[FLUTTERRAPE] Cruising for a Rusing


                                            >It's seven in the morning.

                                            >You're eating toast and scratching your ass through your pink fluffy dressing gown, watching two pigeons fighting to the death on your outside patio and wondering where your life went wrong.


                                            *


                                            >It's twenty minutes later.

                                            >You're hysterically flailing about your house and teetering on the tightrope of sanity over what you're going to pack. Approximately every four seconds you say the "Fuck" word.

                                            >On the narrow table by the letterbox in the hall lies a shredded envelope.

                                            >The thrice-read, double-checked, and once screamed-at note it contained lies warming in a sunbeam.

                                            >' Congratulations! ' it reads. ' You've won an all-expenses paid week-long cruise in the tropics! '


                                            *


                                            >The Amour Amar Amore - or AAA (pronounced 'Aaagh!') - is the jewel of the Tropica Holiday Cruises pleasure fleet.

                                            >Not the actual Jewel; the Jewel sank last year after a kraken, drunk off its Cephalopodic ass having just raided a cargo ship carrying nothing but illegal moonshine, decided to get frisky with the doomed cruise liner.

                                            >So that left the AAA as a sort of backup jewel.

                                            >Even so, it stands proud in the Manetime Shoals harbour as though it was the real deal and not everyone's second-choice.

                                            >You stand clutching your bulging suitcase in the shadow of the vessel, awestruck.

                                            >In your limited experience, feats of great Equestrian engineering have been limited to castles hanging off cliffs, really big dirigibles - which, let's be honest, aren't all that impressive anyway - and slapping love-hearts on anything that can withstand them without suffering a critical detriment to structural integrity.

                                            >The AAA is all that and a box of donuts, as your complimentary brochure boasted.

                                            >Nine-hundred feet long, a hundred-fifty wide, with five brass chimneys running the length and touching the sky, each one a middle-finger to those insufferable dirigible-lovers that think thinner atmospheres and high-altitude cerebral edema is a selling point.

                                            >A river of ponies knocks your legs as it streams past you and up the gangways leading into the body of the vessel, like little aqueducts full of little horses.

                                            >You tighten your grip on your suitcase handle and take a step forward, but a voice calling your name stops you.

                                            >A horribly familiar voice. You're already glowering before you turn to face the speaker.

                                            >Fluttershy hovers behind you, struggling to stay aloft with her own stuffed travel bag hanging by its straps from her hooves.

                                            >She offers a strained smile and flaps her wings harder to stay level and avoid kicking anything in the equine currents below her in the head.

                                            >"We didn't know you'd won a ticket too!" she shouts over the droning crowds around you.

                                            >A non-committal grunt is all she gets, and you wade through the river of ponies up the gangway with your jaundice blight a breath behind.

                                            >At the very least, the cruise offers enough distractions to keep your mind off libidinous pegasi.


                                            *


                                            >Within the beating heart of the AAA, beneath the casino, beneath the casino's basement, and beneath the casino basement's staff-only basement casino, the suffocating boiler rooms throb with pressurised heat and hissing steam.

                                            >In that blistering heat, a mare watches a delicate crystal ball, its glowing surface a mottled black and white.

                                            >Fluttershy's face, creased with exertion and lathered in sweat, floats in the centre of the ball, the image distorted as though being seen through running water.

                                            >Every now and then, a static haze seems to wash over it, and the mare smacks the ball to correct its reception.

                                            >Her sooty green face wears a white grin, her labourer's cap and overalls black with dust.

                                            >She chuckles as she watches. She trembles, and, unable to contain herself, she erupts with giddy laughter.

                                            "One by one!" she crows to herself, her voice hard to hear above the drum-beat of the boilers. "Drawn to sea like naive surfers oblivious to the sharks."

                                            >A steel door behind her squeals open and slams against the wall. A stallion storms in, followed by second, both agitated and casting withering glares at each other.

                                            >"Mom!" the first one whines. "He keeps hitting me!"

                                            >"He's a fudging liar, mom!" the second stallion protests. "And he started it!"

                                            >The mare blinks and looks away from her crystal ball, seeing the pair as though only just finding out that stallions exist.

                                            "I seem to remember saying that I'd be in here plotting," she snaps. "That meant no disturbing me."

                                            >The stallions flinch beneath her glare; the whiner averting his eyes with a shrug.

                                            >"You're -always- plotting, mom..." he says.

                                            "And don't call me 'mom' when we're on a mission," she hisses, "we're supposed to be undercover."

                                            >"But you're... what are we meant to call you?" he looks to his brother for support. His brother shrugs.

                                            "If any passengers were to overhear you they might suspect us. The whole plan would be in jeopardy, then where would we be?"

                                            >"Why would there be passengers in the boiler room--" the second stallion begins.

                                            >Something seems to catch up with the mare and with a hoof like a cracking whip she slaps him across the cheek.

                                            "And do -not- swear at me, young larva!" she shouts. "I've half a mind to keep you down here for the entire cruise if you keep using language like that!"

                                            >The grown stallion bursts into tears, much to his brother's embarrassment, and the mare huffs.

                                            >She sits on her haunches, opens her forehooves, and motions for a hug, which the stallion throws himself into.

                                            "Think before you speak next time, Bile," she says evenly. "Don't say anything to anyone you wouldn't say to me. No no, I'm not mad at you," she shushes his blubbering.

                                            >"Queen Chrysalis?" his brother says.

                                            >The mare double-takes and stares in disbelief at her son.

                                            "Turg! Operational security! We did training for this last -week-!"

                                            >"What? You said don't call you mom! And there's no one down here except the family, so who cares?"

                                            >The mare sighs in resignation. Over the decades she'd learnt to pick her battles, and she's had this same argument a thousand times, enough to know there are no winners even if she did come out on top.

                                            >Green fire explodes from her body, every inch of fur swallowed by the emerald inferno burning away to ashes.

                                            >In its place, the looming, spindly form of the changeling queen continues to stroke the barely-blubbering Bile.

                                            >Despite the fire and transformation erasing her overalls, the labourer's hat is still perched atop her head, sat on the little black organic crown nestled in her tattered mane like a hat for a hat.

                                            "Is the formula ready?" she says flatly to Turg.

                                            >"Uh. Yeah! We've hooked it up to the sprinkler system like you said. Now, if any of the passengers start a fire it'll--"

                                            >She waves a dismissive hoof and shakes her head.

                                            "We're not bothering with the convoluted fire plan anymore, I've decided I can't be bothered. We'll wait until we're about an hour out to sea, then turn on the system manually. Less of a headache. Go and check in with your brothers and make sure everyone is at their stations."

                                            >She pats Bile's head and sighs as Turg flees from the scene.

                                            "Would have been fun to see it play out that way though. Waste of a good bit of drama... No, baby, it's not your fault, hush now, big bugs don't cry."


                                            *


                                            >You toss your bag onto your bed, then yourself.

                                            >The cabin is as luxurious as you'd expect of a three-star pleasure cruise liner.

                                            >Cheap floral wallpaper curls at the upper edges, the cloying scent of oranges chokes the air from not one, but seven air fresheners dangling from the ceiling fan, and you can feel every metal spring pushing into your back through the well-loved mattress.

                                            >The floor is vaguely sticky from some unknown substance, the cabin door squeaks like a tortured rat, and you can already hear your next-door neighbours having a shouting match over a crying child.

                                            >It's the quintessential cruise experience. Were it not for Fluttershy, you'd be in heaven.

                                            >And if you know your cheap cruises, then under the mattress...

                                            >A quick rummage reveals a stash of squashed, crumpled paperbacks.

                                            >Nudie-mags. And they're a decade old, too. You always did have a thing for vintage.

                                            >You turn the pages, those that aren't stuck together, nodding your head in appreciation at the ponies within dressed in horse-bikinis and horse-sundresses, and some of them, scandalously, are even horse-naked.

                                            >A minute into your browsing you say to the page:

                                            "God I wish you were human."

                                            >A mare in faded colour flashes a red-lipstick smile at you, one eye closed in a wink.

                                            >Try as you might, you just can't get into what she's showing off below.

                                            >Three years and you're still not over that particular mound. Or pair of mounds, in this case.

                                            >It'll have to happen at some point, you're not getting back home to Earth. Your dreams of being a family man can't stop just because all the women are now barn-scented ungulates.

                                            >A deep, vibrating bellow thunders throughout the vessel, and the sudden rock of motion has you clutching the bed and your stomach flipping.

                                            >Outside the porthole window, the harbour pulls away from you, as well as any chances you had of clearing off at the last minute to escape Fluttershy.

                                            >Small mercies; at least she's not on this floor. You lost her in the deluge of passengers.

                                            >If you can keep it that way, this should be a pleasant journey. One with only the bare minimum of sexual tension one would expect from being trapped on a floating boat in the middle of the ocean with thousands of people.

                                            >With a resolute nod, you launch off your bed and head for the nearest bar.


                                            *


                                            >Your quest for peace ends abruptly after you locate a bar and, instead of ordering a drink, are unfortunately cursed with only seeing pink.

                                            >It's a warm pink that vibrates. A high-pitched squealing like a tasered pig fills your ears.

                                            >You pry an elated Pinkie Pie from your chest and spit out several strands of mane from between your lips.

                                            >She waggles her hooves in an attempt to reattach herself, but you hold her around her barrel at arms length.

                                            >"Anny! You're here!" she exclaims.

                                            "Pinkie. So are you," you intone.

                                            >"I just -knew- this cruise was gonna be the best thing ever! And now it's even more best! It's bester!"

                                            >Your face wrinkles further with each elevated decibel.

                                            "Yeah. Bester."

                                            >"Have you seen Fluttershy yet? She's here too, and I know how much you like each other! And Rainbow Dash and Applejack and-- agh! It's like we're destined to be here! Did you know we've -all- won a ticket? What are the chances!"

                                            "Staggeringly low. The universe must hate me."

                                            >"Or~r it -loves- you because, gah, just look at you! Here! Wearing a, a shirt, and everything!"

                                            >You nod, waiting for the inevitable.

                                            >"I'm so pumped about this Anon, I've never been on a boat before, I've never even -seen- a boat!"

                                            "That's not--"

                                            >"Oh-my-gosh is that a -stage?!-"

                                            >Consumed with a zest for life only Pinkie Pie can manage, she vanishes. Tearing a path across the great hall teeming with comparatively less-excited though still reasonably-hyped passengers.

                                            >You drag a hand down your face, fingers rubbing your eyes.

                                            >The bartender gives you a wide smile, showing all his teeth.

                                            >"Greetings, fellow pony," he says too loudly. "Would you like some alcohol?"

                                            "Hey, you don't see race, I respect that. Sure, top me up, buddy, it's gonna be a long week."

                                            >"Yes. It will be a very long week. For us. Perhaps not for you."

                                            >He rubs his hooves together in a scheming manner, then laughs like a maniac and retreats below the bar.

                                            >"Not for any of you! -Any- of you!" his voice calls.

                                            >More laughter. You're about to go before he re-emerges with a bottle of freezing cold Apploosan Porter.

                                            >You frown at him, but accept the drink. He beams back, either having forgotten his own outburst or oblivious to his own social retardation.

                                            >Perhaps Pinkie Pie has become contagious.


                                            *


                                            >"So that's how we got here. What about you?"

                                            "Yeah, same, just got a ticket one morning and I'm not gonna say no to a week of free food."

                                            >The stallion across from you is an amiable fellow called Ultra Violet, whom you'd found yourself chatting to by chance. He has a reverent way of speaking that makes you think he might be some sort of monk, and looks straight into your eyes when he talks with an expression so intense he could be trying to study your retinas.

                                            >He nods at your words, then glances at his associate.

                                            >Said associate is now checking under each unoccupied cushion around the table you're sat cross-legged at. Previously, he'd been scrutinising the coasters.

                                            >When he runs out of cushions, he checks yours as well, despite you still sitting on it.

                                            >"Don't mind Roiling Wake," says Violet with a disarming smile, "he's just looking for science."

                                            >You take a long sip of your porter and hunker down for another whirlwind conversation.

                                            "Say again."

                                            >"Well, Wake and I are both scientists."

                                            "You mentioned."

                                            >"So we're out here trying to make discoveries." He looks up at the vaunted ceiling and its many chandeliers, nodding as if he can see the sky through it. "The truth is out there, we just need to find it and analyse it. Found anything, Wake?"

                                            >"Nothin'," says Wake.

                                            >"Have you checked the teapot?"

                                            >Wake swipes the teapot, removes its lid, and sticks his eye in the hole, looking around the interior.

                                            >"Nope. No science in here."

                                            >"Damn," says Violet, "there must be -some- scraps around here, I'm sure of it. How do you make a boat this big without at least a bit of science? A theory? Maybe a hypothesis at most?"

                                            >"Maybe they're like dirigibles," says Wake, "not even an smidge of science in those."

                                            >You're about to ask them if they've checked the potted plants lining the room, purely for shits and giggles, when a siren coughs and starts blaring.

                                            >A grating wail echoes around the room, culling all conversation.

                                            >Violet frowns.

                                            >"That's not some sort of port siren is it?" he yells. "We've not even been gone for an hour yet."

                                            >As if to answer him, the sprinklers come on.

                                            >Outraged shouts from the passengers attempt to compete with the siren, but the siren is having none of it and out-screams the lot of them like its life depended on it.

                                            >Wake scratches his dampening head with a sceptical look.

                                            >"Something up with this, Vi."

                                            >"Think there's a fire?"

                                            >"Better get to the lifeboats just in case."

                                            >"Think there's science involved?"

                                            >"If there isn't, I'll be a donkey's uncle. Stay sharp, there could be science waiting to leap out at us."

                                            >You're inclined to agree, mostly about the lifeboats, and the three of you rise to leave, hopefully before anyone else has the same idea.

                                            >Unfortunately, and it really is poor timing on his part, Violet instead takes the opportunity to mount Roiling Wake and begin fucking the living daylights out of him on the table.

                                            >You watch with a sense of detachment at first, blinking several times and wiping your eyes of sprinkler water, just to make sure you're not mistaking something through the droplets.

                                            >Sure enough, Violet is pounding his partner's pronounced ponut. Wake groans, and implores him to go faster.

                                            >You turn away slowly, as if moving too fast will alert them to you, and involuntarily drop your bottle at what you see.


                                            *


                                            >Chrysalis watches the moist scene unfolding in the main dining hall with unreserved glee through her crystal ball.

                                            >The static in the ball has worsened to the point where the image is barely visible, but between her hitting it every few seconds it's legible enough for her to see the results.

                                            "It's working!" she clops her holey hooves. "Bile, it's working!"

                                            >Bile scratches his head. Having dropped his own disguise, his compound eyes squint at the ball.

                                            >"So this is what the formula was for?"

                                            "Yes. And it looks to have a one-hundred percent success rate. Every single pony is now lost to their lust! We'll be eating for years on this!" unable to restrain herself, she shakes her son's shoulders in excitement.

                                            >Bile smiles in spite of himself. The specifics of the plan largely went over his head when it was first explained to him, but his mother's happiness is more important to him than this or that scheme.

                                            >She'd not been herself this last year. Not since Canterlot.

                                            >He watches her beaming face, and reflects that it's the first true smile she's worn in too long.

                                            >"That's great, mom, you've done really good with this one."

                                            "And now we shall reveal ourselves, feed, and look for the Elements."

                                            >"Won't they be doing all this, um, stuff, too?"

                                            "Of course, and they'll be completely defenceless. Simply find them, drain their love and magic, and toss their husks overboard. Equestria loses its defenders, the hive is fed, and I finally get my revenge on that smug bitch Celestia."

                                            >Bile gasps.

                                            >"Mom! You said a bad word!"

                                            >Chrysalis flinches, but tries to laugh it off.

                                            "Uh, don't listen to your mother, Bile, I'm just excited." She gives him a hard look. "Don't say a word to your brothers."

                                            >She returns to the ball.

                                            "A hundred percent. I'm good, but even still... Very well. Come, we have work to do."

                                            >"Mom? Won't we get affected?"

                                            "Spare me. I did my dissertation in applied chemistry, I know a thing for two about potions and poisons. Changelings are unaffected, now go around and tell your brothers to begin the harvest, I'll deal with the Elements."


                                            *


                                            >The dining hall orgy will stick with you for a long time.

                                            >Or at least the various juices therein will; your pants are soaked with more cum than you care to think about.

                                            >The halls of the ship aren't much calmer. The sprinklers have stopped raining on everything, but whatever they've done to the passengers persists.

                                            >You shimmy around an older stallion delivering a firm mating press to a teenage filly.

                                            >"Daddy! Harder!" she yelps.

                                            >You continue with a grimace. You'd hoped the incest would have been kept to a minimum on this voyage. What happens at sea stays at sea, but teenage pregnancies are no joke.

                                            >Your cabin door is still closed when you find it, not that you really expected it to be open, but living near Fluttershy for so long has conditioned you to expect anything you own to be broken into searched during any absences.

                                            >You slip through and slam it shut, closing out the moaning in the corridors.

                                            >A deep sigh leaves your nostrils, eyes closed and brow creased.

                                            >Might have to stay in your cabin for this one.

                                            >"Sure is weird out there, huh, Nonners?"

                                            >Your eyes snap open.

                                            >Pinkie Pie lies like a starfish on your bed, smiling up at the shoddily-painted metal ceiling.

                                            >She sits up, beaming, oblivious to your bemusement.

                                            >"So, I was sneaking around in the casino just now looking for dropped poker chips. First I find another really cool white and electric-blue one under a craps table - I got like fifteen of 'em by the way, Vinyl's gonna freak when I get back to Ponyville - then I look up and some old lady has some old dude's weiner in her mouth! Isn't that wacko?"

                                            "Uh. Yeah. Wacko."

                                            >You tilt your head to the side, as if looking at her from a different angle might reveal her secrets.

                                            "Are you... alright?"

                                            >"Me? Sure! Had to dodge a jet of goo every now and then but I made it out alright. Caught one in the mouth when I wasn't looking and lemmie tell ya, your girl prefers sugar, that much salt'll make me queasy. Oh hey, I saw Applejack, too! She was taking on a whole team of stallions and I was like 'Go get 'em, Applejack! Give 'em heck!' but I don't think she was listening. No one was, really. So I thought I'd come back to your place and wait for you to get back."

                                            "Yeah, but, weren't you--"

                                            >Your en suite door swings open and Fluttershy strides out with a contented look stretched across her flushed cheeks. Your unfortunate toothbrush lies in a sticky puddle on the bathroom floor behind her.

                                            >She sees you, freezes, and shoots Pinkie a look.

                                            >"You were supposed to give me a sign!" she hisses.

                                            >"Oh yeah, Fluttershy's here as well. Forgot to say," Pinkie says with a grin.

                                            >Panic hits you like a cargo-ship hitting a beached whale, and you squash yourself against the door, pointing a wavering finger at Fluttershy.

                                            "Stay back. Back! If you come any closer, I'll break you."

                                            >Fluttershy cocks her head with suspicious eyes.

                                            >"Is that a... euphemism?"

                                            "No, it means if you've touched the sprinkler water you'll be just like the rest of them. Stay back, or... or Pinkie gets it!"

                                            >Pinkie gasps, thrilled to be involved in your little drama.

                                            >Fluttershy seems confused, but mouths an 'oh' before nodding.

                                            >"Ohh. Oh, yes. That. Um, it didn't really affect me."

                                            >You squint at her, taking three steps away from her when she inches forward.

                                            "I don't believe you. Prove it."

                                            >"Not sure how I can do that," she says with a shrug. "I was, um, I was on my way to the entertainment hall to see if Rainbow Dash was there when the sprinklers came on."

                                            "And?"

                                            >Another shrug.

                                            >"And then I got wet. Other ponies started doing really, um, l-lewd things, but I felt normal."

                                            >You watch her closely. Through the curtain of doubt, a draft of clarity washes over you and you nod.

                                            "Of course you did," you say more to yourself than Pinkie or the yellow hellion. "The water makes people horny, but that'll be nothing to you since horny is your default state."

                                            >Fluttershy grows a bashful grin and waves a hoof at you.

                                            >"Oh stop it, you."

                                            "That wasn't a compliment. Though this doesn't explain Pinkie."

                                            >Fluttershy holds your gaze, her brow furrowing after a moment.

                                            >"No," she says finally. "It doesn't. Pinkie?"

                                            >You both look at Pinkie, still perched on your bed and smiling her nascent amiable smile.

                                            "Don't you want to have sex with anything, Pinkie?"

                                            >Without losing her smile or missing a beat, Pinkie replies in a chipper tone as if she was asking what's for dinner.

                                            >"What's sex?"

                                            >You and Fluttershy glance at each other.

                                            >"Y-you know," Fluttershy starts. "When a mommy and daddy love each other... that whole thing?"

                                            >"Nope! No idea. Is it like a sport?"

                                            >A silence stretches out between your trio, and when it becomes uncomfortable you clear your throat.

                                            "So, there's no way in hell I'm staying in here with Fluttershy until this blows over. I'm going to get some answers."


                                            *


                                            >Chrysalis stalks the halls of the cruise liner, a vicious grin chiselled across her sharp features.

                                            >Everywhere she looks, ponies are grunting, grinding, groaning, and undergoing that awkward fumbling between changing positions that usually results in one or more parties apologising, then asking if it's in yet before resuming the festivities.

                                            >The air is pregnant with lust.

                                            >Though an inferior substitute for true love - as best described as comparing simple water to honey - this much of the stuff will feed her people for a year, maybe two if they ration it out.

                                            >The Queen watches to ensure none can see her, then skips gaily down an empty hall.

                                            "It worked! It wor~rked!" she sings to herself.

                                            >The drone in charge of keeping track of where the Elements were bunking, Mulch, had lost his map.

                                            >Chrysalis had been furious for as long as it took for Mulch to start crying, then it was several minutes of reassurances for him to stop and tell her between sniffs what little he remembered.

                                            >The crystal ball is out of commission; the level of horny in the air ruined the signal pretty much immediately, which is something of a technological oversight when one deals in matters of love and lust on a regular basis.

                                            >Chrysalis was never an arcanogineer, though; that was her sister's speciality, and she's been dead for half a century. The scrying orb was her last gift to Chrysalis. She'd have known how to fix it.

                                            >The Queen's skip dampens to a mere walk, reality yanking her leash yet again.

                                            >She walks in silence for a little while, watching the carpeted floor and the numbers printed on it leading her down the aisles.

                                            >Applejack was staying in the lower levels, that much she was able to gather, so that would be her first stop.

                                            >Chrysalis arrives, and delivers a well-practised scathing remark when she enters, but the cabin is empty.

                                            >This is clearly Applejack's cabin. There's an entire apple tree wedged in the corner, its roots still covered in soil and baffled earthworms, coils of rope are draped all over everything, and the bed has been completely stripped of linens in favour of a mountain of raw apples.

                                            >Someone has scribbled "yee haw" on the mirror, too, which just seems like the sort of thing Applejack would be prone to doing.

                                            >Chrysalis backs out of the room with a scowl. She sees a pair of drones, disguises off now that there's no point hiding, draining a married couple who are up against the wall in vibrant coitus.

                                            "You two! Where is Applejack?"

                                            >"Hi mom! Look! We're draining them!" the drone says instead of answering.

                                            "Yes, hello, Wirrel, I see you. Now, where's Applejack?"

                                            >"I think Trick saw her in the casino. Watch this! I can make their eyes glow green!"

                                            "Well done!" she says with as much excitement as she can to mask her growing worry. "If I go up to the casino and she's not there you'll be in huge trouble."

                                            >"I, um, I think I saw Rainbow Dash on the top deck if that helps..."

                                            >Chrysalis smiles.

                                            "It does. Thank you, Wirrel."

                                            >She leans down and pecks him on the cheek before hustling to the end of the corridor.

                                            >The hunt is on.


                                            *


                                            "How many passengers are in here, anyway?"

                                            >"One-thousand seven-hundred and three," Pinkie says promptly.

                                            "Uhh. Oh. Really?"

                                            >"Yup! Counted them when I first got on. Did you know there are like, eighty ponies here that'll have a birthday this week? Isn't that amazing? I am -loving- this cruise so far, Anon, it's been a hoot!"

                                            >Fluttershy touches your butt, as she tends to do whenever she wants your attention or is just feeling generally lonely, which to be honest is most of the time.

                                            >"Anon?" she says. "Where are you going, exactly?"

                                            "To find the captain. Surely they'll know what to do."

                                            >"Won't they be horny as well?"

                                            "Probably, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

                                            >You all come to a junction, and Pinkie gasps.

                                            >"Ooh, I didn't know -she- was onboard!"

                                            >You look around, then frown at Pinkie.

                                            "Who?"

                                            >"Her! Hey! Hi, Queenie! Hey!"

                                            >You look down one of the passages and take an inconspicuous step back.

                                            >Fluttershy, more conspicuously, screams.

                                            >The charcoal-black head of a great gangly horse-monster snaps toward the scream.

                                            >Its tattered teal mane whips it in the face as it shifts before falling away to reveal two massive predatory eyes that you can feel burrowing into you even from all the way over there.

                                            >For a moment, no one moves. The ship rocks gently this way and that, and from distant halls and rooms is the ever-present moaning of the unlucky (or very lucky, depending on your inclination) passengers.

                                            >The monster, Queenie, apparently, wets her lips with a forked tongue and squints at your trio.

                                            >"Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy?"

                                            >"That's us!" Pinkie calls back.

                                            >"What in Equestria is -that-?" Queenie calls back, pointing a hole-pocked hoof at you.

                                            >"That's Anon! He's got hands! Isn't that -awesome-? Hey! Are you still sad and lonely? Are you here looking for another husband to steal?"

                                            >Queenie doesn't seem sure how to react. She looks back the way she came, then down another passage, as if checking for cameras to see if she's getting Punk'd.

                                            >"Well, that makes my job easier," she says with a shrug. Her placid expression vanishes, and she shrieks like the devil got his tip caught in the zipper before launching herself down the hallway at you with long, reaching strides.

                                            >"Anon! We're getting the hay out of here!" Fluttershy screams at you. She hooks your arm, snaps open her wings, and is off down the opposite hall from Queenie as if shot from a cannon, dragging you in tow.

                                            >Pinkie bounces along after you, laughing merrily and clearly having the time of her life.


                                            *


                                            >Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy, along with their hands-wielding mystery, careen through the door to the bridge and lock it behind them with a condemnatory thud.

                                            >Chrysalis stumbles the rest of the distance, her own leaden hooves like steel weights, and collapses against the barrier, her cheek pressed to the cold metal.

                                            >She slaps a feeble hoof against the door, wheezing. Her horn lights up, but fizzles out immediately; her fatigued mind incapable of weaving even the simplest magic.

                                            >Her chest heaves with laboured pants, and she wipes her forehead, staring in bewilderment at the sheen of sweat on her foreleg.

                                            >Several questions needle her, the two most pointed being "When did I get so out of shape," and "How am I sweating right now I don't have sweat glands."

                                            >Even so, she slides down the door into a miserable heap and resolves to sulk for a bit.

                                            >The Queen of the Changelings reflects on her position in life. How the Terror of the Badlands went from marauding the borderlands of empires to being curled up in a corner on a second-rate cruise ship chasing the second-rate members of the Elements of Harmony.

                                            >More than anything, she misses her sister.

                                            >She glares at the far end of the corridor, where a gathering of little black faces watches her from a safe distance.

                                            >"Hi mom?" one of them calls softly with a timid wave.

                                            "I..." she gulps down more air. "I see you, sweetie, hi," she offers a barely-formed wave in return.

                                            >She lies stewing in her overheated chitin and wonders for a while.

                                            >How is it that the three were unaffected? Applejack and Rainbow Dash were confirmed to have been marked by the sprinklers, and it can be assumed that Twilight Sparkle and Rarity, wherever they are on the ship, will have been burdened with its afflictions too.

                                            >The three tribes are all affected by the poison, that's what last month's kidnappings were meant to test.

                                            >But the pegasus, the earth pony, and the unknown beast were all unaffected.

                                            >The beast would make sense; whatever it is, it's not a pony. The formula wasn't designed for its biology.

                                            >But the others? She would never insult her profession, or the wider fields of science, by using the word "impossible", but it's unlikely to the point of unreasonableness.

                                            >And there was something about Fluttershy that stopped her dead. The pony was radiant with lust. Seeing her, even from a distance, was like standing before a bonfire. Even so, she was sane. How can that be?

                                            >Willpower can only take a mind so far, at some point all mammals succumb to their baser instincts. All animals breathe, no matter how desperately they might try to avoid it.

                                            >Chrysalis frowns, her mind delving into its expansive library of chemical know-how.

                                            >Thoughts of mixing ratios and irrelevant animal tests resurface. She shakes her head to clear them. Wandering thoughts won't help her.

                                            >The trio will have slipped out a window and be gone by this point, so she'll have to come at them from another angle.

                                            >First, she'll need to recharge. Soak in some ambient lust to top up her batteries.

                                            >Then, she'll have another go at the trio. Their resilience to the lust poison must be studied.

                                            >Then they can be drained and cast overboard.


                                            *


                                            >You take a moment to catch your breath before you realise you're clutching Fluttershy to your chest with one arm.

                                            >Fluttershy hasn't noticed her position yet, her face pale with terror and body coated with cold sweat.

                                            >A part of you is impressed - here is a pony that struggles to hold a dictionary for an extended length of time lest it collapse her delicate skeleton.

                                            >Yet the same pony dragged you the length of a ship and up five flights of stairs with a raving lunatic snapping at your heels.

                                            >For the first time in your life, you fear Fluttershy's latent potential.

                                            >Unfortunately, as you were ruminating, she recuperates.

                                            >Then begins hyperventilating at you holding her so close.

                                            >Before she can cover the front of your lower half in the viscous spray of an involuntary climax, you overarm her at the window-end of the bridge.

                                            >Standing with your hands on your hips, you poise to do something befitting a man of action.

                                            >Then you look to the side and see Rainbow Dash being spit-roasted between the captain and first mate in the corner.

                                            "Oh. Hey, Dash."

                                            >"Mph haffom," says Rainbow Dash with a throatful of shaft.

                                            "How's it hanging?"

                                            >"Iff fohay," she shrugs, impressive given her otherwise compromised position between two huge stallions that are performing an Eiffel Tower over her.

                                            >"Hi Dashie!" says Pinkie, as weirdly unfazed by her friend as she seems to be everything else around here.

                                            >Dash grunts, more focused on being skewered than entertaining conversation.

                                            "So the whole ship's been compromised with love juice. Not sure if you noticed."

                                            >Rainbow Dash swallows a pint of the captain's naval gravy and the stallion in question collapses in an apparent post-nut coma.

                                            >"Yeah?" she says without missing a beat, lapping up a dribble of baby batter from the corner of her mouth with a quick flick of the tongue before shoving the first mate onto his back and riding him like a thrashing mechanical bull.

                                            "Yeah. There's a queen involved too, not sure what her deal is."

                                            >"Queen Chrysalis is back, Dashie!" Pinkie exclaims. "She's come to get her revenge and steal our husbands like she did with Princess Cadance!"

                                            >"Not sure that's all she was doing back then, Pink," Dash grunts, not looking at her friend and instead glaring into the eyes of the poor bastard under her.

                                            >The first-mate whimpers, clearly no match for her, and when he finishes, he too passes out.

                                            >Rainbow Dash slides herself off the glistening, softening pole, takes a moment to stretch her glutes and wings, then turns to you all with an eager smile.

                                            >"So! That was neat. Anon? You and me next? Or Fluttershy or Pinkie, I'm not picky."

                                            "Listen, Dash, we have to figure out how to get out of here. Queenie's hunting our blood, or something, and we need to stop her. Or abandon ship, I'm not that bothered about leaving Applejack here, she can handle herself."

                                            >"If it's Queen Chrysalis, she'll have some crazy plan in place to beat Equestria and steal its husbands," Dash muses, stroking her chin.

                                            "Is... is husband-hunting a thing she does?"

                                            >"Yeah, that's totally her thing. She's nuts."

                                            "So that's a no on abandoning Applejack?"

                                            >"If I was a bug," Dash completely ignores you, "where would I be..."

                                            >"I'd be in the boiler room!" Pinkie chirps.

                                            >"Uh huh? Why there?"

                                            >"Because that's what's written on this evil plan!"

                                            >Pinkie whips out an evil plan.

                                            >Evil plans are the sort of thing that ought be stencilled in unwavering script on rolls of ancient parchment, enchanted to be fireproof or some other such thing that gives them an awe of dreadful majesty.

                                            >The evil plan in Pinkie's hoof is scribbled in black ink - then blue ink after the black ink apparently ran out - on a sheet of A4 lined paper torn from a notebook. Punched holes where a binder is supposed to clip into run down its ragged edge.

                                            >You all read the plan over Pinkie's shoulder. It's a five-step program written in dense technical jargon, and Chrysalis has drawn little skulls around 'Elements of Harmony'.

                                            "Oh. So that's the plan," you say at last.

                                            >"Wow, she's loco!" says Pinkie.

                                            >"I don't know what half these words mean," Dash admits.

                                            >"I think it's nice," says Fluttershy, who you'd forgotten was here.

                                            "If we get down there and there's magic involved we're probably fucked, right?"

                                            >Rainbow Dash gives a firm nod and smooths her sweaty mane.

                                            >"Yup. Should be over and done in like, twenty minutes, tops."

                                            >She turns to you, her jaw set and manner determined.

                                            >"But first, I -really- need to suck your dick."


                                            *


                                            >Chrysalis is upset.

                                            >She's upset because she's trailed all over this ridiculous vessel, which in her cultured opinion as Queen is tacky and in need of better management, and found nothing.

                                            >No Elements, save the trio earlier.

                                            >Applejack has vanished, and Twilight Sparkle and Rarity remain elusive too, according to the drones.

                                            >Yarrow claimed to have seen them, but he was probably just trying to look good in front of her because he also lightly buzzed his wings when he spoke, which is something he does when he lies.

                                            >She admonished him for it; if he can't learn to lie properly he'll never be a good spy.

                                            >She makes a brief stop by the dining hall, soaking in the atmosphere for a while to rest.

                                            >The moans of the passengers, lying around in sticky piles, are more tired than they were when they first started, but many have a resolute air about them now that says "Yeah, I've blown fifteen loads in the last hour or so, but momma didn't raise a quitter so I'm going back in and finishing what I started. Hold still, momma."

                                            >Chrysalis found herself respecting their gumption. Their spunk.

                                            >Her swarm skitters around the hall, chatting as they work, securing the passengers that are fully spent to the walls and high ceiling in luminous green cocoons.

                                            >The Queen ponders a sack drooping from one of the fake-crystal chandeliers.

                                            >Once, Celestia hung in one of them. A princess that she'd defeated. Ten minutes of glory before defeat was snatched from the mandibles of victory.

                                            >Chrysalis sighs at the memory, once so painful, now somehow nostalgic, and sips some more of the drink she got from the drone pretending to be a bartender.

                                            >The Queen absently reaches into her mane as she watches him spit-polish the same glass he'd been doing for the last ten minutes.

                                            >She reaches some more, frowns, then tries with the other hoof. Nothing.

                                            >Her mind races back, combing over the time since she'd last checked her plan.

                                            >She makes a strangled groan in the back of her throat and plants her face on the bar, shoulders sagged.

                                            >"What's wrong, mom?" say the bartender.

                                            "I lost the master plan when I was chasing our prey," she says in a muffled voice to the counter, her face shrouded behind her mane.

                                            >"Aw, that sucks. But we're doing great in here, aren't we? We've got all the passengers, we brought enough cocoons for once, and the ship's ours. Hey, we could sail this thing all over the coast! We could be--"

                                            >The bartender is struck by an idea so fantastic it makes his luminous compound eyes bulge in their black sockets.

                                            >"Mom! Can we be -pirates-?!"

                                            "No, Rusk, we can't be pirates. We're a hive, we live in badlands, not on the ocean."

                                            >She looks at her membrane-plated hoof, holding it out at arm's length and frowning at it.

                                            "I don't like what the salt air does to my armour. It makes it creak."

                                            >Rusk returns to polishing his glass, his motions more wooden.

                                            >Chrysalis watches him, her chin still resting on the counter. She grows a weary smile, and reaches over to poke him on his gnarled horn.

                                            "Hey," she whispers, "we can pretend to be pirates for today, though. Just you and me. Want to be my first-mate?"

                                            >Like all her children, he's quick to pout, but quicker to please. He glances around to make sure no one else is listening in, and nods grinning. Chrysalis sits up, looking down on him with faux-seriousness.

                                            "Alright then, first-mate Rusk. Go round up a gang of sea dogs and see if you can ferret out Twilight Sparkle and Rarity. They're hiding somewhere on this boat, and I reckon they got the jump on us," she clears her throat. "Uh, matey."

                                            >"If we find them, can we make them walk the plank?"

                                            "Right after we drain them."

                                            >He punches the air with a whoop, vaults over the counter still wearing his bartender's uniform, and runs off to gather the few siblings he doesn't completely hate to form a hunting party.

                                            >She watches him go, still wearing that tired smile, when a thought occurs and she reaches up a bit further to her head.

                                            >She pulls down her labourer's cap from earlier. It'd been dutifully perched atop her head, covering her crown, this entire time.

                                            >The Queen ponders it for a moment, then shrugs and puts it back on her head. It can be her captain's hat for today.

                                            >She slides off her barstool and stretches, surveying the chittering hall with a small sense of accomplishment.

                                            >As it turns out, replacing the entire staff and most of the crew of a cruise liner had been the easy part.

                                            >Finding the insolent swines that had ruined her wedding is unexpectedly difficult.

                                            >But the sweetest meals are found in the most stubborn prey, as she often teaches her drones when they're young.

                                            "Off to find some scallywags," she sing-songs to herself.


                                            *


                                            >Rainbow Dash is under your arm. You have to keep her there to stop her trying to hump you.

                                            >She squirms in your grip, alternating between caressing your muscles and saying how firm you are in her best attempt at a seductive voice - albeit one that sounds like rusty metal being dragged over gravel - and thrashing like the possessed.

                                            >Fluttershy watches this with clear jealousy, but she's too much of a beta to make a move when Dash is around so as far as you're concerned Dash is acting as a sort of rape-dreamcatcher.

                                            >One that's also trying to fondle you, but at least it's keeping the other one at bay.

                                            >The boiler room is down many flights of stairs, through service hatches that really ought to have been locked, but hadn't, and into the thumping belly of the great ship.

                                            >You can only assume something's keeping this whole vessel afloat, so hopefully the crew down here are still sane, or the changelings whom have apparently replaced them understand the value of not breathing water.

                                            >Pinkie Pie leads the way, sniffing the floor like a bloodhound and periodically assessing the evil plan as though it were a map. Which it isn't.

                                            >"According to my Pinkie Sense, we need to go through... here!"

                                            >She throws open the closest door.

                                            >The door leads to nowhere. It's hinged to a bare wall.

                                            >Pinkie snorts.

                                            >"Hah! You got me again, Pinkie Sense, you old joker!" she prods herself in the skull and giggles.

                                            >Then bounces away to another door and leaps through with a confidence borne of either bravery or a death-wish.

                                            >You follow her only because you've got no sense of direction, and Pinkie always seems to know what she's doing, even when it's self-evident there's no 'party in her upstairs attic'.

                                            >Fluttershy tugs at your shirt. She's hovering on the opposite side of you from Rainbow Dash, but not getting too close in case Dash snaps at her. It's happened several times already. Apparently Dash gets territorial.

                                            >She gets as close as she dares and half-yells into your ear - her voice largely drowned out by the escalating din of the ship's bowels.

                                            >"If we do find Chrysalis, what, uhh, what are we going to do?"

                                            "I dunno. Punch her in the teeth a few times until she says uncle?"

                                            >Fluttershy nods as if that was in any way a coherent plan.

                                            >"Um, but in case she doesn't say uncle, not saying she won't, but just in case, what do we do then?"

                                            "I guess just improvise, Fluttershy. I don't know. I didn't plan for today."

                                            >"Anon?" Dash's harsh voice cuts in. "I feel alright now, you can put me down."

                                            "Fool me once, Dash, we're not doing it again."

                                            >She growls and struggles against your arm. Her wings are pressed to her sides against your body so all she can do is waggle her legs around.

                                            >"This is-- ngh, come -on-! All I want is -one- lick. Just -one-. How is that a bad thing?"

                                            "I don't want horse tongue anywhere near my junk. It's gross."

                                            >"I don't care if you have a gross junk! I -need- it!"

                                            >You blink.

                                            "Wait, no, I meant your tongue--"

                                            >"Hey, guys!" Pinkie's face appears in a doorway. "I found Queenie's crystal ball!"


                                            *


                                            >With Fluttershy's unique scent logged in Chrysalis' sinuses, tracking her is easy.

                                            >A predatory species, changelings can sense musk in the air from over half a mile, and if the passengers on the boat are campfires burning in the dark, then Fluttershy is an inferno.

                                            >Chrysalis is no stranger to nymphomaniacs, but whatever lurks in the heart of the Element of Kindness is something supernaturally horny and wholly without equal.

                                            >Even Celestia's libido wasn't this radiant, and she alone could have fed the hive for a month.

                                            >How Fluttershy has remained sane, how she hasn't degenerated into a frothing animal of sexual madness, is a mystery Chrysalis grows increasingly excited to delve into.

                                            >It's been too long since a truly crafty chemistry conundrum landed on her plate, and her chitin itches with the anticipation to get stuck in and figure it out.

                                            >It reminds her of the Hoofington University years; those blissful seasons disguised as an unassuming student earning her degree.

                                            >Perhaps Fluttershy has a genetic abnormality? How is her bloodstream interacting with the dioxins in the lust poison? How is its chemical structure metabolising?

                                            >She'll need to consult her old textbooks and notes. She'll need blood samples, tissue, even. She'll have to dust off the lab, maybe train a few drones in rudimentary biology to help her. 'Oh, it'll be just like the run-up to the Debonair Heights conspiracy!' she thinks.

                                            >A spring enters her step, and so lost is she in her thoughts she doesn't realise she's descending into the belly of the ship before the beating engines hit her eardrums.

                                            >Chrysalis takes stock of the walls and dense air, surprised to find herself back at her original hideout beneath the casino basement's casino.

                                            >Her ear flicks. Above the din, distant laughter. Grating laughter.

                                            "Pinkie Pie," she spits.


                                            *


                                            >Having found something new to play with, Pinkie wastes no time using the crystal ball she found for the only thing it could possibly have been created for.

                                            >As a beachball.

                                            >She bounces it around, giggling as she uses her bottom to bat it in soaring arcs through the air and intercepting it before it can shatter on the floor.

                                            >"You know," she says between bounces, "I think this has been a really fun day. We've had our ups and downs, especially the lady passengers, but you know what? I think the real cruise was the friends we made along the way."

                                            "Very insipid of you, Pinkie."

                                            >You look around at the room again, as if wishing for Chrysalis to appear in the corner so you can get it over with.

                                            >Sadly, the room is small, barely three arm-spans across, so it's not like she could hide in here if she wanted to.

                                            >Even so, a small part of you is thankful. Confronting those teeth again isn't something you wanted to do.

                                            "I think we should try the dining hall. She'll probably want to be at the place with the most victims, right? You guys are the experts here, not me."

                                            >"Then if you'll -please- let me go," Rainbow Dash says, "then as an expert I can use my skills to milk you dry! How is this a difficult concept to understand? Fluttershy, am I speaking a different language here or something? Can he not hear me?"

                                            >Fluttershy mumbles something probably very bitchy and unkind, so you don't bother to translate.

                                            >Dash gives up, again, and flops in your grip, her body sagging over your forearm like a disinterested cat.

                                            >"Whatever... I'm too horny to care. Someone fuck me when they're ready, I'll just... be here, I guess."

                                            >Then the door slams open and Queen Chrysalis stands in the frame, her jagged features dressed in formal contempt.


                                            *


                                            >Rainbow Dash purses her lips in apparent thought, watching the Queen closely, then nods to herself.

                                            >"You know what? Yeah. I'm into it. Come and get me, Chrysalis! I'm wet and ready for your ovipositor!"

                                            >Chrysalis scrunches her face up.

                                            "First of all," she says, jabbing her hoof at the horrible blue pegasus, "that's disgusting. Second," she casts her hoof at the loathsome Pinkie Pie, "break that scrying orb and I'll stuff you in one of these furnaces."

                                            >Pinkie meekly hides the ball behind her back, but with a flick of her horn Chrysalis wrenches it from her grip and sets it to hover beside her own head.

                                            >Pinkie's hoof follows it as it floats away, watching like a drone being separated from their favourite gnawing-stick.

                                            >The behanded abomination steps forward, cracking only one set of knuckles - he refuses to put down the pegasus under his arm for some nebulous reason.

                                            >"Say uncle--" he starts.

                                            >He pulls his arm back with the clear intent to strike, but Chrysalis twists it back and hurls him across the room. She glares after him, though takes a private measure of glee in seeing the lumbering brute crush Rainbow Dash on impact.

                                            >The pony squeals, not entirely in pain, and the creature groans lamentably, not entirely in pain either.

                                            >As the pony uses the opportunity to grab the creature's face and begin hurriedly thrusting her loins at his mouth, Chrysalis regards the other two - Pinkie Pie, still looking upset at her toy being taken from her, and Fluttershy, frozen stiff like a drone before a mob - with withering disdain.

                                            "I have been up to my -neck- in things to micromanage today, the least you could all do is roll over and submit to make my life a little bit easier!"

                                            >"Now hold on," the gangly freak says, having subdued the pegasus, "no one needs to necessarily die. All we really want is to get out of here."

                                            >Chrysalis allows herself a grin. A bit of gloating never hurt anyone, aside from that one time in Canterlot, but who's counting.

                                            "But I'm afraid it's the end of the line for you... uhh."

                                            >The abomination shrugs after a moment.

                                            >"Anon. I'm called Anon."

                                            "End of the line for you, Anon. You, and all the elemen..." she does a quick headcount and her posture droops. "Alright, seriously, -where- are the others."

                                            >"Who?"

                                            "Applejack, Rarity, and Twilight Sparkle. I know they're on this ship somewhere, and I'll bet you all know. They can't hide forever."

                                            >"Oh! I know! I know!" says Pinkie, waving her hoof in the air as if this stuffy chamber beneath a ship is a classroom.

                                            "Are any of you prepared to surrender them? I am willing to show mercy." She looks pointedly at Fluttershy, who refuses to answer. Being this close to her feels like pins and needles under her chitin, and a pulse of dopamine follows every beat of Chrysalis' heart. She could get drunk just standing next to Fluttershy.

                                            >No one answers. No one that matters, in any case.

                                            >Eventually, the Queen gives up and motions for Pinkie Pie to speak, albeit without looking at her, braced for a further barrage of the voice that sends shrieks like tearing metal through her nightmares.

                                            >"Applejack already left! She's paddling back to the mainland now on a door. You should see her legs go, she's like a duck, or something."

                                            >Chrysalis blinks.

                                            "On a door--"

                                            >"And Twi and Rarity never even came!"

                                            "What?" She shakes her head and, despite her displeasure, looks directly at Pinkie. "-What?- The elements weren't all invited?"

                                            >"Sure they were! But the day before the cruise was leaving I went to Twilight's house, and she wasn't there, and Spike said he didn't know. So I went to Rarity's and the door was locked, but then I had a weird feeling so I shimmied up a tree and saw them through Rarity's bedroom window! They were wrestling on the bed and I called out to them but they weren't answering me, so I went right up to the window and knocked on it and said 'Hey! Twi! Rarity! The ship's gonna be leaving without you!', and then Rarity was like 'I'm coming!' so I said 'Okay!' and left, but I guess they just never did? Maybe they forgot? Eh, what can you do. Life's a party, can't be sad over every missed RSVP."

                                            >The room is silent, save for the steady banging of the engines.

                                            >Rainbow Dash takes the pause as an opportunity to clear her throat.

                                            >"You do, like, -have- an ovipositor, don't you? I mean we can do it if we're mares, that's whatever, but I like feeling something inside me, preferably something big that can split me in two. This guy," she pats Anon, "won't put out."

                                            >Chrysalis puts a hoof to her temple and feels a rhythmic pounding. She sits on the door-frame and takes a deep breath.

                                            "We're going back upstairs," she says steadily, "and we're going to put you all in cocoons. Then we're going to drain you, and later throw you overboard when you're no longer of use to me. Except you two," she points at Fluttershy and Anon. "The two of you will be kept after draining for scientific research. I need to know what makes you tick."

                                            >"What about me?" says Pinkie.

                                            "I'm just throwing you overboard. I don't care whether you're immune or not, I just hate your guts."

                                            >Pinkie looks like a kicked puppy, but unfortunately for her Chrysalis was never a dog person.

                                            >The Queen takes a moment to ponder her orb, tuning it with her magic to reach out beyond the ship.

                                            >Sure enough, she sees the soaked face of Applejack, determined, as it often is, with the tell-tale signs of sea spray kicking up around her.

                                            >Further tuning to farther afield, and a sleeping Rarity lies in frame, a blurred purple something off to one side.

                                            >A final tuning, and the dozing face of Twilight comes into view, cuddled up to something white.

                                            "Well," the Queen concedes. "I really ought to have double-checked that earlier."


                                            *


                                            >Rainbow Dash is stuffed screaming and flailing by about eight changelings into a vacant cocoon.

                                            >"Come on!" she screams over their insectoid cursings. "Two of you! Three! I could take you all at once, just watch me! I've got five holes if you count my nose!"

                                            >It's all for nothing, and the wannabe Wonderbolt is crammed inside the gooey interior, whatever foul chemistry at play quickly sedating her; her wild punches against the interior of the sack soon become mild pushes, and then nothing.

                                            >The sack is placed beside Pinkie Pie's. True to the Queen's word, Pinkie was processed immediately and sedated. It's odd seeing her so still, yet even in her sleep she twitches a hind leg every so often.

                                            >All the tables and chairs have been swept aside as if the ship had titled to the right, all the plates and cutlery and table cloths dumped in a heap to one side of the room.

                                            >In the large clear space, drones work on the passengers, draining them of whatever it is they're draining before stuffing their victims into the same green cocoons that the girls were imprisoned in.

                                            >Chrysalis hasn't decided what she's doing with you or Fluttershy yet, and instead has her back turned to you micromanaging her swarm.

                                            >You glance at the changeling guarding you. You're not sure what changelings are meant to look like, but it looks reedy, like you could tie it into a knot without much effort.

                                            "Hey," you whisper to it.

                                            >It flinches and glances at the Queen before hissing back.

                                            >"What?"

                                            "Give you fifty bits if you let us out of here."

                                            >"Do you think I'm stupid? I'd never betray my mom like that."

                                            >You wet your lips and pat yourself down, but your pockets remain woefully empty.

                                            "Fluttershy," you nudge your fellow prisoner, who up until now had been rooted to the spot trying to pretend that none of this is happening, "you got anything we can bribe this guy with?"

                                            >She glances at the changeling. He's turned his back to you and is playing the stoic guard again, looking at the back of his Queen's head every now and then to see if she's looking.

                                            >Whenever she seems like she's about to turn around, he puffs his chest out slightly, then deflates again when she doesn't.

                                            >Fluttershy whispers in your ear.

                                            >"No, but I think I know a way off this boat."

                                            "Yeah?"

                                            >"The lifeboats. If we can distract the guard, slip away, and get to the upper deck in time, we can release one of the lifeboats and get back to shore, then warn Celestia and she'll come and save everyone here."

                                            >You nod.

                                            "Good plan."

                                            >Chrysalis nods too.

                                            >"Yes, a very good plan," she says conversationally.

                                            >You both freeze. She's stood right by you, completing your little triangle.

                                            >"You looked conspiratorial so I thought I'd pop over," she continues. "In any case, we've already set fire to the lifeboats. You're not going anywhere."

                                            "How are -you- going to get back?"

                                            >"We'll either dock in a harbour or fly."

                                            "And... well what are you going to do with the prisoners? Fly them back?"

                                            >"Hm? No, once we've sucked every last iota of love or lust from them we'll chuck them overboard and be on our way."

                                            "...Oh."

                                            >"They're villains, Anon," Fluttershy whispers. "This is the sort thing they do."

                                            >"Villains to you, maybe," Chrysalis says with more indignity than she probably intended. "-I'm- a hero to my family."

                                            "You're going to kill thousands."

                                            >"Kill them?" the words are said as if they taste of lemon juice. "What in Equestria do you think the cocoons are for? They're buoyant. They'll catch a tide and wash up on some beach somewhere, and some well-meaning peon will let them out again. I know how these things go, I'm not an idiot."

                                            "Well then how are we supposed to escape?"

                                            >"What makes you think you're going to escape?"

                                            >You share a look with Fluttershy.

                                            "Because we're the... good guys?"

                                            >"From your perspective. You're just a load of privileged holiday-makers enjoying some tacky boat. I'm a single mother trying to feed hundreds of mouths. Do you have any idea how hard it is making sure they're all educated and capable of looking after themselves? Half of them aren't even able to do that, I spend most of my time running around after them making sure they don't stick their holes in a manticore den, or something. Day after day I work myself to the muscle providing for a family that look to me as their sole parent and guardian. What do -you- do? Eat soda and drink chips, or whatever it is you people do? Complain about celebrities and what make-up whoever was wearing? I've lived among ponies. I know what they care about. They're a bunch of entitled vermin who know nothing of fighting for survival, and I won't suffer accusations of 'villainy' for doing my duty as a mother and feeding her children!"

                                            >She pauses for breath, her face a hair's breadth from yours, having come closer during her tirade.

                                            >You nod and swallow, about to respond, when a thought pops into your mind with a bell. A crystal clear chime, resonating like a tuning fork in a cathedral. Like Archimedes rising from his bath, you are suddenly hit with a solution so brilliant it's everything you can do to not scream 'eureka' in her face.

                                            >You straighten your shirt, check your hair, adjust your posture, and shoot your best Dreamworks smile at Chrysalis.

                                            "So, you're single, is that what you're telling me?"

                                            >Chrysalis gives you a blank look. Whatever response she was expecting, that wasn't it.

                                            >Fluttershy looks between the two of you, her own gears turning, as evidenced by the subtle contorting of her brow she does when confronted with a particularly troublesome new front door lock.

                                            >"I..." the Queen begins, "yes, I'm single, why does that matter?"

                                            "Well, I just think it's typical of life to kick someone like you when you're down."

                                            >"Anon," Fluttershy intones, her expression darkening.

                                            "Here you are, breaking your back trying to feed this lot, and no one's even giving you a hand. Hoof. When was the last time someone not of the hive said 'Well done' for everything you do?"

                                            >Chrysalis watches you for a moment, and just as you think she's going to dismiss you and turn away, her shoulders slump slightly.

                                            >"There's never even been a first time. I mean, do people think love just grows on trees? I have to get up at dawn each morning, I'm running on four hours of sleep a day, it's just -work-. No one told me being a mother would be this difficult, and it's not like I'm not grateful, I love my children, but I just wish I..." she trails off and catches your eye.

                                            >You place a gentle hand on her shoulder.

                                            "Had someone to help out."

                                            >"Yes..."

                                            >Fluttershy clears her throat. No one pays any attention so she does it again. Still nothing.

                                            "I don't understand how you're even single to begin with."

                                            >"What do you mean?" Consciously or not, Chrysalis checks her mane.

                                            "Well, you're a sight, let's say that. Tall, lithe, flowing mane. I'm not really from around here, but surely you're higher up on the whole beauty standards ladder, right? You've got assets, is all I'm saying. I'm sorry if I'm not coming off as romantic, but it's not my strong suit."

                                            >The Queen smiles.

                                            >"Then if you're being blunt, what are you trying to say?"

                                            >"Yes. Anon," Fluttershy says through gritted teeth with a severe look. "What -are- you trying to say."

                                            "I'm just a simple man, but when I see a hard working mother, with great looks and a killer personality, I like what I see. Want to grab something to drink?"

                                            >Chrysalis throws her head back and laughs.

                                            >"Oh, what an -awful- pick-up routine that was. And does that work on all the other mares? I don't even know what species you are."

                                            "Yet you haven't said no."

                                            >She grins, her eyes flick up and down your body.

                                            >"Changelings are pansexual, you know."

                                            "Really. I was never one for pans myself, but if that floats your cruise liner."

                                            >Another laugh, more of a giggle.

                                            >"I mean we can mate with anything, our genetics will bond to whatever they need to in order to produce offspring."

                                            "And do you have a lot of experience with... genetics?"

                                            >"You know, I'm actually more of a chemist, but my line of work means I have to play around a lot with biological matters. This lust poison was all my own work, it took months to perfect."

                                            "Hard working, gorgeous, -and- smart? Chrysalis, you're making me feel bad about myself."

                                            >She chortles and takes your arm, and you lead her away to the bar at the far end, where her manically smiling son is polishing the same glass you saw him polishing when you came in.

                                            >Fluttershy doesn't move from her spot. She looks after you with an expression like a bulldog chewing a wasp.

                                            >And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you silver-tongue your way out of a bad situation.

                                            >It'll all be smooth sailing from here.


                                            *


                                            >Chrysalis sighs.

                                            >For once, it's not a sigh of resignation. It's a sigh of almost-contentment.

                                            >The badlands stretch out before her, the dry air soothing as it passes through her leg holes.

                                            >Much better air than salt air, though she'll not say the operation hadn't been an astounding success, creaking armour aside.

                                            >She glances down at the courtyard below her balcony, high up in the central hive cluster.

                                            >A human sprints around in the dust, his upper half covered in changeling drones, and pursued by a dozen more.

                                            >Their shrill laughter carries up to the balcony, and the human's wailing only adds to their excitement.

                                            >Frankly, he's a terrible husband, and an even worse step-father. Plus, she caught him trying to escape by abseiling down the hive last night using bed sheets tied together. Ingenious, at least as far as his intelligence goes, though futile.

                                            >But having someone else helping with the drones has lifted a weight from Chrysalis' shoulders that had been there for so long she hadn't realised it was as heavy as it was.

                                            >As an added bonus, he's delightfully uncomfortable in the bedroom.

                                            >It's clear he has no interest whatsoever in breeding her, but that's nothing new.

                                            >His theatrics to get himself off the boat were charming, and as fake as they were it was still nice to have someone at least pretend to be interested.

                                            >She'll just use him to breed herself, as is often the way of changeling queens. Consorts are a common occurrence and he's proved himself to be a vigorous lover.

                                            >The Queen strokes a hoof over her belly.

                                            >A clutch of freshly fertilised eggs, her reward for catching her prey last night, sits snugly in her abdomen.

                                            >The human shouts again. One of the drones has bitten him too hard. It happens; they're still learning that they can't nibble dad as hard as they can mom.

                                            >But it's fine. He's not going anywhere.

                                            >And with Fluttershy in the dungeons beneath locked up nice and tight, she's not going anywhere either. A living battery of lust. Amusingly, if Chrysalis tells her of her bedroom exploits, the radiating lust only grows stronger.

                                            >She looks up from the scene and watches the horizon.

                                            >She smiles, and for once the sun, edging towards the crest of the earth, doesn't remind her of the smug bitch in Canterlot.

                                            >Instead, it's just a big pretty light warming her face.

                                            >Her family has food for another two years, plus whatever they can squeeze out of Fluttershy.

                                            >Her home is secure and there are no outstanding threats to her rule.

                                            >Her lover is resistant to her advances and likes to struggle in the bedroom.

                                            >Everything is in order. She can finally get some well-earned sleep.

                                            "It's going to be alright," she says softly to herself.

                                            >And she feels confident saying that.

                                            >For once, the 'good guys' have won.


                                            The End