Entries submitted for Loganberry's 150-Word Flashfic Contests. Individual genre ratings, story summaries, and links are included within the long description.
It doesn't matter what Professor Fossil wants, or whether or not this is too late, or even that all the old friends are dead. Rockhoof will honour this birthday.
Princess Platinum is selfish, pompous, spoiled, and frankly a bit slow on the uptake. Even she learns, eventually, why it's a bad idea to set up a croquet match on a farm.
“There’s been some miscommunication,” said Professor Fossil apologetically. “We suspended access to the dig site –”
“My former home, Professor,” insisted Rockhoof.
“…to your home, sorry, yesterday. We must’ve received the incorr–”
“I have a geas! A warrior of the Mighty Helm, once placed under a geas, will yield against nothing.”
Sadly, Fossil knew this; she specialized in his time period. She hurried aside.
Rockhoof placed the cake on the earth, bowing his head. “The 1,038th year since the birth of Swordbeater. Dutiful father. Proud blacksmith. A great friend.”
Fossil knew better than to interrupt. Now Rockhoof would follow the ancient ceremon–
“Thank you for your time,” he said.
Surprised, she coughed. “I’m sure we could spare you more?”
“I’ll return again for the others. Besides, the dead should not impose too much on the living.”
She smiled warmly. “Please stay. As archaeology professor, I’ll be the judge of that…”
“We’ll let you be our princess,” said the earth pony, “s’long as you act princessy.”
Platinum leaned towards Clover. “These are loyalists?”
“Earth ponies have… different views of loyalty, Your Highness. Possibly a side-effect of democratic traditions?”
“I only wanted to play croquet!”
Before today, Platinum would’ve sent mages to quash earth pony “rabble-rousers”. But new Equestria needed less self-absorbed leadership. Besides, Equestrian farmhooves had developed a two-way relationship with royalty. They did not pass laws and wear ermine, and princesses did not mess with farmland.
“These fields have the right slant –” whined Platinum.
Clover coughed warningly.
“Have… the… right… type of slant. I was… measuring them. With croquet hoops! Soon be cleared up! Superlative fields, good farmer!”
“You’re learning, Your Highness.” Clover beamed proudly.
Respect other ponies’ needs.
Platinum hated learning. It made her sweat with effort. However, she had non-unicorn subjects now. “Noble-ess obli-gay” was her watchword.
“Ow… Applejack, this yours?” she said, hefting the guitar.
“Hm?”
“Ah moved some stuff for Granny, it fell and hit me –”
Applejack gasped. “Mom’s old guitar!”
Silence breathed…
“She used to play that to me every evenin’.” Applejack placed her hat over her heart. “Such sweet music.”
“So why’d you hide it away?”
“Ah didn’t! Mom did.”
Apple Bloom strummed a few cords. “Mom?”
“See, she only used to play for family. One day, Granny reckoned Mom could make it big as a professional country singer. Mom started OK, but then… she got some… uncompromisin’ honesty.”
“Bad review?”
Applejack squirmed. “Abandoned music overnight. High-standards industry, music.”
Apple Bloom strummed it. “Then why’s this still tuned?”
“Apple Bloom!”
“Well, someone still cared for this. Who?”
“Put it back! It hurts, rememberin’.”
“Oh. S-s-sorry.”
Applejack whispered, “Ah’m sorry, Mom. Ah only meant professionally…”
“…pony head, eagle claw, lion paw, snake tail: you never wondered about the rest? My overall shape? The name? Dracon-equus?”
Fluttershy examined Discord, horns to wings.
“I noticed it when we first met,” she admitted. “It was… scary.”
Discord lounged. “Think. Dragons do what?”
“Eat anything?”
“Keep going.”
“Live for centuries? Resist magic? Fly?”
“Hoard!”
“…you hoard chaos?”
“Dragon-like. So I hope you appreciate the meaning behind this.”
His talons snapped.
When Fluttershy sneezed, her coffee turned into a kitten.
“Oh my.” She blinked. “Wow…”
“Just magic away the extra eye if it’s distracting.”
“Chaos as a gift… It’s very…” Fluttershy giggled. “…you.”
“Paper birthday cake?”
“Thank you! I’ve wondered what it’s like to be other creatures.” Fluttershy grinned, fangs sprouting. “I never thought about dragons, though.” Scales erupted. “Wow. Starting my own hoard…”
“Dragonhood becomes you, Fluttershy! Just as ponydom became me. Another slice? For your second mouth there?”
Some called her “No Identity”, because she left no impression.
Her big sister, Golden Harvest, called her “my baby carrot”.
The birth certificate said “Odd Job”.
Stupid name.
Unfortunately, it fit like a glove. If sis needed help tending carrots, Odd Job helped. If sis needed help cleaning the house, Odd Job had the broom. If sis needed headache pills, Odd Job kept them on standby.
She’d have preferred “Orange Juice”. “Odd Job” was what she got. All the time.
Her soul screamed, “NO!” Her little mouth droned, “Yes, sis.”
Because she had one weakness; should her big sister sway, or smile painfully, or nearly faint, she had to help. One pony couldn’t run a farm solo. Odd Job had to make her ask for help.
And the sight of her big sister swaying less, or smiling rosily, was just enough to compensate a filly for mucking in the mud.
