Game Night 11: Anon Game Night (Sweetie Belle Epilogue)


                                            >“So did ya’ll have fun tonight?” Applejack asks as she trots home, Scootaloo and Apple Bloom beside her.

                                            >”Yeah…” the little Appul answers flatly.

                                            >Her older sister frowns – Apple Bloom is never quiet.

                                            >”Well, sure sounded like they were havin’ a blast, didn’t it?” she probes, trying to draw a response from the fillies. “Any idea what they were playin’?”

                                            >”I think Anon said it was Deathwatch, didn’t he Scootaloo?” Apple Bloom answers, with more of a bounce in her step than before.

                                            >”Yeah,” the little pegasus answers, “the game with the Space Marines.”

                                            >”Darn,” the older sister grunts. “Wish I had asked afore I turned him down. Always wanted to play a Space Marine.”

                                            >Neither filly responds.

                                            >”Anon’s always ramblin’ on about ‘em,” Applejack continues. “At least to us. Hasn’t he to you?”

                                            >Apple Bloom chortles at her sister’s question, bumping her shoulder into Scootaloo to grab the morose filly’s attention.

                                            >”Remember when he tried to build a suit of armor?” the little Earth Pony laughs. “How was he expecting to see with such HUGE shoulder pads?”

                                            >Applejack chuckles along with her sister.

                                            >”Yeah, they sure can look ridiculous, can’t they?” she asks the pair rhetorically. “Still… I woulda liked to play one. They sound pretty amazing. Except for the whole makin’ ‘em part.”

                                            >”Huh?” The question pops out of Scootaloo’s mouth before she can stop it. With a sigh, she continues, “He didn’t tell us anything about that.”

                                            >”Prolly for the best,” the mare answers, frowning slightly.

                                            >”What does that mean…?” Scootaloo asks cautiously.

                                            >”It means whoever is in charge in that game does some pretty awful things,” Applejack growls, “takin’ children to make his super soldiers.”


                                            >Sweetie Belle gasps in pain, the movement of her chest bringing even more suffering. She thinks her ribs are broken, but she’s not positive – she’s never had a broken rib before.

                                            >She’s never felt such agony before.

                                            >The little pony weeps silently, tearlessly, her nose pressed to the ground. It hadn’t hurt this much before – adrenaline must have kept her going. But now – in victory – she can hardly move.

                                            >At least – the others are safe now, right?

                                            >Right?

                                            >She bites her lip to keep from crying out as she tries and fails to force herself to her hooves – something is definitely wrong, she can imagine the broken bones grinding against each other.

                                            >”I think –“ her eyes slam shut as she feels something tear, as if blocking out the world can block out the pain.

                                            >All it does it make it worse.

                                            >”Don’t worry,” a cheerful voice calls out to her, “you will heal soon.”

                                            >The unicorn does not answer, speaking too difficult for her right now. She breathes shallowly, trying not to aggravate her injury.

                                            >It wasn’t her fault, she thinks to herself. It won’t always be like this, she just was unlucky.

                                            >No, the more honest part of her mind reminds her it could have been worse – far worse. She was lucky, this time.

                                            >Sweetie Belle lets out a piteous sigh, surprising herself. A moment’s lost focus…

                                            >She immediately steels herself for the sharp stab of agony it was sure to bring.

                                            >”See?” the voice asks. “Your body is beginning to repair itself already.”

                                            >With a start, the filly realizes the voice is right – her chest still hurts, but the pain is just a dull ache now, growing even fainter with every breath. She opens her eyes, looking around the alleyway for the voice.

                                            >There – two red dots in the darkness.

                                            >Wordlessly, Sweetie Belle glances around, searching for any remnant of the hell she has just been through. But the alley has returned to normal – the twisted lines and bizarre colors of the enemy’s lair gone, replaced by the straight lines and pale tones of the Ponyville buildings that have always stood here.

                                            >She sighs again, this time in relief. Everyone lived – she even managed to save the trio of Earth Ponies that stumbled into the trap, though she doubts the even knew the cause for their sudden argument. She shuffles forward, her hoof striking something that skitters across the hard-packed dirt.

                                            >She looks down instinctively, finally seeing herself for the first time.

                                            >”Oh no,” she whispers. “Oh Celestia, please, no!”

                                            >Finally crying tears for the first time.

                                            >Her dress – the dress her sister made – is ruined. All she can see – all she can bear to see – are the stockings on her forelegs. The pale green damask fabric is torn and bloodied. She doesn’t even remember being struck there – she won’t – can’t – imagine the damage done where that…

                                            >…that MONSTER…

                                            >… had lashed at her hip.

                                            >Sweetie Belle winces in remembered pain - *that* she had felt.

                                            >”Why are you crying?” the voice asks. “You can’t still be hurting –“

                                            >”The dress,” the unicorn reveals. “My dress is ruined!”

                                            >”So?”

                                            >”SO!?” She stomps forward angrily, sending that thing on the ground bouncing again. This time, she doesn’t look down. “My sister spend all day working on this dress!”

                                            >The red eyes tilt questioningly. Even if she could see the face, Sweetie Belle knows it would still be holding the same expression as always.

                                            >”If it’s so important to you, why did you wear it?”

                                            >”Because it IS important to me!” She shakes her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “When I made my wish – when I became a star – she made this!”

                                            >”You think it’s linked to your duties?” the voice asks in disbelief. “I will never understand you ponies.”

                                            >”And I don’t think I’ll *ever* understand *you*,” Sweetie Belle answers snidely, turning her back on her companion. “How can I ever explain this…?”

                                            >She risks another look at her ruined stockings, at the shimmering green fabric that used to so closely match her eyes.

                                            >”Why not fix it with your magic?”

                                            >”How am I supposed to do that?” she moans. “I can barely lift a broom –“

                                            >”Not with your unicorn magic,” the voice answers, “you’re a filly magica now.”

                                            >It’s right – there is so much more she could do now… so much more.

                                            >Sweetie Belle closes her eyes, focusing her mind on the notes, on what she wants to say.

                                            >She sings – a song of regret and renewal. The music pours out of her mouth, becoming tangible and wrapping around her despoiled clothing. As her pitch changes, so does the fabric, cleansing and mending itself in harmony with her song.

                                            >She lets the melody trail off – everything she had to say has been said, everything there was to be repaired has been repaired.

                                            >”That wasn’t so h-“

                                            >”Will it always be so hard?” Sweetie Belle interrupts, finally risking a look over her back to the creature.

                                            >”Of course not,” it answers, stepping out of the shadows. Its red eyes are no less disturbing for being surrounded by white fur than they were glowing in the darkness. “With experience, you will learn how to better use your powers.”

                                            >”What if I don’t survive long enough to gain that experience?”

                                            >”Well...” the tiny animal responds, “… it *is* safer fighting alongside friends than alone.”