[ANON IN EQUESTRIA] The Great Ponyvillian Farce


                                            >"Does the flap of a butterfly’s wings in Brazil set off a tornado in Texas?" - Edward Norton Lorenz, the 'Butterfly Effect' meteorological theory, 1972.

                                            >"Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. So very bad." - Nell Minow, 'The Butterfly Effect' starring Ashton Kutcher, 2010.


                                            >As with most terrible things throughout history, it started at an outdoor children's birthday party.

                                            >Specifically, an affair for one 'Flitterleaf'; a young earth pony filly celebrating her 10th year.

                                            >It was a typically boisterous Ponyville bash, with streamers and music and all sorts of decorations; as usual, an unreasonably large number of ponies had been invited to what ought to have been a quiet morning do.

                                            >They even had a clown.

                                            >Big Mac wouldn't appreciate you calling him a clown, but he showed up wearing a pinstripe shirt and a bowler hat with a flower stuck in it, so you'll continue to assert that he is one.

                                            >According to him, he wanted to dress up 'real nice-like' for the kids, though it was more than likely for Flitterleaf's older sister, a striking pegasus mare called Cloud Chaser, whom Big Mac had taken a fancy to of late.

                                            >At the time, he had countered your guffawing by bluntly stating that you always wore clothes, and that if he was a clown then you were the whole carnival.

                                            >You have to admit, he's a stallion of few words, but he knows how to make them count.

                                            >Still, you'll continue to call him a clown because it makes his deep red coat even darker.

                                            >As for yourself, you were on catering duties with Pinkie Pie.

                                            >Loyal employees of the Cakes and stoic 'professionals', you even held back from engaging in the festivities as marauding bands of screaming colts and fillies swarmed about the place.

                                            >You're tremendously proud of Pinkie Pie for showing uncharacteristic restraint, though it clearly took its toll.

                                            >On more than one occasion you had to fan her to cool her down when the birthday girl was given a bat and directed towards a piñata, as the mare broke out in cold sweats and what she described as 'pony vapours'.

                                            >Unfortunately, that was when the trouble started.

                                            >Flitterleaf was a social butterfly; she knew the names of every one of her peers, and excitedly greeted all of them when they first arrived at her party.

                                            >She even got your own names right, partially.

                                            >'Pinko Puh and Annymo'

                                            >One of those peers of hers was a colt from her class even younger than she was, called Pebble.

                                            >Pebble was quiet; shy; kept to himself, but was unusually articulate and aloof.

                                            >He annunciated his words properly and was known to describe himself as 'mature for his age'.

                                            >He gave off the same sort of vibes as a troubled child that spends their time in school drawing in their textbook increasingly elaborate depictions of themselves hacking apart the teacher in as graphic a manner as possible.

                                            >The sort of child that memorised people's addresses and routines before their actual names.

                                            >So when he approached Flitterleaf to give her the gift he had spent the week agonising over, and she summarily gave him a tepid hover-hoof hug before meekly setting aside his meagre present to then go and play with her other friends (leaving Pebble alone), you ought to have realised what she had set into motion.

                                            >As the party blazed on, and Pebble stood alone in the corner watching Flitterleaf prance about, you watched his expression get darker and darker.

                                            >A wise, compassionate man would have approached the young lad to give him some sage advice on how to deal with the emotions roiling below the surface; to offer him a new perspective on his current situation, and on life as a whole.

                                            >You are not that sort of man. Instead, you opened a betting pool with Pinkie Pie as to when the kid was going to snap.

                                            >She was appalled at the idea of making money off another pony's misery.

                                            >Then hastily reneged after you put down 10 bits; raising it to 20 without a second thought.

                                            >As your dirty dealings were formalised with a firm hoof/handshake, the scene before you unfolded as it was destined to.

                                            >The aforementioned piñata was whacked asunder by an eager Flitterleaf.

                                            >A piece of candy-corn, released from its papier-mâché prison, tasted a freedom as sweet and narrow as itself as it arced skyward.

                                            >Alas, its dreams of flight and liberation were not meant to be, and it sadly landed in Pebble's party cup with a 'plop', getting specks of apple juice all over the freshly ironed shirt his mother had wrestled him into earlier that morning.

                                            >With a shriek from the colt (and a knowing chuckle from Pinkie Pie), Pebble hurled his apple juice at Flitterleaf.

                                            >The chunky plastic cup clobbering her on the head, she stumbled backwards and tripped over a small filly.

                                            >Said small filly screamed as small fillies do.

                                            >The filly's older brother, who had been stood off to the side not really paying attention, snapped his head at the noise to see his baby sister screaming with a larger pony squashing her.

                                            >Lacking the necessary higher cognitive function to put two-and-two together, the colt immediately rushed the floor and decked Flitterleaf square in the eye socket with a hoof fuelled with righteous sibling indignation.

                                            >Bedlam.

                                            >Three dozen foals went from a merry gathering to a juvenile bloodbath in the space of seconds.

                                            >'Bloodbath' might be a bit strong; it was more just a writhing mass of mane-pulling, jamming wet hooves into other ponies' ears, and liberal applications of the Indian Sunburn.

                                            >Naturally, this was swiftly followed by the parents getting involved; fathers wading into the sea of youthful anarchy to extract their formerly-angelic daughters; mothers grabbing their delinquent sons by the ears and dragging them off to the side to give them a good telling off in front of their friends.

                                            >As far as you were concerned, this was the best birthday party you'd ever attended.

                                            >That is, until Pebble lobbed a cupcake.

                                            >A small gesture, but one of profound consequence.

                                            >As the cupcake soared and struck Flitterleaf's father in the back of the head, he turned to see his co-worker and bitter rival (whom had been reluctantly invited at the behest of the father's wife) stood a way behind him trying to get a grip on his own agitated child.

                                            >His rival hadn't done anything, of course, but in the chaos of it all it -looked- like he had.

                                            >Which is why the birthday girl's father then gripped a hoofload of sponge-cake from the nearby table and hucked it at his rival's face along with a bellow of 'Eat a dick, Garnet Shine'.

                                            >This amusing retort would mark what came to be known as 'Zero Hour'.

                                            >You can't really comment on what went wrong next, as your instinctively paternal affectations towards Pinkie Pie took over and you hurled her behind a duly overturned table, lying on top of her to keep her safe.

                                            >Shouts and roars sounded from all directions as each and every parent became embroiled in the most vicious food-fight you'd ever witnessed.

                                            >After recovering from the shock of her co-worker lying on top of her, and sombrely realising that he -wasn't- acting on the desires she'd always secretly wished he'd had for her, Pinkie asked you what you were going to do next.

                                            >Which is what eventually lead to where you are now.


                                            >It has been 5 hours since the first cupcake was thrown, and on this picturesque midsummer afternoon the wafting breeze is tainted with the distant discordant sounds of a bitter civil war.

                                            >You currently find yourself holed up in a secluded tree-house on Sweet Apple Acres.

                                            >With you hunkered down by the door, and Pinkie lurking under the frame of one of the windows, occasionally peeking out, you have a good view of your surroundings.

                                            >According to Pinkie, the house belongs to the locally-known Cutie Mark Crusaders.

                                            "Are you sure they'll be fine with us using this place?" you query in a low voice.

                                            >Pinkie gives you a wistful smile from her spot on the floor.

                                            >"It's... not like they can tell us not to anymore. They were at the party when it all went sunny-side down."

                                            "Ah..."

                                            >You let out a deep, laboured sigh.

                                            "May they rest in peace."

                                            >"Yeah..." she gazes forlornly at nothing.

                                            >You each sit in silence for a little while, contemplating the fallen.

                                            >"...At least until tomorrow. It's a school night."

                                            "Right right, of course," you agree.

                                            >"Hey, Anon?" she says after a pause.

                                            "Yeah?"

                                            >"Thanks again for pulling me out of there. I thought we were goners!"

                                            "We're lucky we're as young, flexible, and attractive as we are, Pinkie. Were it not for my spindly limbs and your body's absolute refusal to contort to any position even remotely resembling normal, we might have been hit."

                                            >The rules of what many* (*you) were calling 'The Great Ponyvillian Farce' were simple.

                                            >If you get hit, you're out. No backsies.

                                            >What is the objective? To survive long enough to be the last man standing.

                                            >Ordinarily, camping out here in the orchard until it all blows over would be the wise decision.

                                            >But as previously mentioned, you are not that sort of man.

                                            >And both you and Pinkie Pie have grander schemes in mind.

                                            >You peek through the heart-shaped window of the cute little clubhouse door again.

                                            "Coast is still clear, and I can't hear anything out of the ordinary. Want to make a move?"

                                            >Pinkie sets her jaw and gives you a determined smile.

                                            >"We've got this, Nonny. We can -do- this."

                                            >You take a moment to check your vest; a heavily padded piece of apparel covered in pockets.

                                            >Each one stuffed with a different form of edible, from apple strudels to literal fist-sized bags of flour.

                                            >Pinkie wears twin-crossed bandoleers across her chest, each sash filled with a different flavour of dangerously rigid flapjack.

                                            >She's also wearing a saucepan on her head, and it bears the smears of many a close-shave.

                                            >She catches your eye, and nods.

                                            >You run your tongue across your teeth and suck in a final breath.

                                            "Go."

                                            >In a rush of activity, you both burst from the tree-house and launch into a sprint, heading for the edge of the orchard.

                                            "So it's Cherry Lane first?" you reconfirm as you run, your pink companion easily keeping pace.

                                            >"Uh huh! Then drop in at Sugarcube Corner, through the Marketplace, and finally the Town Hall!"

                                            "I hope you're right about this, Pinkie."

                                            >"Nonny, if we pull this off, we'll be living like pretty pink princesses!"

                                            >You hum in agreement; you'd always wanted to be a pretty pink princess.

                                            >As you break through the trees at the edge of the Apple family farm, you pass through an inclined field en route to a well-travelled dirt road that leads into Ponyville.

                                            >Approaching a low stonework wall separating the field from the road, you hear a sudden shout.

                                            >"There! Pinprick, over there!"

                                            >Your head twists in time to see two stallions, Pinprick and Lucky Clover, emerge from a ditch next to the wall; various projectiles you can't quite make out hovering in Pinprick's unicorn aura.

                                            >Pinkie yelps at the sight of them.

                                            >"Evasive manoeuvres, Non-non!"

                                            >She hurls herself into some knee-high grass as you dive in the other direction towards a mangled, dead tree.

                                            >You're just quick enough to avoid the first splash, and your eyes bulge in horror at the spot where you were just standing.

                                            >The crinkled remnants of a bright red balloon are spread across the grass amidst a smear of baby-blue.

                                            "Pinkie!" you cry out, "They have paint balloons!"

                                            >Her head pops out from the grass to look at the blue puddle near you, her eyes wide with shock. "Holy smokes!"

                                            >She ducks again as a second balloon passes over her at a frightening velocity.

                                            >You glance out from behind your cover to see Pinprick using his magic to slingshot the balloons with thankfully miserable accuracy.

                                            >Grimacing, your hand darts to one of your pockets and retrieves an apple strudel.

                                            >You gently kiss it for luck and lean out from behind the tree, flinching as a poorly-thrown muffin from Lucky Clover thumps against the bark of your cover.

                                            >With a controlled grunt, you overarm throw the strudel towards one of the stallions' terrified faces.

                                            >Pinprick doesn't move fast enough, and the flaky pastry crumples against his chest; he cries out in dismay, apple-sauce exploding from within the abnormally volatile treat.

                                            >"Pin! No!" screams Lucky Clover.

                                            >"I-I'm done for, Lucky!" Comes the pained response. "Tell... tell my wife I..."

                                            >Pinprick flops to the ground, defeated.

                                            >His friend lets out a mournful wail, and Pinkie Pie uses his battlefield grieving as an opportunity to nail him square in the head with a stale flapjack.

                                            >He blinks a few times and utters a flat "Ow."

                                            >Pinkie visibly cringes.

                                            >"S-sorry!" She calls. "Was that too hard?"

                                            >"Kinda!" He shouts back.

                                            >"Super sorry! I'll make it up to you later, Lucky!"

                                            >"Okay! Thanks!" he rubs his head, wincing.

                                            >He nudges his friend, and Pinprick clambers to his hooves.

                                            >The unicorn pouts at you.

                                            >"Not fair; you have arms!"

                                            "I gotta work with what nature gave me, man," you give him a shrug.

                                            >The stallion grumbles to his friend and they both head off down the road back home.

                                            >You nod at Pinkie, and the two of you emerge from cover, walking in the same direction as the stallions.

                                            >"Wait!" Pinkie darts ahead to catch up with them.

                                            >Lucky Clover raises his eyebrows expectantly as the mare approaches.

                                            >"You were using paint balloons, that's not part of the game!"

                                            >The two stallions share a grim look, then turn back to her.

                                            >"This isn't a game anymore, Pinkie," Lucky gravely states, "the stakes have changed, and so have the rules. It's not just food now; food, paint, water-balloons; I even saw a guy slinging pillows," his voice drops to a whisper, "with all the stuffing pushed into one corner!"

                                            >You come to Pinkie's side, arms dangling in a vague state of readiness as you look down at the stallion with a frown.

                                            "So what changed?"

                                            >"You haven't heard? The police and Mayor have abandoned the Town Hall; it's wide open now."

                                            >The hairs on your arms bristle, but you suppress a reaction and remain nonchalant.

                                            "So?"

                                            >"So, the Mayor's office is completely undefended! Her diary is up for grabs!"

                                            >You slightly turn to Pinkie Pie.

                                            >She's giving you a fixed, level stare.

                                            >After a pause, you address the stallion.

                                            "Guess we'll steer clear then."

                                            >He bobs his head in agreement.

                                            >"That'd be for the best. Ponies keep trying to make moves to get to the Hall, but it's too risky; the whole town square is a crossfire zone; a no-ponies land."

                                            >He shakes his head and sighs.

                                            >"Thunderlane thought he could make a break for it but he..."

                                            >Pinprick pats his friends withers supportively, and answers for his friend.

                                            >"Thunderlane got a cold mint pie right in the eye. They say it was Derpy; the fastest mailmare in the west."

                                            "Jesus..."

                                            >Despite the chaos of the Farce, word had spread fast amongst the combatants, and all had heard tales of the dreaded mailmare at this point.

                                            >You had only caught a glimpse of her on your initial escape from Ponyville, and it had been enough.

                                            >Bidding the two stallions farewell, Pinkie and yourself proceed through the next field towards Cherry Lane.

                                            >For a while, you walk in silence; Pinkie speaks up, hesitantly.

                                            >"I thought we were the only ones that had figured it out. Looks like everyone else knows now as well. ...I-I still think it's worth it."

                                            >You find yourself nodding.

                                            "The mayor's diary is... too valuable. We can't just let this chance go to waste, it'll never be left in the open like this ever again."

                                            >The mare hums her acknowledgement.

                                            >"And we've got each other, right?"

                                            "Of course; always."

                                            >She affectionately nudges your leg, and you stop walking for a moment to reach down and rub behind her ear with a finger.

                                            >She murmurs contentedly before you proceed onward.

                                            "So. Cherry Lane."

                                            >"Yes! It's a cul-de-sac, and we should be able to cut across the street and hop through the gardens, with permission, of course."

                                            "Between houses? That's risky."

                                            >"Nope; Misty Breeze told me that Cherry Lane was one of the worst places hit; most of the ponies there are already out. They'll be at home having showers and complaining about how they 'nearly got him but the sun was in my eyes', or 'maybe if I was younger I'd have been able to move faster', or 'I saw him throw an oatmeal cookie-- oatmeal! Is he crazy?!'."

                                            "...How did you have time to get all that when we were running literally screaming out of Ponyville?"

                                            >"Oh Anon, you're so silly sometimes!"

                                            >...

                                            "...So I mean are you gonna answer the question or--"

                                            >"Shushushush we're here!"

                                            >You come up against a hedgerow at the back of someone's garden.

                                            >It's taller than you are, and you can't see over it.

                                            >After frowning at it for a spell, you look to your companion.

                                            "Alright, Pinks, come here--"

                                            >You crouch and gently lift the pony under her front legs.

                                            >She tenses up at your touch, but gives you a reassuring smile.

                                            >Hold her above your head so that she survey the garden beyond, your arms trembling.

                                            >"All clear, Nonnerpuss; I think we can just push through the hedge once I ask."

                                            "No contacts?"

                                            >"Well, there is a foal."

                                            "A foal?"

                                            >"Yeah, he's waving at me."

                                            >...

                                            >"Hi Rumble! Is Thunderlane home?"

                                            >...

                                            >"Ooh, that sounds nasty! Right in the eye?"

                                            >...

                                            >"Sheesh, and how are you?"

                                            >...

                                            >"Great! So can we come over?"

                                            >...

                                            >"No, we don't have time to play pirates, maybe later!"

                                            >...

                                            >"Anon do we--"

                                            "We're definitely not playing pirates, Pinkie."

                                            >"Sorry Rumble, that's a hard no to pirates!"

                                            >...

                                            >"What about wizards?" she whispers.

                                            "We'll put a pin in wizards."

                                            >"That's a maybe on the wizards!"

                                            >...

                                            >"Okay! Thanks Rumble!"

                                            >You lower her down, keeping her held in your arms for longer than you probably needed to.

                                            >"He says we can go through, come on."

                                            >With that, you clutch Pinkie to your chest and force yourself through the hedgerow.


                                            >As Pinkie suspected, Cherry Lane was largely empty.

                                            >A stallion lies in a canvas chair on his front lawn, nursing his head with an ice-pack.

                                            >He gives a lazy wave to Pinkie as you both cross the street, and you stop before him.

                                            >"Afternoon, Pinkie!"

                                            >"Hi, Rusty! You out?"

                                            >"Yyyup. Derpy got me."

                                            >Pinkie winces.

                                            >"How... how did she do it?"

                                            >"Would you believe it, the filly bent a muffin around a corner at me."

                                            >Pinkie 'woah's.

                                            "How the hell did she do that?" you try not to sound too impressed.

                                            >Rusty shrugs, readjusting the ice-pack pressed against a large bruise on his temple.

                                            >"Celestia knows; she gave it spin, I guess. Never seen anything like it."

                                            >He sniffs.

                                            >"Muffin was great, though."

                                            >"Blueberry?" Pinkie inquires.

                                            >"Yup. Bit stale, hence the bruise, but still good."

                                            >Pinkie nods and looks at you, speaking candidly.

                                            >"Blueberry is Derpy's favourite. I figured she'd come decked out with them."

                                            You cock an eyebrow at Rusty. "Do you know where she is now?"

                                            >He shrugs again.

                                            >"Everywhere. Dirtlock was round earlier, says she got him up by the river across town, but she got me just down the road from here."

                                            >You shift uncomfortably, looking further down the street to where Rusty gestured before your eyes drift to the vacant skies above.

                                            >Pinkie clicks her tongue.

                                            >"Okie dokie; guess we'll need to be super-sneaky from now on, Anon. No loud noises!"

                                            >You flash her a smile, trying to mask your wavering confidence.

                                            "Well I'll be fine on that front, I'm more worried about you, little miss sings-a-lot."

                                            >She snickers to herself, and you both give your farewells to Rusty.

                                            >"Yeah, see you both later, I guess. You can hop through my back-garden if you'd like, just mind the roses."

                                            >You do just that, and before you know it you've cleared Cherry Lane en route to Sugarcube Corner.


                                            >As you progress deeper into Ponyville, things become tense.

                                            >It feels as though every doorway could hide a potential opponent, and you encourage Pinkie to stay close to the walls and alleys in case things get heated.

                                            >An oppressive stillness is all about you, save for the infrequent shouts on the wind from deeper into town.

                                            >The two of you stalk along the mostly-empty streets.

                                            >Signs of carnage, of a previous desperate melee, are all about you.

                                            >Overturned carts; their axles and wheels peppered with colourful foodstuffs of all kinds.

                                            >Restaurant tables had been flipped to provide cover; the establishments themselves having been looted for ammunition and post-combat refreshments. In one of these shops a single disgruntled pony with a handle-bar moustache and overalls is sweeping up the mess with a thoroughly mucky broom that's frankly just making things worse.

                                            >Against a nearby wall, you spot the grisly scene of a large splash of green paint with a vaguely pony-shaped silhouette outlined in the centre.

                                            >Newspapers drift past on the breeze; urban tumble-weeds emphasising the ominous quiet.

                                            >Pinkie calls to you in a harsh whisper.

                                            >"We're nearly there, Anny!"

                                            "You sure this is the right play?" you reply in a low tone.

                                            >"No way the Cakes would get dragged into this; they'll be a neutral party for sure! Plus we work there, why would they attack us?"

                                            "Twilight and Spike both attacked us; well, me. Would have gotten us too if Rainbow hadn't kamikaze'd them."

                                            >You both pause and share a thought for your fallen comrade - Rainbow Dash - she held a jumbo bag of self-raising flour to her chest and launched herself right at the town's librarian - the two of them consumed by a white chalky mist, never to be seen again as you half-dragged a sobbing Pinkie Pie from the scene.

                                            >' If you guys get the book, draw the fattest dong you can right on the front page in red ink. Do it for me guys; don't forget the balls. ', those had been her final words, and you sure as hell weren't going to disrespect her memory by failing her.

                                            >Pinkie holds back tears as you stroke her mane soothingly.

                                            >"I-I still think we'll be fine," she manages after a sniff.

                                            "I hope you're right, Pinks. We can't take chances with an opportunity like this."

                                            >Your thoughts drift once more to the diary.

                                            >Pinkie had immediately mentioned it as soon as the chaos of the Farce began to unfold.

                                            >A book full of the Mayor's darkest secrets; the ultimate tool of blackmail.

                                            >With it, you could force her to do anything you wanted.

                                            >Delay rent payments; free library cards; an extra day or two off work.

                                            >You could even get re-invited to the Ponyville Book Club after Twilight so rudely kicked you out for being a 'philistine', whatever that means.

                                            >Such decadent opulence lies in reach; you need only have the courage - the audacity - to seize it.

                                            >Between you and the sort of life only kings and emperors could imagine, there is only a measly town and a food-fight.

                                            >No, you -must- press on. If not for yourself or Pinkie Pie, then for Rainbow Dash.

                                            >You come to a corner, sticking your neck out to check to see if the way is clear.

                                            >A single pony lies motionless in the street, covered in what appears to be jelly and mustard.

                                            >You gesture at her, then look to Pinkie.

                                            >She chews her bottom lip.

                                            >"We should check on her, right?"

                                            "Could be a trap."

                                            >"But I think that's Roseluck over there! She and I go -way- back! She wouldn't hurt me," she looks to you uncertainly, "would she?"

                                            >At the mention of who it might be, your lip curls.

                                            "Only one way to find out."

                                            >With absolutely no further hesitation, you hurl a strudel at the prone form as hard as you can.

                                            >It bounces off her head in a flurry of pastry and you both hear an annoyed groan.

                                            >"What-- Hey! Who threw that? I'm obviously out, you dolt!"

                                            "At least we know for sure now," you whisper to Pinkie.

                                            >Straightening up, your hand hovering near one of your ammunition pockets, you warily approach the solitary mare.

                                            >Roseluck flops onto her back, glaring up at the beaming smile of Pinkie Pie, and the unimpressed glower of the local human.

                                            >She jabs a hoof at you.

                                            >"I know for a -fact- that Pinkie didn't throw that."

                                            "Yeah, sorry, just had to make sure. I never could trust anything involving you."

                                            >"How -are- you, Rose?" Pinkie chirps.

                                            >"Eh, I'm good. I'm out, so I just thought I'd lie here, you know? I had a whole bit planned out for when someone found me. I was gonna groan and say 'the horror, the horror!'. It was gonna be really dramatic and make for a fun moment."

                                            >"So why not do it now?" Pinkie inquires.

                                            >"Some PUNK threw a strudel at me."

                                            "Sorry I didn't miss," you grunt.

                                            >She fumes at you.

                                            >"Do you wanna do the bit anyway?" your friend offers, "I promise we'll be all sad and stuff, right Anon?"

                                            >The pink mare squints at you, a stern look in her eyes.

                                            >You roll yours and nod reluctantly

                                            "Yes yes, we'll play along."

                                            >Pinkie grins again and looks back to Rose, motioning for her to roll over.

                                            >Rose grumbles and rotates onto her belly.

                                            >A few seconds pass, then Pinkie reaches out and moves her back, gasping as she does it.

                                            >"R-rose! What... what happened?!"

                                            >"Pinkie... Pie? Is that you? I can't see!"

                                            >"It's me, Rose! Who -did- this to you?!"

                                            >You look around the area to make sure no one's trying to sneak up on you, then briefly check your watch.

                                            >Glance back down to see Pinkie holding one of Rose's hooves, tears welling in both mare's eyes.

                                            >"I-it was Lily! I was betrayed by my best friend...! She knew I hated mustard so she blasted me with it when my back was turned!"

                                            >"And... and the jelly?"

                                            >"I kinda just slipped on that and fell in it."

                                            >"Oh."

                                            >"Yeah."

                                            >"But still-- oh no!"

                                            >"Woe is me, Pinkie! The violence of this war is just too much! The horror, the horror!"

                                            >She emits a noise like a goat trying to swallow a harmonica, then goes limp.

                                            >You check your watch again and observe five agonisingly long seconds tick on by.

                                            >Rose sits up and offers a non-committal shrug.

                                            >"Okay. That was the bit."

                                            >"It was a -great- bit, Rose!" Pinkie clops her hooves together in applause. "What did you think, Anon?"

                                            "It was tragic, I cried multiple times." you say in the most deadpan voice you can muster.

                                            >Rose resumes her scowl at you, and you stick your tongue out at her whilst Pinkie has her back turned.

                                            >"We're heading to the Town Hall, are you gonna stay here and do your thingy again?"

                                            >"Eh, I might go home now. Something spoiled the mood." she gives you a pointed look.

                                            >Before you can retort, Rose snaps to Pinkie, her expression now concerned.

                                            >"Wait, Town Hall? Pinkie, you need to stay away from there."

                                            >She looks over her shoulder and whispers to her friend.

                                            >"Derpy's on the hunt."

                                            >Pinkie fumbles with her front hooves nervously.

                                            >"I was kinda hoping someone would have taken her out by now..."

                                            >"Oooh no," Rose shakes her head, "Derpy's been kicking grass and taking manes, she's ruthless."

                                            >"Maybe she's already won the prize?"

                                            >Rose cocks her head, looking off to the side.

                                            >"Mmm, no; no, I don't think Derpy would care much for it. She's never really been interested in that sort of thing."

                                            "Maybe she's just flying around outside Ponyville then and won't bother us, Pinks."

                                            >"Maybe..." your companion sounds unsure.

                                            >Rose sneers at you.

                                            >"Perhaps Pinkie should stay with me whilst -you- go on ahead. Might make for good bait to draw her out so that other, more decent ponies can claim the prize."

                                            "I'm sure you'd love nothing more than seeing me running for my life from the mailmare, Roseluck."

                                            >"You bet your sweet a-- oh, sorry, I didn't mean to refer to you as 'sweet'."

                                            >Pinkie glances between you both, trying to smile.

                                            >"H-haha, great! That's great, guys, okay! We're gonna go now, Rose, um, maybe go home and wash up?"

                                            >"Yeah, I need to get out of here. I can't stand the smell of garbage."

                                            "I don't know about that; Pinks and I smell like flowers and cupcakes, I think the smell is closer than you think."

                                            >Before Rose can retaliate, Pinkie Pie is already dragging you away, forcing a laugh.

                                            >"Ha ha! Fun times! Okay Rose, I'll see you later!"

                                            >She pulls you farther down the street, and you flip Rose the bird as the latter mare mouths death threats at you.

                                            >Once in the clear, Pinkie drops your arm with a huff and hurriedly walks on.

                                            >You lumber after her in silence, keeping an eye out for any sudden movements.

                                            >Pinkie eventually huffs and looks at you, a disgruntled air about her.

                                            >"She'd have been a bit nicer if you hadn't dated her in the first place!"

                                            "In my defence she was a lot better before I actually got to know her."

                                            >"When you first said you liked her, my tail was twitching like crazy, I -knew- I shouldn't have ignored it. Stupid, stupid..." she trails off into calling herself stupid.

                                            "Hey, sometimes relationships go sour."

                                            >"-That- isn't sour, Nonny," she jerks her head back in the direction of Roseluck, "that's -radioactive-."

                                            "She'll be fine. Besides, I've already got my mind on someone new."

                                            >Pinkie freezes, eyeing her tail fearfully.

                                            >It doesn't move, and that seems to unsettle her even more than if it had.


                                            "Not that I doubt you, Pinkie, but I really hope you're right about this one."

                                            >Pinkie watches the front door of Sugarcube Corner from your position crouched behind some sauce-splattered barrels, then casts a look around at the scene near the shop again.

                                            >There must be more mulched cakes and sugar-based smears here than anywhere else in Ponyville.

                                            >The walls and windows of the shop are largely adorned with the stains of battle as well.

                                            >A healthy coating of pink frosting covers just about every barricade and improvised shelter in the vicinity.

                                            >Pinkie gulps.

                                            >"Well, here goes nothing!"

                                            >She emerges, skulking forth and staying low to the ground, a hoof moving up to make sure her saucepan helmet is still securely on her noggin.

                                            >You drift behind her, fingers twitching at every rustle and creak.

                                            >As you come to the front door, Pinkie reaches up and knocks gingerly on it a few times.

                                            >"Mrs Cake? It's Pinkie!"

                                            >Quiet.

                                            >You both wait for a while, and when nothing happens she knocks and calls out again.

                                            >Another moment passes, and you start feeling restless from being out in the open for so long, especially in the middle of an area that must have seen a fierce contest.

                                            >Eventually you move her out the way and bang a fist on the door twice.

                                            "Cup Cake! Open up!"

                                            >You hear several latches being pulled back in response; without a word, yourself and Pinkie move to each side of the doorway out of immediate sight.

                                            >As expected, the door is flung inward, and an entire wedding cake is launched from within the shop, decorating the road out front in a brilliant gooey white.

                                            >Pinkie flinches at the reaction; you just regard it grimly.

                                            >"M-Mrs Cake? Is that you? It's Pinkie!"

                                            >"Pinkie...?"

                                            >A light crimson mane attached to a very blue and very worried face pops out, looking left at you, then right at Pinkie before gasping.

                                            >"Oh! Oh Pinkie, dear, I'm so sorry! Why don't you come inside, I'll make you some tea!"


                                            >"Yes, it's been quite wonderful, if I'm being perfectly honest with you both."

                                            >You stare at her in stunned silence, the teacup in your hand forgotten.

                                            >Pinkie's not looking much better, her own expression mirroring your bewilderment.

                                            >Mrs Cake just smiles from behind the counter as she polishes the glass with a cheerful flourish.

                                            >"There's no need to look like that, think about it! The whole town goes a bit loopy, which let's be honest isn't entirely unexpected these days, and what do they all need? Food! Of course, they all came in here trying to get as much as they could for their little game, but Carrot soon set them straight, isn't that right, dear?"

                                            >She looks lovingly at her husband.

                                            >Carrot Cake, an ordinarily mild-mannered and polite pony, has taken to wearing a perennial look of thunder. No longer wearing his hat, his bow-tie hangs unwound and loose around his neck. His apron stained with varying shades of red you're slowly starting to think aren't all food-dye and frosting.

                                            >His brow is furrowed, and jaw set straight in a permanent scowl as he regards both you and his other employee with suspicion.

                                            >He grunts once, then goes back to watching the windows from his position on a stool in the corner.

                                            >"Just don't go trying anything funny, you two. I've thrown flapjacks for less."

                                            >"Oh he has, he really has," his wife affirms, "must admit, I didn't think Carrot had it in him, but today is full of surprises!"

                                            >She puts a hoof to the side of her mouth and whispers at you.

                                            >"Truth is, I've never been more attracted to him in my life; I think another set of twins might already be on the way, if you catch my meaning!"

                                            >Pinkie's face scrunches up.

                                            >You try not to think about it, and fail miserably.

                                            "So we're ah, heading for the Town Hall." You try to change the subject. "Any chance you can stock us up with some supplies?"

                                            >"Of course! That's what we've been doing all day - are the sticky buns ready, dear?"

                                            >"They're in the back, five boxes left; go check on them, I need to keep watch," comes the gruff response.

                                            >Mrs Cake shudders and tears her hungry gaze away from her spouse as she prances into the kitchen at the back to get you some sticky buns; a bounce to her step.

                                            >In the interlude, Mr Cake turns back to you, still glaring.

                                            >"Watch yourself, Anon. That Derpy girl keeps making repeat visits; she's going through muffins and tarts like nothing I've ever seen before.

                                            >He looks back out the window.

                                            >"Something not right with that mare."

                                            "...So, when it all kicked off, you protected the shop?"

                                            >"Both the mother of my children and my actual children were under threat when overexcited lunatics kicked in the front door to -my- house and started making demands of -my- family."

                                            >He twists his head, cracking his neck.

                                            >"You're Celestia-damned right I stallioned up to protect them."

                                            >You regard Carrot Cake with a new-found respect you never thought you'd give anyone, and can only nod dumbly in response.

                                            >"By the way, you're coming in tomorrow to help clean this mess up, since I assume you're both taking part in this hysteria as well."

                                            "Uh, yes, boss; we um, we are."

                                            >"I hope it's worth it."

                                            "Pinkie and I think so."

                                            >He grunts and looks back outside as his wife returns carrying a box on her back.

                                            >"He-ere we are~! These buns are quite heavy, very good for throwing!"

                                            "So you two are literally just arms-dealers right now, aren't you?"

                                            >"Oh well that's such an ugly term, I prefer to think we're just, ah, keeping the fun going!"

                                            "And making a tidy profit too, I imagine."

                                            >"I suppose if you put it that way. By the way, that'll be five bits."

                                            "Wha-- but we work here!"

                                            >Mr Cake clear his throat deliberately, and you hastily fish five bits from your pocket, snatching up the box of sticky buns and retreating towards the door.

                                            >Pinkie, who had been avoiding looking at Mr Cake, bolts from her seat even faster than you, babbling her goodbyes and vacating the premises at haste.

                                            >Once the door slams shut, Mr Cake strides over and locks it again.

                                            >He looks back at his wife, who cannot take her eyes off him.

                                            >A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

                                            >"Backroom. Now." He orders.

                                            >She swoons.


                                            >By now, the echoed shouting that had accompanied you on your journey so far has finally greeted you in full force.

                                            >You are hunkered down beside a house, a hay bale pressed up against its side. It may once have been ornamental, or even food, but now it's coated with crazy glue and mashed potatoes.

                                            >Pinkie Pie peers over edge of it at the road beyond.

                                            >You are sat beside her, legs spread out before you and back pressed against the wall of the house as you wait for her to report, sliding the last of the sticky buns into your many pockets and discarding the box.

                                            >She drops back down and gulps.

                                            >"It's uh. It's kinda wild out there. If this wasn't so important I'd probably be having a great time right now."

                                            "How bad?"

                                            >"I think all the ponies still involved in this thing are down the street and around the Town Hall."

                                            "Makes sense, it's been really quiet up until now."

                                            >"Yep."

                                            "So are they actually fighting, or...?"

                                            >"See for yourself, it's a real doozy."

                                            >You reluctantly get up and peer out around the corner.

                                            "Oh."

                                            >The Ponyville Marketplace.

                                            >A long stretch of road leading from the outskirts of Ponyville through to the Town Hall.

                                            >Being the main thoroughfare through the town, it became the most reasonable spot to set up stands to peddle goods, and the denizens of Ponyville congregated there twice a week to do just that.

                                            >As 'luck' would have it, Flitterleaf's birthday fell on the same day as the second market of the week.

                                            >This meant that an abundance of stalls, fully stocked with supplies, was busy engaging in hearty bartering and profiteering when Zero Hour commenced.

                                            >You weren't around to see exactly what took place here in your initial flight from Ponyville, but you had assumed that given the population density, abundance of material, and savagery of the unrest, that the Marketplace would be a ghost town by the time you came around again.

                                            >Unfortunately, as previously said twice in this story so far, you are not a wise man.

                                            >The Marketplace is what you might best describe as a gauntlet.

                                            >Each stall is an island nation within a sea of hostility. Each one hides within it several ponies.

                                            >Those ponies are armed to the teeth with everything from apples to oranges; paint to plaster; books to baubles.

                                            >The same ponies are currently hurling both insults and merchandise at one another to little effect.

                                            >Over the many calls for adversaries to kindly escort themselves off a bridge and into Tartarus, the dull thump of potatoes and potted plants slamming against wooden planks reverberates around the area.

                                            >You aren't sure how they have managed to fit so much stuff they can throw into such modest stalls, but you don't question it.

                                            >Instead, you glance down at Pinkie and nudge her.

                                            "We have to go around."

                                            >She sighs with resignation, "That means going the -long- way."

                                            "Not necessarily; if we hop the wall next to this house," you pat the stone work next to you for effect, "we can just jump through the gardens parallel to the Marketplace towards the Square."

                                            >"I dunno, Anon; walking through a pony's garden without their permission is asking for trouble."

                                            "We've done it twice already, what's the big deal?"

                                            >"Nuh uh, Rumble and Rusty both said we could. Gardens are serious business around here, Nonners. I saw a pony go to prison over trampling some petunias!"

                                            "Oh come on, surely we can make an excuse; we're in an active warzone here!"

                                            >"Nope; it won't change a thing. The Gardening Union is powerful; some say more powerful than the princesses!"

                                            "Now I know -that's- a lie."

                                            >"Is not! I swear to you there's a shadowy cabal of gardeners that go around arresting ponies for trampling gardens! Pinkie Promise!"

                                            "That's really not a thing, Pinkie. Come on, we're hopping the gardens."

                                            >"Anon--!"

                                            >You grab her and hold her under one arm, jogging back a few steps to a wooden barrier slightly higher than you connected to the back of the house you were hiding beside.

                                            >Without a second thought, you grip the top of the garden fence with your free hand and vault it.

                                            >It takes some effort, and your landing can't really considered graceful since you ended up face-down in the dirt and chewing on a daffodil, but you still made it over.

                                            >Pinkie is trembling, her eyes darting around, breathing heavily.

                                            >"We shouldn't be he-ere!"

                                            "It'll be fine, now let's be quick."

                                            >You take off in a sprint. A straight line right over the gardens before you; each one separated by a low hedge that given your height you can easily hurdle without losing much speed.

                                            >Pinkie, still crammed under your arm, covers her eyes with hooves.

                                            >"If anyone asks I was an unwilling accomplice!"

                                            "Fine by me," you mutter as your shoe crushes a lovely arrangement of tulips.

                                            >Over two dozen carefully managed gardens are roughly trodden upon as you surge forth with a vengeance.

                                            >Looming above the tops of the houses, you see the nearing flagpole atop the Town Hall.

                                            >A marker of your progress, and a sign that the end is near.

                                            >When you reach the final garden, you come to a corresponding fence panel similar to the one you had to scale to get here.

                                            >You briefly set Pinkie down on the immaculate grass and hoist yourself up, scouting the area ahead whilst Pinkie continues to shake like a leaf.

                                            >She gasps to herself as she sees an older pony in the top floor window of the house you're behind watching you both trespassing in his garden.

                                            >He merely shakes his head slowly, purposefully.

                                            >Pinkie Pie gulps, beads of sweat rolling down her face as she tries to avert her gaze from the house-proud pony casting judgement from up high.

                                            >You drop back down and hoist her under your arm again, unaware of the pony watching you.

                                            "We're good, let's do this. Nearly there, Pinkie!"

                                            >With that, you leap the fence again, leaving muddy shoe prints all over the previously gleaming, well-treated wood.


                                            >The imposing structure that is the Town Hall towers above you both.

                                            >Your backs resting against the fence panel you had just scaled, you look at it with renewed awe, given your circumstances.

                                            >Pinkie Pie eventually gets over the trauma of her latest sins and joins you in staring.

                                            >"So there it is..."

                                            "The diary is just inside. We're so close, Pinkie!"

                                            >You look about the Square, swallowing the lump in your throat.

                                            "We just need to cross... that."

                                            >The ordinarily barren Square is populated with all manner of carts, tables, chairs, parasols and tarps.

                                            >All hastily cobbled together to form makeshift fortifications pointing in every direction.

                                            >More-so than usual, though perhaps less than Sugarcube Corner, food coats everything. Empty buckets of paint are strewn about, and sporadic bunches of inflated balloons tied with string to the forts drift and wave in the late-afternoon breeze like the discarded banners of a felled army.

                                            >All around is an eerie stillness.

                                            >You look to the horizon to see that the sun is entering its final few hours.

                                            "We'd better proceed carefully, and use the forts for cover."

                                            >The two of you dart forth and take refuge behind the first overturned cart you can reach, peering around it at the other, silent holdings.

                                            >Pinkie pokes your side.

                                            >"Where are all the ponies, Anon? I can't see any!"

                                            "I... I don't know. This place must have been like the Somme at one point, but now..."

                                            >You look out at the silent Square, standing in direct contrast with Marketplace, where you can still just about make out insults and discount cucumbers being thrown.

                                            >Pinkie shudders, her nerves starting to take hold again.

                                            >"I don't like this, Nonners. Not one bit. Surely a pony must have tried to go inside? The doors are wide open!"

                                            >You gently rest a hand on her withers.

                                            "Yep, and I think we're about to find out what happens when they do - look."

                                            >You crouch down, making yourself as small as possible as you gesture towards a solitary, distant cloud hovering just outside the Square.

                                            >Pinkie huddles next to you, her trembling warmth of little comfort.

                                            >On the cloud, a pair of eyes peers over before a shape tumbles off the edge and makes a beeline towards the Town Hall.

                                            >You recognise the mare as Cloud Chaser, and manage a faint laugh.

                                            "Well god damn, she survived the party after all; good for her."

                                            >Pinkie gasps, panic overtaking her.

                                            >"Oh my gosh, she's gonna make it! Anon we were too slow!"

                                            >She attempts to break cover and dash for the Hall, but you yank her back and hold her against your chest, both arms wrapped across her belly.

                                            "Wait! Just wait, I got a real bad feeling."

                                            >Cloud Chaser approaches the front double-doors of the Town Hall, angling her wings to swoop down towards her final objective, her ecstatic grin a barometer of her confidence.

                                            >But your arms tighten around Pinkie Pie, and the mare herself covers her mouth with both hooves in shock, as Cloud Chaser is sent reeling from the air by a passing grey blur.

                                            >The pegasus slams heavily against the ground, coming to a grinding stop in a gouge of earth, wheezing. You don't make a move to help her, dreading what you know is coming next.

                                            >After a few moments of groaning, she staggers to her hooves, looking around in a trembling daze.

                                            >The mare catches sight of you and Pinkie, your heads barely visible from behind the cart.

                                            >She opens her mouth to speak, but before she can, a muffin collides with the side of her head with such force that she crumples to the ground again.

                                            >Your throat is dry as another figure drops like a thunderbolt from the sky, landing next to Cloud Chaser with a resonating slam.

                                            >Derpy Hooves herself, the mailmare of Ponyville, stands over the fallen pegasus with an utterly unsympathetic look in her mildly discombobulated eyes.

                                            >Cloud Chaser gazes up at her, a trembling hoof reaching for Derpy in what you can only interpret as a gesture for mercy.

                                            >"D-Derpy...!"

                                            >Derpy responds by drawing back a hoof and punching a jam tart straight into Cloud Chaser's face.

                                            >The poor mare is rendered still, her extended hoof slumping to the ground.

                                            >Derpy watches the motionless body with interest for a moment; she then grins toothily.

                                            >"You're out!" she declares.

                                            >With that, her wings flare and she takes to the skies again with a single heavy beat, vanishing amongst the clouds above.

                                            >For a while you wait, eyes fixated on the dark clouds hanging over you, made all the darker by the waning sun.

                                            "So..." you finally whisper.

                                            >"She... She's still in the game."

                                            >You both shuffle back and sit in the relative safety of the cart.

                                            >"What do we do, Anon?" she asks.

                                            >You genuinely don't know, but you can't give up now. Mustering your confidence, you look to your companion with the most winning smile you can manage.

                                            "We didn't come this far to just sit here and mope, Pinkie."

                                            >You jerk a thumb back over your shoulder.

                                            "In that building is our ticket to the good life. We can't let some deranged mailmare keep us from it, can we?"

                                            >"But how can we stop her, Nonny? She's so... fast!"

                                            "I know. But we have an advantage."

                                            >"What's that?"

                                            "There's two of us."


                                            >You and Pinkie split up.

                                            >She heads left, you head right, both creeping around and under the assorted safe-spots trying to remain hidden from view from the clouds above. Both heading for the front doors of the Town Hall.

                                            >So long as at least one of you makes it inside and to the Mayor's office, you can claim victory.

                                            >You'll make Dash proud yet.

                                            >As you near the steps at the foot of the Hall's veranda, you signal to Pinkie that you're going to go first.

                                            >She nods shakily from her place beneath a bright blue tarp secured with rope to a few apple-sauce and cream cheese stained crates.

                                            >You take a moment to suck in a few deep breaths.

                                            >Don't screw this up, Anon.

                                            >Your heart is pounding in your chest; a sticky bun from Mrs Cake mildly crushed in your trembling fist.

                                            >With a final nod to yourself, you lunge from your position behind a large pink parasol resting on its side and sprint for the double doors.

                                            >The effect is immediate.

                                            >The cloud cover above you is torn open as Derpy descends from up high like a vengeful god.

                                            >Thankfully, you are both lanky and nimble, and your weird human physiology makes for a difficult target as a muffin grazes your cheek on its way past you to slap against the ground.

                                            >Derpy lands, all four hooves at once, on the ground; a small depression forming under her from the impact.

                                            >You hurl the bun at her, but it goes wide; you curse under your breath.

                                            >Like an uncoiled spring she launches herself at you from a standing position, a piece of apple cobbler already prepared in her hoof.

                                            >You make it to the steps of the Hall and leap up them in but two bounds, dropping to a slide on the smoothed wood and allowing your momentum to carry you through the double doors and into the structure itself.

                                            >Derpy rushes over your head like a rolling thunder, narrowly missing you.

                                            >She performs a tight U-turn in the centre of the Hall and comes to a stop in the air, her readied hoof hurling the cobbler at you before you even have time to get off the ground, the treat splatting the floor you were just lying on a moment before.

                                            >Thankfully, the ponies that built this place had a fondness for structural pillars, and you're able to dart to the left of the room behind one before a second treat, this time a mint roll, hits the wall behind where your head used to be.

                                            >Derpy growls in frustration.

                                            >"Hold still, Anon!" She reaches into her mailbag for another weapon. "Stop being so weird and lanky!"

                                            >As you emerge from behind another pillar and rush for an open doorway, you shout over your shoulder.

                                            "Please! Derpy! We can talk about this--!"

                                            >"No!" she snaps.

                                            >The mare rushes you, intent on tackling, but you're able to evade her with the grace of a ballet dancer.

                                            >A ballet dancer with one leg and no eyes.

                                            >You topple to the floor, and Derpy is on top of you in an instant.

                                            >In her right hoof, a blueberry muffin is menacingly primed, ready to get pummelled into your face.

                                            >You however have gripped both of her front hooves, preventing her from executing you the same way she did Cloud Chaser.

                                            >She's a hell of a lot heavier than she looks, especially for a pegasus.

                                            >So much so that you find yourself weighted down.

                                            >The mare struggles, her teeth gritted and eyes full of fury.

                                            >Your arms tremble as you struggle to delay the muffin getting smushed against your face.

                                            "Derpy, we can--"

                                            >"DITZY DOO!"

                                            >Her scream stuns you.

                                            >The mare's lower lip begins to tremble.

                                            >"My name is -Ditzy Doo-! I thought you were different!"

                                            "I-I'm sorry! I though that was your name--"

                                            >"Everyone does! But it doesn't matter how many times I try to tell them, they all just laugh it off and keep calling me Derpy. Oh ha ha ha, let's all make fun of the m-mailmare with the funny eyes! They don't know what it's like to be me!"

                                            >You struggle to answer her, and you feel the strength pressing against you relenting somewhat as the pony sat on top of you struggles to control herself.

                                            >"Y-you were new in town so you're supposed to be different! You were supposed to call me Ditzy Doo but they got to you first and told you I was called Derpy!"

                                            "I... Ditzy, I'm so sorry."

                                            >She chuckles, though it wavers uncomfortably.

                                            >"I'm not! Who's laughing now, right?" Another, slightly more unhinged giggle. "Now everyone's afraid of me! This food-fight is the best thing that ever happened to me! I could finally live out my fantasies and go postal!"

                                            >With that, her hoof surges towards your face again, and you struggle to push it back.

                                            "B-but why not get the diary? That way you can make the Mayor respect you!"

                                            >"A book isn't going to change the way ponies see me, only fear can do that!" She starts talking faster, her breathing shallow and rapid. "Fear that I now command! Now, whenever ponies see me on my rounds they'll smile and say nice things; they'll give me presents and laugh at my jokes and they won't shout at me or make fun of my eyes and voice and everything else about me and they WON'T. CALL. ME. -DERPY-!"

                                            >With a final, howling scream, she forces her hoof down, and you feel the muffin crush against your face.

                                            >You feel your heart skip a beat as the moist, fluffy sweet is pressed into your right cheek.

                                            >A small voice in your head is urging you, telling you to get up and brush it off; to pretend that it was a fluke and that it didn't happen.

                                            >But you cannot. The rules are absolute. No backsies.

                                            >It's over.

                                            >Your vision becomes misty as your head drops back to rest against the floor, staring unfocused at the high-arched ceiling with Ditzy Doo reveling in her victory.

                                            >"Woo! Another point for Ditzy!" She nods approvingly at her latest endeavour, currently covering about half of your face. "Wow, I'm -great- at this game! I hope we all do it again next year, it was fun to let off some stea--"

                                            >Her next quip is cut brutally short as a loud hollow crack echoes around the hall.

                                            >You blink a few times, then glance back at the pony sat on your chest in confusion.

                                            >Her mouth is hanging open, aghast.

                                            >All she can manage is a dull "Ow." as a trembling hoof touches the back of her head.

                                            >When she pulls it back to look at it, you see flakes and crumbs tumbling off and onto your vest.

                                            >She twists her body around, and you finally see the sorrowful face of Pinkie Pie stood a way behind her.

                                            >For a while neither mare says a word until Pinkie tentatively speaks up.

                                            >"I got you with a oatmeal flapjack, Ditzy. You're out."

                                            >The mailmare holds the party pony's gaze for a while, before silently nodding a few times in acceptance.

                                            >"That... that means I lost the game, didn't I?"

                                            >"I'm sorry, you know the rules."

                                            >"Oh..."

                                            >Ditzy looks down at you again, a wounded look etched on her features.

                                            >She slowly stands up and gets off you, dragging her hooves as she begins to walk dejectedly towards the doors.

                                            >Pinkie doesn't miss a beat, trotting after her without a word, and the two begin to talk in hushed tones you can't quite hear.

                                            >After a moment, Ditzy rubs her eyes with a foreleg and begins to weep; Pinkie wraps her up in the tightest hug she can muster.

                                            >She presses her lips to Ditzy's forehead as she rocks her back and forth in her embrace.

                                            >You watch from your position on the floor without comment; the humour sucked out of you.

                                            >Finally the two break apart from each other, Ditzy's expression a bit brighter than it was.

                                            >With that, her wings unfurl, and she lazily drifts out the door and into the deepening shadows of the late-afternoon.

                                            >Pinkie watches her go, then rushes over to you, holding your head in her lap as she gawks down at your muffin-smothered face, wiping the mess away with a hoof.

                                            >"A-anon...!"

                                            "Yeah, she, uh." you wet your lips. "She actually got me."

                                            >Pinkie strokes your head mournfully.

                                            >"But we were gonna make it together, Nonny! We were both gonna be number one!"

                                            "Nah, there can't be two ones, Ponk, that'd be madness."

                                            >"But you could be One-A, I could be One-B! We could make it work!"

                                            "No Pinkie; that's algebra, and you know I'm sworn off the stuff."

                                            >You exhale a beleaguered sigh.

                                            "You sure took your time though."

                                            >She laughs softly, not quite managing to mask the shame in her eyes.

                                            >"I guess so, but that's only because I was trying to find this upstairs."

                                            >The mare reaches into her mane and reveals a small black book with the Mayor's cutie mark emblazoned on the front, and you allow a breathless laugh.

                                            "Well I'll be damned; there it is."

                                            >"Yup; it's the real deal. It's all there. Every juicy detail we could have ever asked for. Did you know she's not even legally the Mayor? Or that there isn't a single licensed doctor in Ponyville?"

                                            "Did..."

                                            >You cough into a fist.

                                            "Did you draw a dong in it?"

                                            >Pinkie shakily nods, tears welling in her eyes.

                                            >"I-I drew the fattest dong, Nonners."

                                            "Sh... show me..."

                                            >She opens the book to the front page, and you admire her work.

                                            "Nice balls. You even gave it veins..."

                                            >You close your eyes.

                                            "...Dash would be... proud of you..."

                                            >"Anon...? Anon! Anon, don't leave me!"

                                            >She drops the book to the side and hugs your head as she lets out a dramatic, lingering cry into the silence of the town hall her, voice cracking at its apex and settling to a low, persistent whine as she grieves alone for her fallen friend.

                                            >...

                                            >About a minute passes in silence before you reopen an eye.

                                            "That was good, right?" you crack a grin.

                                            >"That was -super- good!" she says with an excited smile.

                                            "Nice and dramatic?"

                                            >"Uh, yeah?! You're really great at this!"

                                            "Heh, thanks, Panko."

                                            >You hoist yourself up and rise to your feet, a hand wiping off the flapjack crumbs on your front.

                                            "So yeah, Jesus, we actually got it. Now what?"

                                            >Pinkie grins triumphantly at you.

                                            >"Now we get the heck outta here before the Mayor comes back with the cops who aren't even cops and finds out who stole it!"

                                            "Sure, we can do that. I wanted to ask you something, by the way, once this had ended."

                                            >She cocks her head at you, and you offer a sheepish grin.

                                            "Do you want to grab a drink sometime?"

                                            >She gives you a coy look, and takes a step closer to you.

                                            >"I'd love to, Nonners. But you have to do something for me first."

                                            "Oh?"

                                            >"Yeah. You owe me twenty bits."

                                            >And so ends The Great Ponyvillian Farce.


                                            >One week later, the town is back to its regular state.

                                            >The food has been swept away, bruises tended to, store-front windows replaced, and grudges set aside and forgotten until such a time as it becomes convenient to resurrect them again.

                                            >You sit cross-legged in a circle of ponies at the Golden Oaks library, grinning from ear to ear.

                                            >Twilight Sparkle, trying to look anything other than absolutely livid, attempts to lead a discussion on the book the club was tasked to read over the week.

                                            >You raise a hand.

                                            >"...Yes. Anonymous." she spits.

                                            "Why exactly did Meadowshine drink the potion instead of testing to see if it was poison first? Is she stupid or something?"

                                            >You watch with utter delight as a vein bulges on Twilight's temple.

                                            >With gritted teeth she replies, "It was an expression of her -love- for Moon Song. It was a leap of -faith-."

                                            "I dunno, sounds kinda dumb. I wouldn't have done that, I'd have just let Moon Song stay where he was. You need to pick better books to review, Twilight."

                                            >From outside the library, passing ponies can hear tormented screaming. Full of fury, but ultimately impotent, due to a new order from the Mayor's office that forbade her from banning Anonymous from her book club again.


                                            >Pinkie Pie bounces in place eagerly in the middle of Ponyville Park.

                                            >The ponies around her look nervous, but they stay where they are out of respect for the now significant political power their host wields, as well as the wealth of food and drinks she had assembled for the event.

                                            >A small figure soars over distant houses, growing larger until she comes to a staggered stop in front of Pinkie.

                                            >She blinks a few times, looking between the host and the crowd behind her.

                                            >Above the crowd, suspended between two trees, hangs a bright and colourful banner that reads "Sorry for being a bunch of jerks, Ditzy Doo! (And also sorry to you and Lucky Clover for hitting you with a flapjack that one time)"

                                            >The mailmare's lip trembles as her friend wraps her up in another tight hug, and with that the festivities in her honour kick off in earnest.


                                            >Anonymous enters his home, still beaming from his thrilling time at the book club.

                                            >He locks his door behind him, and hangs his coat up on the rack.

                                            >Sauntering into his living room like a man on cloud nine, he comes to a sudden stop in the doorway.

                                            >A single earth pony is sat on his sofa, drinking from a glass of apple juice he had helped himself to from Anon's fridge.

                                            >The pony turns to him and gestures to the chair across from himself, his expression completely neutral, yet still somehow giving off an extremely threatening aura.

                                            >"Anonymous, I'm glad you could join me. Please, take a seat. My name is Dirtlock. I represent the Equestrian Gardener's Union, and we have a few questions for you."

                                            >Anon carefully seats himself across from the stallion without a word; the pony continues.

                                            >"Tell me, do you know of the Butterfly Effect? The notion that a seemingly minor action can eventually have major consequences? I'm afraid you've been making many minor actions, Anonymous. Minor actions with very major consequences."

                                            >Anonymous gulps.


                                            The End.