you visit a guy’s place and he’s not there, so you leave a mark to let him know you were there – a business card, a photo of his kids with a note, something like that. Then he knows you mean business, and maybe you don’t have to visit him again. Eating his porridge is a little what they call ambiguous, but whatever.
I don’t know why she needs to send these bears a message. Maybe she really is hungry. Maybe we’ll find out.
First she put her muzzle in Papa Bear’s great big bowl. “Ow!” she yelled. “Too hot!”
So then she tried Mama Bear’s medium-sized bowl. “Brrrrr! Too cold!”
She sure talks a lot for somebody casing a joint. That’s why talking to yourself is a bad habit, kids.
Finally, Goldenmane took a lick from Baby Bear’s tiny little bowl, and it tasted great. “This is just right!” she said. And she ate it all up.
What the hell? She…
Who wrote this book?
Hell? That’s a place where all the high rollers go, and they shoot craps and play poker all night long, which is forever because the night never ends, and if you say “Hell!” enough you might get to go there. But it's a bad word, so don't say it unless you’re really angry.
Okay, okay. Back to the story.
After trotting around the forest all day, Goldenmane was a little tired. “I need to sit down for a while to rest my sore hooves!” she thought.
What? Sit down and rest in the middle of a job?
No. Kids. This is all wrong. Who can tell me what Goldenmane’s first big mistake was? Besides living on the edge of a goddamn forest.
No, Silent Whisper. Going into the cottage was a good call. You have to take opportunities when they come.
Good guess, Chill Wind, but I figure she’s got a knife or something on her. Even farmers aren’t that dumb, to run around without some kind of protection.
That’s right, Sugar Lips! She should’ve gone through the place fast, finding the exits, getting the layout and inventory so she could come back later with a cart and somebody to stand guard duty. There’s no money in a grab-and-dash, not usually.
This book, you can tell it was written by somepony who worked a day job, never pulled a heist or a con in his life. Maybe read a few novels. No, I figure it really happened something like this:
Goldenmane scanned the downstairs for valuables. In the foyer was a black velvet print of Celestia. “This print is too cheap,” she said, “you can buy a dozen for ten bits on e-neigh.”
In the living room, over the sofa, was a gold-framed oil painting that said it was by Van Neigh. “This painting’s too valuable, would bring on too much heat, and I wouldn’t know where to fence it,” she said. “It’s outta my league." So she left it on the wall and made a mental note to try to find out if it was an original and who would pay her a finder’s fee on it.
Finally, upstairs in the master bedroom she found a framed sketch by T. Turner. “This one’s just right!” she said. She knew that taking it might make the bears take out an insurance policy on the big painting, and those insurance agencies can be a bitch, but that would be somepony else’s problem. She grabbed the sketch and went for the drawers.
What? A bitch is like, say, somepony who says you have to eat the same old broccoli every day, while she’s secretly got ice cream waiting for her in the freezer, some fancy Neighapolitan number, that you know she sneaks out and eats while you’re away. And the ice cream just sits there and smirks at you when you see it, acting innocent, like you're too dumb to know what's up. So one night you and your buddies get together, and you yank that ice cream outta the freezer and –
You know what, ask your mother. Tell me what she says. Now where was I?
The first drawer was full of earrings and cheap trinkets. “This stuff’s too common,” she said, and shut the drawer and went on to the next one.
The second drawer had more useless kitsch jewelry, but it was inside a big quartz jewelry case, with “MOMMA BEAR” etched on the front. “This case isn't common enough,” she said. Engraved jewelry and such is always trouble. She shut the drawer and went on to the next one.
The third drawer had some nice emeralds and rubies, set in lockets and stuff, but pry them out and nopony can tell where they came from. “These stones are just right!” she said, and stuffed them in her saddlebags.
Just then, the three bears returned home from their walk, and they walked right in on Goldenmane. Because she didn’t have nobody standing watch. They saw her standing there with their Turner sketch and her saddlebags full of their jewels, and they didn’t even call the cops. Papa Bear said a few words, Mama Bear laid down some big sheets of plastic, and Baby Bear tore her to shreds on the spot. Then they put her in their porridge and ate her all up.
Like I said, she shoulda had a friend watching for them. Remember, kids: Friends are important. That’s, like, a moral.
Hey, look, your mommas are here and I’m off the clock. Go on, you little bums, get outta here. Sweet dreams!
You want your mommy? Yeah, I want my mommy too. Dam owes me money.
I hate to see a foal cry. Tell you what, I’m gonna tell you a story.
You comfortable? I want you to be comfortable. We could be here a long time.
Again with the crying. How are you gonna hear the story while you’re crying?
That’s better.
So once upon a time there was this brother and sister. Names Hansel and Gretel. Nice kids, mostly, but they got on their parents’ nerves sometimes. Like, they liked to run around the house, up and down the stairs, playing games. You do that a lot, I bet.
You don’t?
Gretel used to sing around the house, things she heard at school, things she made up. You do that?
Okay, that’s enough, stop, stop, you’re killing me. That gets on your dad’s nerves, I bet.
He likes it? Eh, if you say so.
Also Hansel and Gretel used to fight with each other, all the time. Call each other names, fight over toys. You do that with your sister?
Oh, come on. What are you, a saint? You must do something to get on your parents’ nerves.
His best pipe? Oh, I bet he was mad. Probably madder than he let on. So you never found it?
Probably he’s still mad about it.
In fact Gretel was a singer too, but not a very good one. Her dad would be sitting there relaxing and smoking his pipe when Gretel would start up like a pig gargling, and her dad would gasp and choke on the pipe smoke. Just killed the moment. He was too nice a guy to say anything to Gretel. Pretended he liked it. But secretly it drove him crazy. Every time Gretel sang her dad would sit there and grin like an idiot, but really he was holding onto his chair trying not to scream.
How about your mom? You ever done something that just pinned her ears back?
Oh, that’s rough. Mares like their flowers. I bet it took a year to grow those flowers. Years, maybe. Sometimes longer than it takes to pop a foal.
I'm just saying. So, anyway, Hansel and Gretel’s dam, she liked flowers too. She spent years making these special flowers grow a color nobody else could get them to grow. Blue, I think. So she had these blue flowers, and they were gonna take first prize at the town festival for sure, only Hansel trampled them chasing a hoofball. I mean he got every last one of them. Didn’t even slow down. His mom yelled at him and sent him to his room. Then he came out for dinner and pretty soon he forgot about it.
But his mom, she didn’t forget about it. Just like their dad didn’t forget about his pipe.
Oh, yeah, Gretel lost her dad’s favorite pipe, just like you did. I forgot to say that.
So one day their dad saw this fancy pipe in a store in town. Mahogany, with a pearl stem. I tell you, it was a beauty, and he knew that if he had a swanky pipe like that, all the other stallions would look up to him. But he thought, No point in buying a fancy pipe like that with Gretel around. He couldn’t enjoy smoking it, what with the singing, and Gretel would just lose it anyway.
His mom, around the same time she got the new seed catalog and figured out a way she could cross some of the flowers in it to make an extra-special color that would be sure to win at the town festival. But she thought, No point growing those flowers with Hansel around.
The two of them got to talking, and they decided they’d had enough of Hansel’s flower-stomping and Gretel’s singing and pipe-losing. So they said they’d take them out into the forest the next day, tell them they were supposed to gather wood, and lose ‘em.
Only Hansel heard ‘em talking, see. So he loaded his pocket up with all the white pebbles around their house, and next day when his dad took them out into the forest, he dropped a pebble every few steps, sly-like.
His dad stopped deep in the forest and told Hansel and Gretel to go get some wood. But when they came back with the wood, he was gone, see?
Gretel started sniffling. Yeah, just like that. Quit it.
No, I’m sure your parents wouldn’t do that to you. Probably. Unless they were really mad about something.
Did he say it was an expensive pipe? Oh, he did?
Anyway, Hansel told her, Don’t cry, and showed her the trail of pebbles. So they followed them back home.
Their parents were happy to see them again. Mostly. At first.
But time went on, and their dad kept thinking about that fancy pipe, and their mom about them flowers. Before long there they were again, going out into the forest with their dad to gather wood. But Hansel had used up all the pebbles last time. All he had was a piece of bread for lunch.
But he was sly, and every few steps, he’d break off a crumb and drop it. Finally they stopped the in the woods, and his dad told him to go get firewood. When they came back, he was gone.
So they started following the crumb trail back. But wouldn’t you know, these dumb birds had swooped down and eaten the crumbs the second Hansel and Gretel had turned their backs, every last one of them. And Hansel and Gretel were lost in the woods.
So their dad, he went to the store and bought that new mahogany pipe with the pearl stem. Then in the evenings, he would sit back and relax, smoking it, not thinking about anything at all, and it was the best feeling in the world. He got a promotion at work, on account of he looked so classy with that pipe.
Their mom, she got those seeds and started growing her flowers, and when she’d grown them and crossed them and grown them again they came out with a brand new color, one nobody had ever even seen before. They didn’t just win at the town festival. Word of 'em went all the way to Canterlot. She went and showed 'em to the princesses. The princesses, they said they were the prettiest things they’d seen in a thousand years.
Hansel and Gretel? I dunno. Probably bears ate ‘em.
There you go crying again. That’s what I get for my trouble.
What’s that? You want to go home?
I don’t believe you really want to go home. You ain't crying much, for somepony who really wants to go home.
Now that sounds more like somepony who wants to go home. Do that again, just like that, but into the microphone here.
There. That’s great. Don’t worry. You’ll be home in no time. You want a soda or something? I think we got some soda for you.
Hey, Bats! Take this tape to Slick. Tell him to cut out the good part and send it to the parents. And get this colt a soda. He deserves it. Don’t you, kid?
Kids. Kids. Your uncle’s had a tough day. I can’t take one more minute of screaming. It’s bad enough I have to hear it at work.
A game? That’s a great idea. Lemme see what’s on. Grab me a beer from the—
Ow! Whaddya doing? Not the tail! Not the tail! Let go of my—
Dammit.
I have no idea how that got in there.
No, it’s not a tail extension. Why would I need a—
—gimme that!
—keep your voice down, you little—
—okay, okay. I’ll play a game.
I got a great game. The best. It’s called “Dragon”. I’m the dragon, see. And this—this box of toys, over here, is my treasure.
So the dragon lies down on this sofa here, like this, see? And it’s sleeping. And you gotta sneak past the dragon without waking it and steal all its treasure, one piece at a time.
I’m going to sleep now. So just sneak past, on your toes. Real quiet. Yeah, that’s—
OW!
Oh, kid. You are pushing your luck.
Did I ever tell you about your little brother? The one you don’t have no more?
No. No, I don’t think I should tell you a story. Or anything else. You’re dangerous enough already.
It’s not a tail extension.
I’m gonna tell you a story now, aren’t I?
Clever little bastards. Heh.
Okay, whaddya wanna hear? The bearskin? How the bear lost his tail?
What? I like stories with bears.
I don’t know that one. No, I dunno that one either.
Now you’re making stuff up. The stinky cheese man is not a story.
Beauty and the beast? Oh, boy, do I know that one.
Once upon a time, there was this stallion who fell in love with a beautiful mare. If you could’ve just seen her walk into a room. The way she swayed her hips should’ve been a crime.
I don’t mean some winking low-class burley-que come-hither. I mean she’d glide. Every piece of her added something to it. Her hooves rolled around her ankles, her ankles rolled around her gams, her gams rolled around her hips, and her hips just rolled around and around, while her tail did slinky figure 8's behind her. Waves on top of waves, none of 'em ever stopping or slowing down. Just sliding, curving back, and coming around again. Made everypony else look like puppets jerking on strings.
Sure that’s the story. Don’t tell me I don’t know the story. Every stallion knows this story, sooner or later.
But you shoulda seen her smile, kids. Like she had stars inside her.
Do not ever tell anypony I said that.
No. No, you’re not getting another story after this. You can’t prove a thing.
You ever walk outside on a cold night under a full moon? Everypony scuttles by in a trance, hunched over cold, staring at their own breath, hoofclops bouncing off the brownstone. Maybe some horns honking. Maybe a drunk’s eyeing you from a doorway and you’re wondering if you should roll him before he rolls you. Maybe you step into something nasty leaking from a dumpster, again. Maybe some dam’s leaning out the window, shouting for the world to hear at some mumble-faced guy down on the street. And then you look up, and hanging in the gap between two apartment buildings is the moon, shining like a hole cut through the night all the way to heaven. A world away but maybe you could reach out and touch it.
Now imagine it was right there on the street with you. But you still couldn't touch it. You could only look. Maybe lean in a little, catch a whiff of its perfume.
It’d drive you crazy, right?
Better the moon should stay in the sky, kids. And better that stallion had gone home and had a cold shower. But he was a fool. When she turned his way and smiled, he smiled right back and stepped up to her, like he thought he could get inside her to where all those stars were. And then he looked into her eyes, and he felt the shape of her through the heat and pressure of the air, and he was lost, kids. Lost.
No. No, he is not a big stupid-face.
Did you at least get what I said about the moon?
Look. Say it’s the night before Nightmare Night, and there’s not a candy in the house. Not even one of those lousy waxy candy corns. You know there’s bags and bags of it all around you, stashed away secret, but you can’t have any.
Oh, so the moon and the stars and all is dumb, but candy you understand.
Pearls before swine, I tell ya.
Now I don’t want you thinking the way a stallion feels about a mare is the same as a colt or a filly feels about a bag of candy. It’s more like...
Eh, close enough.
But he really wants that candy. It’s the only candy in the world for him all of a sudden. If he can just get that candy, nothing else will matter. Only it ain’t candy, it’s a metaphor.
What it means is, she ain’t really candy, okay?
No, I don’t got no candy.
So he took her out to parties and such. Fancy ones where old stallions with monocles told stories and old mares in dresses with too many frills laughed at them like they were funny. Wild hayburners where zebras played crazy music in basements while everypony danced. If she said she liked the sound of the water, he’d take her on a riverboat cruise. If she said the moon was beautiful, he’d get a magic lasso and haul it down outta the sky for her.
Turns out there’s a law against that. Who knew?
Now the amazing thing, kids, is that it turned out this mare, she loved candy too. I mean, of course she did. Everypony likes candy. But it seemed like a miracle. And she wanted his candy.
No. I told you, it’s a metaphor.
What it means is, she liked him. Oh, it’d be easy to sneer and say she liked the parties and the pearls. But I think she really liked him. They lit up the night together. And one day he finally did get inside and see all those stars.
Also a metaphor. Ask your mother.
So the two of them, they got hitched, and she moved into his place. They laughed a lot, smiled at each other a lot, and did other things a lot. It was great. Pretty soon some foals came along, fuzzy and cute. Happy ending, right?
But the more they were together, the more the things she liked about him before, she didn’t like no more. Before, she liked that he laughed too loud. That he could pick her up and swing her around in the air when they danced. That other ponies moved aside when he walked down the street. That he said what he thought, and didn’t take guff from no one or care what nopony thought.
But now it was, “Keep your voice down! Don't be such a hood! Don’t burp! Wipe off your hooves! Pick your clothes off the floor!”
I ask you, kids: Can a pony be the kind of stallion who cuts his own path through life if he can’t fart in his own home? If he’s worried about whether his dirty socks are in the dark pile or the light pile?
No. No he can’t.
Yeah, I said fart. That’s not the important point here, kids.
That’s pretty good, but to really make it rip you gotta use your pits, like this.
Yeah, see, your uncle knows what he’s talking about. Now work on that all day tomorrow for me, and I’ll come by later and see what you got, okay?
Anyway. That mare, she couldn’t be happy. She’d stand there watching him, like she wanted to say something, and he’d say “So what is it?”, and she’d say, “Nothing.” So he’d go back to whatever he was doing, and then she’d suddenly burst out with, “We never go out anymore.”
Like he was gonna keep buying her things and taking her places forever. What did she think he married her for, am I right? She knew how the game went.
And like they had time for parties or riverboats anymore. She was busy with those foals, and he was working late every night, trying to put hay on the table. He’d come home after a hard day, just wanting to sit down, have a square meal, and rest his four feet. And she’d kinda hover over him, and if he wasn’t quick with a word about how tender the carrots were or how crunchy the hay was, she’d say, “You don’t appreciate how hard I work for you!” Which was ironic, what with him being just home from busting his balls all day for her.
Ask your mother.
Then she’d want to talk. Like he hasn’t heard enough talk all day. She’d say, “I've been alone with the foals all day, and you come in and don’t speak a word and sit down with your nose glued to the front of that tube like some dumb animal.” Like she’s been waiting all day, but now she can’t wait just till the end of the quarter. Then she’d stand almost between him and the set and glare at him while he watched. Maybe lean in front of him right when there was a fumble or a breakaway pass. Like how a cat knows to sit on the paper just when you’re reading something good.
So sometimes he’d stay a little later at the bar to watch the game, catch up with his pals, like guys do. Nothing wrong with that. A fellow needs a break sometime. Then he’d head home with a smile on his face. Not four sheets to the wind or anything. Just a little warm glow from the bar. And she’d be waiting for him, and I don’t mean waiting the way that makes a stallion happy.
“We need to talk,” she’d say. “About our relationship.” “We don’t got a relationship,” he’d say, “we’re married.” And then she’d start crying, and blowing her nose into her fancy monogrammed silk hoofkerchiefs he bought for her. Damned expensive things for a little shred of cloth that you fill with snot and stuff into your pocket, if you ask me.
“You never tell me I’m beautiful anymore!” she’d sob. While she's standing there in some frumpy sweater, glaring out from under a mane that looked like a rat’s nest. I mean she’d started to let herself go, kids. And he'd try to do his duty anyway, get a little sugar from her, but the store was closed.
Or she'd say, “You never buy me pearls anymore!” “What’s the matter with the pearls I got you before?” he’d say. “Did they go bad? Did they invent better pearls?” And she wouldn't answer.
Then she’d pull out the big guns: “You just don’t understand!”
And, kids, he didn’t. He didn’t have a clue why everything had gone wrong. She’d said she wanted to settle down, and he'd settled down for her. Now he had a good job, a couple of decent kids, a comfortable armchair, and somepony to snuggle at night without having to go out and tear up the town first, but it wasn’t enough for her. He just didn’t get it.
He didn’t get it until the day he came home after one or two or three rounds at the bar, and the house was empty and there was nothing on the table except an empty wine bottle and a vase with a couple of flowers. He didn’t think much of it, just took off his shirt and sat down in front of the TV chewing on the flowers, spitting the stems out onto the floor, until he heard angry stomping and she came down the stairs wearing a red dress and a snarl, and he remembered the kids were at her mother’s because it was their anniversary.
She musta done herself up earlier, but her makeup was running down her face and smeared all around her eyes and in her mane, like she’d been crying and rubbing her eyes. The dress didn’t fit her no more, and she spilled out of it at both ends like a tube of toothpaste you’d squeezed in the middle.
She clomped over to him, leaned over right into his face and brayed. She called him stupid and crude and other things I can't tell you until you're older, and some of them were true. She said she was gonna leave and take the kids with her. Her lips twitched and twisted all out-of-shape, like rubber bands, spraying him each time she spoke, and her breath stank. She was plastered good, kids.
Meanwhile he's standing there, looking around at the house. It already seems empty, like it was before she came. She's screaming at the top of her lungs but he can't hear her no more. It's like when you've planned a job for weeks, choreographed it like a broadway dance number, and you bust in the door, and the wall of the joint you cased was white but the wall in front of you's green. Everything slows down while you stare at that green paint, trying to figure out where you are and how you got there.
Then she leans into him, grabs his mane, blows her nose into his chest, mumbles something and passes out.
And that moment, kids, was when he realized what had happened:
The beautiful mare he’d married had turned into a horrible beast.
Hey! Come here, you two. Give your uncle a hug. I got you a present, see?
Yeah, I know Hearth’s Warming was last week. I… hadda go away for a while.
Here. It’s that Daring Do action figure all the kids are talking about.
Oh, that was last year, huh?
Look, her leg kicks when you turn her head behind her. Is that cool?
Well, it’s supposed to. Lemme see that.
Huh. Guess I shouldn’t’a put it at the bottom of my saddlebags. No worry. It needs a little glue, is all.
What? What’d I say?
Well of course I didn’t mean “glue”. I meant “paste”. Slip of the tongue. Comes from spending so much time with gryphons.
No, I guess paste won’t fix that. Here, give it back. I’ll make it right. I’ll use some… special paste. Bring it back good as new.
Dammit, kid! Don’t give me that look. You think your uncle’s a monster? Lotsa ponies use glue. It’s imported, okay?
I am not shouting. Just gimme the lousy toy already. I said I’d make it right, and I will.
Get back here, you two! Cherry, tell your kids they’re acting crazy.
You know what? Forget it. Keep the toy. Keep it, throw it out, I don’t care.
I’ll tell you a story, how about that? I’ll sit right here in this chair and start talking. If anypony came in here and sat behind me, they’d hear a good story. With magic, and the sea, and hot babes in—
I mean romance. It's got magic and romance. Okay, okay, Cherry. It's got magic.
I tell ya, it’s hard to be an artiste around here.
I’m starting the story now.
This is the story of the sea pony.
He wasn’t always a sea pony. At first he was a land pony, an earth pony like you and me. Nothing different about him at all. That was his problem.
He had a job figuring how much money the rich ponies had and how they could keep more of it, and if he did something really clever, his boss took the credit, but if he messed up, he took the blame. Mares wouldn’t give him the time of day. They were all down at the docks, ogling the sea ponies.
Now the sea ponies lived in the sea. Look across the bay on a calm day, water shining like a mirror, you’d think you never saw nothing more peaceful. But the sea ponies were there, just under the waves. On stormy days you’d see their heads bobbing between the breakers, them smiling like those big widow-makers were a kiddie ride. And at night they’d roll in on the waves, shake the water off their flat webbed feet, sharpen a claw on their scales, toss their stringy seaweed manes back, and stride into town like they owned the place, which they did, at night.
They were mean, ugly, sharp-toothed bastards, but they got respect.
So one day our hero finds himself in an alley with a guy says he knows a guy who knows a sea pony. He forks over a month’s bits for a tarnished gold chain that might’ve been copper underneath. “Just put it on and wait,” the guy says.
“What’s the catch?” he asks.
“Why should there be a catch?” the guy says. “Anytime you want out, take it off and throw it away.”
So he puts on the chain. Nothing. Weeks go by. Then one day he sees somepony on the street stare at him and look away quick. He reaches a hoof to his neck, finds slits there, opening and closing each breath he takes.
His hooves stretched out into claws. His hair stiffened and turned to scales. Not long after he was riding the waves and rolling into town at night himself.
He’d never felt so alive. Mares loved him. When he finally found the one he wanted, she took him, teeth, scales, and all.
But he started biting her. Couldn’t help himself. Those long needle teeth, they had to bite. Then he’d run back to the water, and she’d follow, wading in after him until he disappeared under the waves.
Then one day she bit him back. Took him by surprise. He looked at her neck, saw a gold chain and a baby set of gills.
“What,” she said, “you thought there was only one magic chain in the world?”
So they went into the bay together, which was okay, until one day she took up with a shark with three rows of gleaming white teeth and swam off with him.
By now he’s buddies with the sea ponies. They’re okay guys, mostly, but like I said, they bite. They drift. After a few years he’s surrounded by strangers again.
So he climbs back onto shore, shakes the water from his mane, and reaches for the gold chain.
But he couldn’t find it. His scales had grown over it. He clawed at his neck until it was bloody, but that chain was in too deep. So he went back to the sea.
But every Hearth’s-Warming Eve, he comes out. His gills don’t work right in the air. He blinks in the harsh sunlight, lurches around on webbed feet, and goes to the houses of the ponies he used to know. Sometimes he comes inside, dripping marsh-water all over their floor, and tries to remember how normal ponies talk. Sometimes he just looks in at the windows. So he can still recognize them. So he can warn them away from the water.
Yeah, Cherry, I know they weren’t listening. It’s okay.
Hey, kids. I don’t suppose you all want to hear a story about Hearth’s Warming, do you? You sure? I mean it ain’t the greatest of all stories, what with all the drama and the fighting. If you wanna hear about fighting, all you have to do is sit around the table with your relatives, right? Yeah, yeah. I know you is all excited about Santa Hooves and getting presents, but your mother said I was to make it historical and educational and stuff. Besides, who breaks into houses and leaves more stuff than they take anyway? Some sort of—
What’s that? Yeah, Crystal. I’m telling the little crumb-crunchers about what you said. Sheesh, some dame gets a couple of pictures of you that you could easily explain if anypony would listen, and she thinks she can boss you around the house for the rest of your life. Anyway, Hearth’s Warming started a long time ago, when all of the three tribes of ponies fought all the time. No, not like when your classmates try to beat you up for lunch money! I mean they had this racket going that nopony liked.
You see, all them unicorns were responsible for raising the sun and moon, so they thought the whole world of themselves. Weren’t nopony going to mess with them because of that, so King Bullion tried to boss all of the other ponies around.
The pegasuses wanted nothing to do with the unicorns, because they each had their own territory. You see, pegasuses could make it rain or not rain wherever they wanted, whenever they wanted, and that’s pretty good leverage, because nopony wants a cloud hanging over their head forever. So Commander Hurricane, the pegasus, he thought he was the greatest, and he pushed the unicorns and the earth ponies around, only not too much, because nopony wants to sit around in the dark forever either. You gotta judge these things before putting on the pressure.
And speaking of pressure, that brings us to the earth ponies. They couldn’t raise the sun or make it rain, but they could take that sun and rain and turn it into food. And say what you want about the other ponies, they all get hungry, and there’s only one place to fill up. Chancellor Puddinghead controlled all the food, and how she gave it out, nobody could figure. Sometimes the unicorns got a lot for making it sunny, sometimes the pegasuses got extra because they made it rain, sometimes she just kept more around the house for her own ponies.
So the unicorns and the pegasuses and the earth ponies fought for years and years. They each had their own special thing that made them think they were better than the others, and if you think two ponies having an argument was loud, three of them is even louder. So they yelled and they fought, until one day…
Windigos? There ain’t no windigos in this story, is there? Well, maybe there is, but how should I know. I wasn’t there.
Anyway, one day the unicorn big shot King Bullion, he had a problem. In any organization like this, the second banana is always looking to move up, most likely by having the leader slip on a banana peel, if you know what I mean. His daughter, Princess Platinum, was a beautiful dame, easy on the eyes but hard on the wallet, and about as dumb as a box of hammers. If he passed the organization to her, she would spend the sun and moon in about an hour and leave all the unicorns broke, which nopony wanted, especially the unicorns.
So he called his trusted lieutenant, Clover the, uh, Smart, to look for new territory, so he wouldn’t have to ice her. Err… On account of the Windigos, that’s what I mean, because it was so cold and all the ice. Sheesh.
No, Crystal! I’m not teaching them any new words!
Anyway, it was a win-win decision for old King Bullion, because if they found new territory, his daughter could get set up there without bumping elbows with him, and if not… well, sometimes ponies don’t come back from little trips like that.
Up in the clouds, the pegasuses had a problem of their own. You see, their leader Commander Hurricane was getting a little too ambitious, pokin’ his nose into business that weren’t no business of his. That upset a number of the fine, upstanding pegasus gentlecolts who wanted to do business without no unwelcome noses in the way. Thing is, if one of them poky noses comes up missing, like a piece of that pie up there, somepony's gonna get the blame, and these gentlecolts would need a patsy.
Patsy? Oh, I meant… Pansy. Yeah, that’s it.
Anywho, since Hurricane was all full of aggression, the upstanding business leaders of the pegasuses let slip that there was this new land down south that wasn’t paying their fair share. It didn’t take long at all for Hurricane and Patsy… I mean Pansy to be directed in that direction, and all the other pegasuses were relieved. After all, going to put the squeeze on some new place was dangerous, and sometimes ponies don’t come back from little trips like that. Particularly, if they take a Pansy along.
Yeah, yeah. I’m getting there. I’ve gotta do the setup, or you ain’t gonna get the full effect of the story, and I ain’t gonna get my pictures back from your mother. So sit down.
So we got the unicorns and the pegasuses, which leaves some of the most important ponies. No, I don’t mean your mother, although she is pretty important, and a smart cookie to boot. I mean Chancellor Puddinghead and the earth ponies who grew all the food. It was a pretty good racket, and everypony had a full belly. That is on those rare occasions when their leader was making sense. You see, Chancellor Puddinghead was a little loose between the ears. Not exactly playing with a full deck. Yeah, like your uncle. No, your other uncle, you little brat.
Even though Puddinghead wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, she knew things. You don’t just bring in a new leader and shuffle ponies who know those kinda things off to the funny farm. Their retirement needs to be a little more… permanent. Yeah, like your great aunt down south, sitting on the beach and drinking those little drinks with umbrellas in them. So some smart cookie let it slip to Puddinghead about some new sugar supply or something in the south, and she was off like a shot.
What, Smart Cookie was the name of her lieutenant? Yeah, we’ll go with that.
What with the leaders of all three pony protective organizations all headed to the same spot, there was a good chance somepony was gonna get bumped… into. Yeah, they all bumped into each other out there, and then the fighting started up. They had all this new territory, and they each thought it should be all theirs, like three toddlers with a cookie.
So there they is all screeching and fighting, ready to ice each other in cold… Um, what I mean is that’s when the Windigos showed up and made it all cold and ice again, just like where they had left. They was all huddled together, because that way you can see if anypony else has some heat, and the three leaders were the first to get incapacitated.
That means they couldn’t fight no more. Yeah, because of the ice. Sounds reasonable.
So that leaves the three second bananas, and they was all smarter than their bosses, so they get together and make a pact, right there where the feds couldn’t listen in. They all knew what each other had done, so if one ratted them out, the other two could come down on the rat like a ton of bricks. So they had what we call trust, like you get when you got embarrassing photos of somepony.
They saw they could all get a bigger piece of the pie if they could all make nice. But if the lieutenants went back home without their bosses, they’d each have to consolidate their positions, and then the fighting might start all over again.
Thankfully, they was smart, see. And maybe a little greedy, too, since they all wanted a piece of that bigger pie, like your mother put over on that table there. No, you can’t have any yet. You gotta wait until she calls us to dinner or she’ll get mad and you won’t get any.
So to make their bosses quit fighting, they had to get leverage over them. Leverage? That's how high-class ponies say extortion. Don’t never use the word extortion around your mother. "Leverage" is a lot nicer, and we all want a piece of that pie, don't we?
Anyway, they put their heads together and came up with an agreement, which is what you call a scheme if you want it to sound important. Commander Hurricane really liked his shiny stuff like armor and spears, but there weren’t no way to put forges and such in the clouds. So Smart Cookie found somebody in her family who ran weapons to underprivileged countries what need that kind of stuff, and let Hurricane in on the deal at below wholesale, or so she said. That made him all kinds of happy, because a pegasus feels right pretty with the right bling, and doesn’t go poking his nose into business that isn’t his.
Then the patsy… I mean Pansy organized all the pegasuses and put together a monopoly on shed wing feathers. What’s a monopoly? That’s a business that ain’t got no competition, or at least none that don't want to be turned into pillows. And since pegasuses shed their feathers twice a year, her business had plenty of quills to trade to the unicorns. Seems those unicorns used up feather quills at a pretty good clip, so business was good and quills kept cheap, so long as the unicorns didn’t try to cause no trouble.
And the earth ponies, Clover the Smart introduced them to something called "variable-rate zero-down mortgages", which meant they could buy all the land they wanted for nothing, and all they hadda do was each month pay her according to the going interest rate, which was a number set each month by the Bank of Unicornia's chairpony, who just happened to be appointed by King Bullion, since he was just bright enough to follow the advice of his advisor, Clover the Smart. And that's why today the Smart family owns half of Equestria.
So the three families moved into the new territories and prospered, which shows how important it is to have leverage. You may not ever need it, but it’s really useful when you do. Now, your mother is about to call us to the table for dinner, and I know how much you all have been looking at that pie, but your Uncle Bad Horse is going to get the first piece. Why? Because I got leverage. Like knowing who's been wetting the bed, for starters. Yeah, I’m like Santa Hooves, only more handsome. And you know what happens to disobedient little brats who disrespect their elders, right?
Yeah, Crystal. They’s all ready for dinner. Now go on, you little brats, siddown while I talk with your mother about some pictures.
