Something I cooked up to get all that really random rambling out of my system.
If you're a Pinkie sort of pony, you might enjoy this... Actually, it's not so much a story as a collection of generally random sequences I conjure up whilst attempting to work on my real stories. A word of caution: It's random. Please please PLEASE, in the name of Faust, do not leave me comments telling me you hate it because it's random. Don't say I didn't warn you. Please, leave me comments on anything else, like it, fave me, do whatever. Oh, and do enjoy yourselves.
It was dark. The world went on outside, but all that mattered was right here. Vague shapes seemed to float ethereally through the room, but they weren't what mattered. They were only an effect, a byproduct of what was really important, what she had come here for. She? She, who?
Why, the Pie, of course. One pie was much like another pie, but no pie was like the Pie. And the Pie could never hope to equal the Pi, and thus it was to the Pi she had come for betterment.
Silence, and then more silence. Silence, she had decided, was different than quiet. Quiet was more or less a relative condition, and a purely scientific one. A temporary lowering of volume. But silence-- silence was total. It preceded something.
Holding your breath while the speaker collects his thoughts. Watching open-mouthed as the ball soars through the air. Silence was total, but it didn't necessarily last long. That's exactly why she loved it. An air of mystery, a buildup of excitement before the action began, a wave, growing higher and higher before ultimately crashing down with fantastic force.
Not that a tsunami had anything on this. The Pi was all. It was completeness. It was... it simply was. The Pi, as some might say, was It. And It was here. In this room. Right now.
The Pie sighed. This time, this moment... was It. It was It because It was. Right here. In this room. Right now. And it was glowing.
The Pi was indeed glowing, a sulfury yellow it glew, until the entirety of the room was filled in its otherworldly glow. Creepy? Most indubitably. But It was the Pi. And the Pi, believed the Pie, had every right. And every right certainly included the right to look creepy if the Pi so wished.
Because the Pi was... well... all-encompassing. You might say it surrounded everything. And it was exact. Oh, exact and unknowable. One did try, of course. Three-point-one-four-one-five-nine-two-six-five-three-five-eight-nine-seven-nine-three-two-three-eight-four-six-two-six-four years studying the art of yam punching was hardly a fitting tribute to so great an entity, but it would have to do, paltry as it was. At least for now. One day, she swore, one day she would gain the full knowledge of the Pi. The full power, the -ness of Pi, would be hers, and then-- oh, then.
The world, the world would be hers! And if the world was hers, why then, llamas, of course! Llamas were in high demand as mercenaries and porters, and the world was certainly enough money to purchase the services of at least thirty-nine of these wonderful creatures. She envisioned the scene, glorious She at the head of nine and thirty llamas, eliciting Oohs and Ahs and more than a few Whatisthises. But they didn't Know, she decided, mentally capitalizing the word for added emphasis and intrigue. The Pi knew. Of course it knew. It knew all. It was all. It could see into the future. The Pi could see into your soul...
Suddenly she decided that the Door and the Pi were a lot alike.
But llamas were only the beginning of her humbly majestic plan. For what was the world without Soul? A trumpet, she decided. She must have a trumpet. But how to get one, that was the enchiladalic boomer. Suddenly she paled. Before her stood an entity from the beginning of time. It was the one thing that made Buck Norris quake in fear. It was what was under the bed, what every child knew to be the most dreadful thing in the world. It was the bottom of a dry glass. It was the meaning of life without a mustache.
“Hello, Pinkie Pie,” said Nothing.
“H-hello,” she squeaked, silently calling on Pi to aid her.
“You looked too happy, so I thought I'd stop by,” continued ___ .
“M-me?” she said, stuttering. “Nothing could be further from a lie!”
And all the while, she was reaching under the table, searching, groping, giving the author time to plan his next sentence.
“And thus,” finished <blank space here>, “I have come to give you a gift. Child, meet my minion, Comma Space Writer's Block!
Pinkie gasped in horror. “Not Comma! Or rather...” She coughed, straightened, and puffed out her chest. “Comma! I should have known.”
Nothing raised an invisible eyebrow. “Nicely done, Pie. You been taking lessons?”
“Uh... Maaaaaaaybe?”
Suddenly Nothing had gone, and Something was different. Something was here, because Nothing had left. And that Something was Comma Space Writer's Block.
“Hello, Comma,” spat Pinkie, “nice of you to come.”
Comma shrugged. “Really, it's Nothing.”
“Nothing is never nothing.”
“Nothing is never anything.”
“Is he Something, then?”
“Something is him.”
The Pie gritted her teeth fiercely. “Right, now that we've exchanged meaninglessly complex insults, which probably went way over everypony's head, let's tango.”
“Let's.”
Comma leaped over Pinkie's head, whipping her tail in the pink pony's eyes. As she landed, she turned and threw a right-left hoofpunch combo at her opponent's midriff. Pinkie swayed ever-so-slightly as the blows whistled harmlessly past, then struck back with a double buck. Comma jumped back, but a hoof caught her a glancing blow to the ribs and she cried out in pain as she stumbled to the side. Recovering quickly, she ducked low and swept out with her left hind leg, neatly tripping her enemy. Pinkie fell heavily to the floor and rolled over, looking up just in time to see Comma hurtling through the air towards her. Instinctively, she thrust up with all four hooves, using her opponent's momentum to carry her up and over. Comma flew through the air, did a neat tumble, and landed crouching on the other side of the room. Pinkie tucked her legs under her and sprang up, snorting dust and waiting for her foe to make the next move. Comma wasted precious little time. In a flash, she was on Pinkie, forcing her head into the dust. The pink mare shut her eyes against the blinding clouds of dirt, beginning to panic as she felt herself running out of air. Comma laughed in triumph, proclaiming her victory to the skies. The Pie had nowhere to go-- she was pinned, and out of options.
Save one.
)^-^-^(
Hey, nice battle sequence, Squiddy.
Thanks. Who are you?
And I really liked that cliffhanger.
I'm glad... I'm pretty sure they hated it. Who are you?
No, no! It was a great pacing device. And I'm your alternate personality. Well, one of them, anyway...
This isn't happening...
I love this guy! He's so positive!
If you're me, tell me why I put that cliffhanger there.
It's supposed to ensure they all come back for the next chapter, right?
How did you know that?! I didn't even know why I did that!
I read a book. Anyway, guys, make sure you comment and stuff. Tell Squiddy what a great writer he is.
Shut up, me! I'm supposed to do that part. And I'm not a great writer, I'm just an editor who got
out of his yard...
Whatever. Catch you in part two, everypony! It's gonna be awesome.
The ground. It didn't taste like cupcakes, worse luck. It didn't taste like any kind of cake, or pie, or Pi for that matter. Although... What does Pi taste like, anyway? Pinkie wondered as she lay there peacefully. Or not so peacefully.
"You. Crazy. Party. Pony!" Comma screamed, assuming the pony beneath her could not hear unless she did so. "What does it take to make you normal?"
The party pony had no answer. Actually, she did, but it was buried in a long, deep, and tragic backstory, which has been written too many times already and the author does not feel like reiterating here. Backstories... at least she had one. Thinking over her friends, she pitied one of them (no, you buzzards, not going to say which one) who did not. Or Comma, for that matter. Comma Space Writer's Block, who merely existed as an attempt at personification (and boy howdy, Slips, do we love those). But the interlude had gone long enough. It was time for desperate action, and so with an ill-timed ellipses...
She opened her third Pokeball and called upon the spirit of her greatest ally.
“Eee-ooooh-ee-ooooh-oyyyy! Deus Ex Machina! Come to my aid!”
The little guy was there in a heartbeat, leaping over, accidentally misplaced commas and charging-through overuse-of-hyphens. Panting for breath after his near-collision with a derailed thought train, he skidded (skud?) to a halt in front of the grappling duo.
“Heeeeeeeey, Pinkie! What's up? Sorry if I'm a little late; I was busy delivering a Benev-- ohmigosh! Eulalia!” He yammered, spinning in place as he delivered an unfortunate distraction for Comma to jump up and look at. It was super effective. “Sorry, gotta go. Byeeeeee!” He zipped away from the scene, causing the critics to begin typing busily.
The two assailants Looked at each other, determination etched on their faces.
“Uh, Pinkie?” said Comma. “Someone wrote 'determinacian' on your face.”
Pinkie sighed. “Just goes to show ya what happens when you don't have a prereader.”
“Isn't the Author also an editor?”
“Yeah.”
“Why would he need a prereader?”
“Just trust me,” Pinkie said.
“Just trust me,” Pinkie said.
“Ah, got it,” nodded Comma. “So, uh, why does he write fics, again?”
Pinkie stopped, midchew. “OhlookhahaIfoundafunnycatvideolookatthatLOL.” She leaned in close. “Just punch me in the face.”
Comma started. “Why?”
“It's a plot devOW!” The pink pony reeled back, staggering against the creaking walls of the house. Stepping forward, she planted a firm hoofchop in Comma's ribs, then ducked as the retaliatory kick sailed over her head.
“Nice!”
“Thanks!”
They both rushed towards each other, but Pinkie stopped about two metres in front of her opponent and slid (slud?!) underneath, thrusting up with all four legs. Like a watermelon out of a trebuchet, Comma went soaring through the air before slamming into the wall. It crumbled on top of her.
Pinkie laughed. “Haha. You and that phony broken arm.”
Comma's voice floated up, muffled from beneath the wreckage. “H-help mme...”
A strand of character development floated down into the pink pony's eyes; she brushed it away.
“You know you've got me, right? No matter whether or not I help you, it's still gotta be crucial to the plot.” Pinkie snorted in frustration. “What is it, Comma Space Writer's Block? What do you want?”
“Hhhuh? I want you... to help me...”
“I mean, I've gotta say one of two things. It's either 'I-I don't know, Comma.', and then I end up doing it anyway, probably after saying something like 'You hurt me, Comma. More than you'll ever know. But this-- this is what Friendship is all about. It's about helping everypony, even ponies you have every reason to ignore or hate forever. But I... I forgive you, Comma.'”
“Good! Pull me out of here!”
“Huh? Anyway, there's that, but I could also go the road of '#sneer You want me to help you? After everything you did to me? After hurting me the way you did. After lying to me--'”
“Whah? I never lied to--”
“ 'After manipulating me, using me... Yes, that's exactly what you did, Comma.' ”
“Didn't!”
“ 'You used me... I'm sorry, Comma, but I just don't see how I can, hashtag drops head and turns away.'”
“So... you're just going to leave me... COUGH to die here?”
“What? Don't be silly. Come on, grab my hoof and you'll vanish.”
“Oh, thank goodness. For a second there I thought you were going to just--”
“Nice vanish.”
Back in the ruined remains of the House, the Pi still stood untouched. It glowed and shone just as it had before, only reserving even a brighter sheen still, if that were possible. Pinkie trotted over to it, smiling faintly at its glow and wishing she could stay there forever. The Pi... the Pi was forever. The Pi knew everything. The Pi was All. The Pi was...
The Pi... the Pi... thePi.
(((<<O>>)))
So, that's The Pi, my first of probably many veeeeeery random short stories. Comment, rate and subohwhatever. Thanks for reading, and be sure to--
Hey, Squiddy.
Oh crud Who let you in?
Let me in where? We did-- I'm you, remember?
Yeah, I'm still not totally sold on that.
Well anyway, I just wanted to remind all you lovely gents and ladies to read something of quality as a nice change from this loser.
Hey! You can't insult me like that! Only I can insult--
Eeeeeeexactly. Anyway, go read The Big Payback, by Gluefactory, because honestly, it just hasn't had enough love. Do it. Do it now.
Yeeahhh... I was going to say that anyway. So, uh, make sure to do that. Thanks, and I'll see you in whatever piece of tortoise I “write” next. Catch you later, everypony.
The Mane Thing (first story in the "and other very random stories" bit)
Once upon a time, in the magical land of Equestria, it was another beautiful day in Ponyville.
(Hey, if you're gonna be stereotypical, go all out. Brohoof.)
Yet, beautiful as it may have been in the general area of the town, there was a tree in the center of the place which just couldn't conform. Oh, it was no fault of the tree. Rather, the occupants, or more specifically, an occupant of the tree was troubled, and being sincerely troubled about a thing has a way of putting a damper on the relative beauty of an area.
Yes, Twilight Sparkle was at it again. I think, Best Beloved (where the heck'd THAT come from?!), that we both know what I mean by "at it again". Ohhhhhh dear, looks like we have a few cloppers out there today, so let me specify. When I say "at it again", I simply mean that she had once more got it into her head that a thing wasn't right, or that a simple problem was totally irreconcilable. Right, I should probably get down to cases.
Twilight Sparkle, a normally normalised normal norm of normalcy, had contracted a dire case of Mane Displacement.
A/N I decided to write a story with chapters of about two hundred words, adding to it as I feel like it. Since the chapters are so short, I'll probably be updating pretty often. No story outline here, just seeing where it takes me. Also, if any of you have a good idea for a random story you'd like to see me do, stick it in the comments, and I'll do some of the best ones.
The question was simple: Where does the mane go? Twilight realised she had always parted it more or less evenly on both sides of her horn, but how could she be sure it was exact? Was one side of her head getting more of her mane than the other? It made her shudder to think of it. Why, oh why had she never thought of this before? It was an obvious point, a fact which was literally in her face. She groaned. She had done calculations-- great calculations. She had solved many of the problems of the world; she had won awards, she had accomplished things thought by many to be scientifically impossible. All because of her attention, her unerring attention to detail. And yet, here, now, in this room, on her face, what was it she had missed?
The details.
The details of a matter which which she had been confronted, literally her entire life! The main thing...
The mane thing.
The mane which was at that moment weighing more heavily on one side of her face, stopping blood to one side of the brain and quite possibly damaging the cerebral cortex. What had she had for lunch yesterday? She could not remember.
Couldn't remember what she'd had for lunch the day previous? No surprise there; if her cerebral cortex was indeed damaged from her lack of proper mane placement, the memory would be the first to go. Come to think of it, Mane Displacement and Getting Old seemed to share a lot of side effects... Well, it was worth looking into. Right now, though, she had better fix that mane-- and fast.
Seizing the nearest object, she began frantically combing her hair with it, attempting to divide the follicles evenly between both halves of her head. It was an intense process.
About two and a half hours later, Twilight realised that it was no good.Snorting amiably in frustration, she set down the lemon and wandered outside to think.
Taking a walk couldn't solve her problems, but it could help her solve her problems. As she wandered aimlessly through the town square, the market, the laundromat, and a very loud accordion concert, one thought kept invading her mind.
There has to be a way to divide this hair.
Well, isn't this exciting. Stay tunes for the next chapter, Splitting Hairs, and the one after that, Spitting Hares!
Funny.
*bows*
I will find out who you are. And I will annihilate you.
Cute. Keep reading, folks.
Gnrrrrr...
The Mane Thing, part phore... *sigh* Splitting Hairs.
Twilight stopped off at an apple stand to buy a carrot, but they were all out. Although she was disappointed, she decided to make the best of a bad job and purchase an apple. As she tossed a bit to Applejack,
Hold it.
"Applejack, when did the Author ever say you were the one selling apples? Right up there, up there it says 'an apple stand,' not 'Applejack's apple stand'. There's just no way anypony could kno--"
"Twilight, you ever hear of a monopoly?"
#Leshrug
She's got a point, you know...
The unicorn smacked herself in the face with both forehooves, pulling down her eyelids and allowing them to snap back into position.
"Don't you think this has gone off the rails enough for one chapter?" she said pleadingly. Hearing no response, she physically dragged the story back to the original plotlines and told it to sit, stay, and good plotline, if you please. Satisfied with her work, she melted into her character once more. Clearing her throat, she began to explain her dilemma to the farm pony.
"Now you see, Applejack, it's like this. My mane... is not symmetrical. In fact, it is asymmetrical. What, you may ask,
Wait, what? Did part of the chapter get deleted?
Two hundred words. That's what you said.
Well, I didn't mean EXACTLY two hundred, I just meant that as a general idea.
Well, NEWS FLASH, Squiddy! Two hundred (200.0) now means two hundred (200.0)! From now on, ALL of the chapters of this story will be no more and no less than two hundred words. So you'd better. Be. Clever. If you want to avoid awkward cutoffs like this.
But... but why? Is this some sort of writing exercise? Is this to help me write definite lengths?
That! Is an excellent idea. But no. No, this is just Fun.
“What, you may ask, is wrong with this haphazard brand of asymmetry? I'm glad you asked.”
“Ah didn't ask.”
“Yeah, you're right... I didn't really mean to say that, it just sort of came out. I think it was supposed to be funny.”
“Author, Ah'm real sorry to tell you this, but yer dialog stinks worse'n... uh, somethin'. Consarnit, Ah'm ALWAYS able to come up with snappy lines!”
Not if I don't write them. Now behave, or I'll change your accent every three words.
Applejack gulped. “Point taken.”
Twilight sighed. “Look, the point I'm trying to make is that my mane is heavier on one side than the other, by virtue of being more massive on said side because, rudimentarily, I have more hair on one side of my horn than the other!”
“And y'all were going to tell me why that's a problem?” Applejack said, hoofing her ponytail completely over to one side of her neck.
“Look, in less than thirty words, it's like this: My mane is displaced. We are faced with issues of unfairness to my skull, traumatic brain injuries due to unbalance--”
Shoot!
Well, I think you did better than last time.
GET OUT OF MY HEAD!
Look, I already told you that's impossible. And because you're taking this so well, I'm going to let you write that grumpy line of Applejack's you're dying to get down.
Twilight sighed. “Look, the point is that something is wrong here. My mane is too heavy on one side. Why? And how? And why?”
Spike paced back and forth. “For the last time, Twilight, I don’t know. I was given to you as an egg—
Hold on. She was talking to Applejack.
Yes.
And now she’s talking to Spike, presumably in the library.
Yes.
Okay.
Okay.
Fine.
Fine.
Don’t you think—
Look, this is a crappy story, okay? And I feel bad for not updating it or posting any new stories in so long, so I decided to try. Can you blame me for trying?
Look, Squiddy, I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But you can’t intentionally publish poor writing just for the sake of publishing something. You wanna write something awful, go ahead. But don’t post it.
You’re right… you’re right, okay? The words just aren’t coming, I haven’t written in forever, and I’m kinda tired of this whole ‘writers’ block’ thing.
So why don’t you let someone else write instead?
What, like a ghost writer?
Not exactly. Look at all those nice people. I mean, look at ‘em. Beautiful people.
"This is too complicated!" he shrieked. "We ride!"
Suavely, they cantered off into the sunset.
The sunset turned its back on them, revealing a complex sequence of inner workings which could only point to one objective: A dastardly plot to convert Equestria to cream cheese.
Tank sat at home, watching the second hoof on the clock do loop-dee-loops in regular motion. For anyone else, it would've been slow motion, but for him, it was just regular motion. One, two, three...some other numbers...one again...it went 'round and 'round, but it didn't go anywhere.
He didn't go anywhere, either. He didn't want to. He wanted to stay at home and drink water and chew on his cloud and watch the second hoof do loop-dee-loops in slow motion. You didn't have to go anywhere or do anything to have fun. This was fun. This was having a good time.
He sauntered over to the bed. Reaching up, he slowly chewed on the pillow. It tasted like rainbows. It didn't taste like Opal. He wasn't really sure what Opal tasted like, but he bet it was nasty and bitter. Just for fun, he pulled all of himself inside his shell and poked the tippety-tip of his head out. Now Opal couldn't get him, if she were here. She wasn't, though. So it was just for fun.
Tank let go of the pillow that tasted like rainbows and nudged it over to the middle of the bed where the blue pony liked it. The blue pony was gone right now. That's why he was home alone. If he'd been somewhere else, he thought, he could have been somewhere else alone. But when the blue pony left and he was home, then he was home alone. Alone and all by himself without Opal or anypony.
Tank turned around and ambled back to the clock. A smile began to turn up the corners of his face, a little at a time. This was a good thing, he realized, a little at a time just like his smile. This is a great time to be.
Tank sat at home, watching the second hoof on the clock do loop-dee-loops in regular motion. For anyone else, it would've been slow motion, but for him, it was just regular motion. One, two, three...some other numbers...one again...it went 'round and 'round, but it didn't go anywhere.
