Difference between revisions of "That Wasn't Funny At All (Pinkie)"

Revision as of 05:10, 25 June 2014

A couch is not the best place to sleep after the unfunniest of batterings. That much Pinkamena knew when waking up to the sore creaky feeling of bones not quite in the right place, that pins and needles tickle of residual magic burns, and the throb of where her raiment had eaten a shotgun blast to the stomach for her. Last night was an utter failure, and that probably was what stung the most.

"Mnrmnhgm."

The voice pulled her from her thoughts, glancing upwards with a curious mewl. Not many knew where the Manehattan safehouse was, but a prophet such as the frowning and surly looking equine man looming over her, in far less cheery robes, would know it. Whelp, the fun's officially over now, a visit from him settles it. Nevertheless, Pinkie shifts. Just enough to let lank and blood-sticky hair cover her face in absence of her mask.

"Hey Doodle, how ya doin'~? Why the long face~?"

"No one calls me Doodle." He begins in a grunt before reaching into his robes. The new mask dumps on the couch. "You lost your mask, three of our finest revelers, and needed the Cakes to bail you out. I told you to be subtle." Of course the already heated tone of his voice says the High Prophet was less than pleased, but that doesn't stop the small pegasus and unicorn siblings to peek their heads in through the door, listening in on the rapidly downhill spinout of two arguing prophets. Though Cranky Doodle quickly gives them a look that shoos them off, it does far less for the battered clown reclining on the couch.

"Oh don't be so cranky, Cranky!" She chirrups hoarsely, "It's not like I expected that much offworld interference."

"Well you should have. And now Gum Shoe is calling for them even more now that he knows he can. I told you to get rid of him. Now we have -HUMAN- federal agents poking their noses where they don't belong, alternates of the Archmagister, and whispers of -Celestia's return-. Everything we planned for fifteen years could come crashing down!" Already the surly ass of a man was making Pinkie roll her eyes. "Ehhhhh... There's no harm in it, we can let him be for now. Besiiiiiides..."

"Besides?! BESIDES?! Pinkamena, you may be the only one The Laughing Mare chooses to speak with but-"

There were no buts. And the High Prophet soon found himself hard of breath, as fingers curled around his neck in a choking grasp as a chill green eye glowers out from the mess of stringy pink hair.

"Don't. Call me Pinkamena." This, she lets hang a moment before releasing him, and rolling right over, and closing her eyes. "We'll just adjust our plans. Maybe some of the offworlders can even help. You just leave everything to Pinkie."

With a mighty HARRUMPH, once he has his breath back, the aged and most frowniest of the Prophets adjusts his robes. "I'll leave you in the twins' care. We'll discuss this at the next meeting." Displeased as he sounded... She knew he meant well. But time and age were not gentle to the surly donkey. Then again was it to her? Or to the two orphans trotting in with a fresh batch of cupcakes as the High Prophet takes his leave.

"Is he always-" "-That way, Pinkie-" "-Pie?" Pound and Pumpkin ask, the young unicorn and Pegasus siblings peeking back over their shoulders.

"Aw don't you two worry a thing about him. He just wants to be able to laugh again. ... We all do."