Romance and the Fate of Equestria

Like any young writer, I've been told a couple of times that I overuse the word "said", and should try replacing it with more colorful alternatives. As I write this story, I'm starting to realize that I'm finally running into the opposite problem: using the "colorful alternatives" too often to the point that it's douchey and pretentious.

Pretty cool, huh? I've never been douchey and pretentious before. That's what they call growth as a writer.

Chapter Twenty

Twilight sucked on the tip of a quill as she leaned against the bar at Sugarcube Corner, one hoof placed on the buckle of her saddlebag in case inspiration struck her.

"Hey, Bangs."

"Oh… hi, Gilda," Twilight said nervously as the griffon hauled herself onto the stool next to hers.

Both of them flinched as a spray of metal five-pointed stars zipped in between the two of them, perfectly hitting the dead center of three targets which were set up above the front door.

Gilda raised an eyebrow at Twilight. "I… don't suppose you have any idea…?"

"Where Pinkie even gets shuriken? Yeah, she's got a guy. I don't know why she needs so many, but at some point you stop asking questions when it comes to Pinkie."

"Booyah!" Pinkie growled. "Nothing but perfect bullseyes!"

Twilight looked into the room behind the bar. There was no sign of Pinkie.

"Um… Pinkie, where are you?"

"I know, right? I totally could've been a ninja, if only I had any control over the pitch and volume of my voice…"

"Well, anyway," Gilda said. "Here—your cut." She passed an envelope, sealed with an image of Twilight's face, to Twilight.

"Oh! Thanks," Twilight said. "Business has been good, I hope?"

"See for yourself."

Twilight opened the envelope and looked over her check. Her eyes widened. "Whoa… this is like a 400-percent return."

"Damn straight," Gilda said smugly. "Enjoy it."

"I knew Golden Thread would spread like wildfire," Twilight said, beaming. "Think I'll keep putting more in."

"Thanks, dude. I've got a feeling I could have made even better profits, but…" Gilda trailed off, leaning back.

"What?" Twilight asked curiously.

"The store itself is a big hit," Gilda muttered. "But me, as an individual, I've kinda gotta salvage my reputation. The whole town watched me blow up at Party Girl over here. And she's cool with it—we're cool, right Party Girl?"

"Oh, absolutely," said Pinkie, who was suddenly at the bar directly across from Gilda. "Unless you've been yelling at Fluttershy again—have you?" She stared at Gilda, her eyes less than an inch away from the griffon's, but without a trace of malice or scorn in her expression.

"'Course not," Gilda said, unfettered. She held up a second envelope, this one with Pinkie's face. "Return on your investment."

"Thank you!" Pinkie said, grabbing the envelope with her teeth. "Your usual?"

"Please."

"Okay!" Pinkie zipped away.

Gilda smirked fondly at Pinkie. "…But the rest of the town isn't quite as forgiving," she finished.

Twilight shrugged. "Hey, if Pinkie endorses you, your reputation can't stay bad for that long."

"I hope so," Gilda said absently. "Hey, you seen Dash lately?"

"In what capacity?"

"I dunno, I just think lately she's been acting… glum. She seem glum to you?"

Twilight considered it. "I don't think so. Why?"

"Ah, it's probably nothing," Gilda said. "You know how she's hanging with… what's her name, I just heard it… the peeper with the butterflies, and her huge-ass boyfriend? Them. She hangs out with them, but she doesn't look like she enjoys it. 'Specially when they start to get all cozy. I don't know why the girl is always inviting Dash along, if they're gonna do that, but, meh."

Twilight nodded thoughtfully. "Hmm, you know, Rainbow did mention that she once had feelings for Big Macintosh," she said, concerned. "Maybe she still does… maybe she's feeling jealous. We should probably do something before it gets out of control."

"Or," Gilda said flippantly, "maybe she likes the peeper and is jealous of the huge dude. Could go either way, y'know? Even odds, really."

Twilight rolled her eyes. "You know, I'm quite sure Rainbow Dash is sick of everybody always assuming that she's bisexual. So she experimented when she was young, everypony does that… um, apparently. I wouldn't know, I had no social life as a filly, but my point is—"

"Dude, I'm not—" Gilda tried to say.

"It's a rather ugly stereotype, don't you think? Just because she's athletic and has a very hooves-on job and likes getting her hooves dirty—"

"No, it's—"

"And sure, she listens to hard rock and sometimes wears a ball cap and has that sort of raspy, smoky voice, none of that should imply that she's anything but—"

"DUDE!" Gilda snapped. "Just… just look at this." She held up a piece of paper with a professional drawing of Rainbow Dash along the top margin.

"What's that?"

"It's Dash's résumé. Read the heading."

"Rainbow Dash: pegasus, female, age 27, bisexual. …Oh. Huh. I guess that's why you thought… she probably is, then." She tilted her head. "Who puts that on their résumé?"

"She's proud of it. And why shouldn't she be?" Gilda leered pointedly at Twilight.

"Right," Twilight muttered. "Good for her… so, you want me to talk to her about this jealousy thing?"

"Nah, I can do it."

"I'll do it," Twilight insisted.

"Whatever," Gilda said. "So, another thing, Bangs—actually, I should probably start calling ponies by their real names. Smiley, was it?"

"It's Twilight, actually. Twilight Sparkle. Smiley's just what my boyfriend calls me. 'Cause I can't stop… you know, smiling." She giggled. "He makes me happy."

"Um, right…" Gilda said, oddly disconcerted. "Sorry, I just have to ask at this point—how do you pony-types even begin to distinguish cutesy nicknames from your actual names?"

Twilight shrugged. "Easy: Twilight Sparkle is my name, nothing else is."

"…Ah," Gilda retorted.

"No, it's a good question," Twilight said. "Since the dawn of time, ponies have used a different naming convention than other species… in that other species actually use names, rather than stringing two or three words together and calling them names. You, my friend, have just put your talon on something that almost no one knows: name science, the magic of ponies' names being inherently meaningful, and inexorably bound to our destinies. And this doesn't just apply to birth names, but any name we go by, anything we choose to call ourselves.

"Take, for example, Applejack. As a filly, she moved to the big city. She came back, of course, but let's say that one day she might have said, 'I just don't feel like an Applejack anymore. I'm Orangejack from now on'. Just that statement alone would have set her destiny on a new path."

"No kidding?"

"Yup. And it even affects ponies whose names are lifted from other cultures. You've heard of Trixie Lulamoon?"

"The cruddy illusionist?"

"That's her. And that's her birth name: Trixie. A griffon's name, if I'm not mistaken, but it was still under the influence of pony magic, still led her to a career of doing 'tricks'. It always works out, somehow. I grew up with a guy named Joe. The most unassuming, un-pony-ish name in existence. He now runs a donut shop, where a frequent order is a 'cup of joe'. So you see. You just can't circumvent the magic of names."

"That… is actually pretty cool," Gilda admitted. "I actually find that interesting."

Pinkie popped up from behind the bar. "So hey, how does name science explain 'Pinkamena Diane Pie'?"

Twilight blinked silently a couple of times. "…No clue," she finally confessed. "If I had to guess, even factoring in that you exclusively go by 'Pinkie Pie', either way it's the rare kind of name where anything can happen." She looked over Pinkie, head to hoof. "…And does," she added affectionately.

"Cool," Pinkie said. "Here, Gilda…" She heaved a massively heavy dish onto the counter. "Powdered donuts and pancakes, smothered and deep-fried together in a shell of chocolate syrup."

Twilight gazed at the dish in horror. "That's your usual?" she demanded.

"I work out a lot," Gilda said simply. "I deserve it."

"That might completely negate the working out," Twilight muttered.

"Nobody asked you, nerd. Now listen, 'cause this is important…"

A box of cereal suddenly flew by both of their heads, landing on the floor and skidding across the hardwood. Gilda and Twilight looked at it in surprise; a shuriken was embedded in it.

"Yes!" Pinkie said triumphantly. "I have perfected the ancient ninjutsu art of not only hitting the target where you want to hit him, but making the target land where you want him to!"

Twilight turned back to Gilda. "You were saying?"

"…I don't remember," Gilda said blankly. "Oh, right—" She pointed a finger accusingly at Twilight. "You. Stop trying to figure out the secret."

Twilight watched Pinkie as she crossed the floor to retrieve the cereal box. "Which secret," she said absently, "that Pinkie is a prolific cereal killer?"

"I should hope I'd be prolific, that's what 'serial' means," Pinkie said brightly.

"Um, yeah," Gilda muttered. "But what I meant was, if I might dig around in your saddlebag for a sec—" She thrust a claw into Twilight's bag.

"Hey!" Twilight exclaimed.

Gilda pulled out a tangle of Golden Thread and slammed it on the counter. "Knew it," she said darkly. "You lifted some raw Thread. You're trying to figure out what it is and where it comes from."

Twilight shrugged. "Personally, I think that says more about you than about me, friend. I have a lot of stake in this stuff, I deserve to know what it is. We all do. Dash doesn't even know, does she? And it's as much her business as yours."

"Nopony needs to know," Gilda growled.

"I beg to differ."

"Whoa, easy there, girls," Pinkie said hastily. "You don't want this turn into 'BTBOHE'."

Twilight blinked. "Um… what's that, 'By the Blades of Her Eyes'? The Przewalski song?"

"Yeah," Pinkie said, looking at their blank expressions. "It's on all the time. Don't you listen to the lyrics?"

"…No," Gilda and Twilight said together.

"Oh come on, you knoooow," Pinkie said patiently, "it's about a girl who doesn't trust her business partners. It doesn't end well for her."

Gilda raised an eyebrow. "I thought it was a tragic love song."

"Well, that too. It's got multiple storylines."

"I gotta look into these alleged lyrics," Twilight murmured.

"Look," Gilda said tersely, "I'll handle the retrieval of the Golden Thread, you all just sit back and enjoy the profits."

"Unacceptable," Twilight declared. "Why won't you tell? Huh? Is it illegal? That makes all of us liable. Can you have that on your conscience? Or, what, is it dangerous? Then we have a duty to keep it away from the public, don't we? And… and away from you. If you're doing something dangerous to get it, we can't help you if you never reveal it."

"I don't need your help," Gilda snarled.

"Really? I seem to recall you came here to Ponyville because you needed our money," Twilight said, sneering. "But you don't need our help. Sure."

Gilda fumed for a few seconds, then grabbed the clump of Thread. "This is all strictly need-to-know," she declared. "The only ones who need to know are my supplier and myself. And yes, I just dropped a cryptic clue about a supplier of some sort, but that's all you're getting. Later, partners." She stalked out of the bakery, the Thread clutched in her talon.

"…BUT YOU DIDN'T EAT YOUR USUAL!" Pinkie called after her.