Days passed, and still Pinkie thought back to the pegasus. The silent, noble way he'd held himself, free of fear even when confronted with death, resonated within her. Their final conversation and his unwavering faith was burned into her memory, and even during the day, when she put on a show of being "happy Pinkie," she found her mind going back to the basement. Again and again and again.

There had been nothing remarkable about that night, save for his stoicism in his final moments, but she couldn't forget him or the fierce pride and grim determination in his eyes. That in itself was remarkable enough, in a way.

Pinkie had rarely dwelled on her hobbies in the past. She only did what she needed to do to keep the Wall sturdy. If she'd ever thought to stop and question her more questionable actions, Pinkie Pie would've gone even more insane than she already was by now.

Yet for some reason, she just couldn't let it go.

Ponies whom nopony would miss. Nasty, bitter individuals, who damaged the world with their very presence. Who only served to add to the buildup up decay that was rotting the planet and causing it to slowly collapse on itself. These were the ponies that Pinkie collected blood from. Ponies who had wronged her or her few friends, or were at least guaranteed to do so at some point in the future.

Scum of the earth.

There were very few exceptions.

But West, the royal guard, had been one of them. Somepony taken out of desperate need rather than out of a personal desire for vindication, and now she couldn't relax. It wasn't guilt, exactly, but Pinkie Pie was restless anyway.

"So buck fear."

Life would have been so much simpler if Pinkie could've just said the same.

-----

"Please don't do this. Don't kill me," a unicorn in chains pleaded, a steady stream of tears trailing down her face. Her voice was thick with crying, her speech interrupted with little hiccupping sobs, punctuated by the occasional sniff. "I don't wanna die, I'm too young. I'm too attractive! There's still so many lamos out there I haven't made fun of yet! Please, let me go, I'll do anything, I swear. I'll even be nice to you! Please?"

This was a unicorn Pinkie Pie had seen cutting in line at Sugarcube Corner, rudely shoving others out of her way with her magic and giggling in a nasty way when she'd been called out on it. Pinkie hated linecutters, so she'd cut her. The unicorn's pleading had done little to aid her cause, and Pinkie had buried her remains out in a ditch by Sweet Apple Acres.

"You little foal!" an earth pony stallion hanging upside down from the ceiling screamed. "As soon as I get outta this straight jacket, pull the nails outta my hooves, and get down from the ceiling, I'm gonna kick your flank bloody, you stupid little fillyfooler! You're gonna die!"

This was a stallion who'd come to her welcome party for Scootaloo, only to spend the entire time loudly cracking jokes about the quality of the 'assets' of the mares in attendance. Not only had it been rude and exceptionally innappropriate at a party for a little filly, it had been a total buzzkill. Pinkie hated it when jerks and meanies ruined parties for no good reason, and now his remains were scattered about the garden. She'd wanted to see if decaying flesh made for a good fertilizer, and come spring, she'd find out.

"Oh, Celestia!" the pegasus colt sobbed insincerely. "Let me out of here! I'll be different! I'll be good to ponies. I can make things better. I admit, I was a jerk. I'm sorry for everything!"

And then, sotto voce, "Oh, please let this crazy bitch buy that load of horseapples."

Pinkie had thrown the crate into the lake after filling it with spare rats. She'd wanted to see if it would sink due to the added weight, and although she wasn't entirely sure what had happened to it, it sure hadn't floated. He was probably dead now. If he wasn't, he'd probably learned his lesson about being more careful about what he said out loud and what he kept to himself. That's why she'd taken him in the first place. He had a habit of being extremely rude in public, never seeming to realize that people heard what he said to himself.

Everypony she took had some sort of story to tell, some excuse to make, some convoluted explanation for their actions, but she never took anypony without a reason. The explanations were never enough.

If they really wanted to live, they wouldn't been more careful, Pinkie would think. Even a total foal knows how easy it is to die! Especially when you make the wrong ponies angry!

They didn't regret doing what they did, they regretted doing it to her face.

They got so loud.

They made so much noise.

Everypony liked a good laugh, and Pinkie liked to take it upon herself to make sure everypony got one before they died. So before she ripped them apart, before she cut them to pieces, she liked to smile and crack jokes, try and maybe cheer them up a bit before they faded away.

She liked to imagine that she occasionally caught a glimpse of a smile on her victims. But even so, she knew better than anypony else that nothing was worse then getting laughed at. So when they began their pathetic stories of why they deserved to live, she would always try and excuse herself before she burst out laughing.

It was nothing more than a blur.

"Nooo! Nooo! Nooo!

A blur of sweating ...

"I promise! I promise!"

Screaming ...

"C'mon, then! Do it! Yeah! Ya coward! You won't! You can't! I know you won't! AAAAGH! GET AWAY FROM ME!"

Crying ...

"Nnng ... why? I was only playing ...

... equine drama.

She'd had everypony down here at some point. Pegasi and unicorns and earth ponies, mares and stallions, fillies and colts, clowns and musicians and athletes and workhorses.

"You can't do this!"

She'd heard it all. They had a family. They had children. They had a job. There was so much left they wanted to do. They hadn't seen Manehatten yet. Screaming and crying, fighting and tears.

Pinkie Pie had grown numb to it all. It was funny, now.

How did that saying go?

The first time, it's a tragedy; the hundredth, a comedy.

It didn't affect her anymore when they begged her to let them go, because Pinkie  had a need, and the only way to meet that need was to make a few sacrifices. Sacrifices nopony would miss.

"Please ... "

West had been the first pony she'd ever brought into the basement that didn't even try. He'd attempted to reason with her, to use logic, but he hadn't made excuses. He'd freely admitted that he had nothing to stay behind for, and he'd welcomed his fate, even though both of them knew he didn't truly deserve it the way others did. So different from those she was used to dealing with.

"Please! Let me go! Oh, Celestia! Please, just let me go! I promise I won't call the police...! Why are you doing this? I don't even know you, I just want to go home!"

"Whaaaaaat? You're crazy, we totally know each other! Remember? You were at the bakery and I heard you and your friends giggle at me about what a crazy Pinkie Pie I am. You must know me pretty well if you can laugh at me...it's funny, though, cuz I don't think I've ever met you before. Isn't that weird? It's totally weird!"

They weren't real anymore. The ponies she brought down to harvest the blood from, they were just...figments. Not even illusions. When they screamed, she couldn't hear them, because they were just air.

"How can such a cutie wutie be so ugly and yucky inside? It wouldn't take very much to make your outside match your inside, ya know. I could just chop your brain out, maybe! It doesn't deserve such a pretty coat and cutie mark! But ... nah, I probably won't. I'm better than that. I might not be as pretty or fancy or sophisticated as youg, but on the inside, I'm ... uh ...

The swing of a blade, and a horrible grinding "Hnngkk" sound as it was driven through the mare's throat.

"Wow, Gummy. I guess I'm not very pretty on the inside, either."

But every once in a while, they would say things. That was when it got loud. That was when she began to realize how noisy it could be. Noise that almost sounded like words. That made her think about what she was doing. Words like the ones she'd exchanged with West.

So much meaningless noise, so much wasted sound that the few words, the few coherent thoughts they could form together, were almost completely lost in a sea of nonsense that she had no use for. But every once in a while she managed to catch something, and she would hear it. The air would speak.

It made her uncomfortable.

There were diversions, though - distractions from the discomfort. An axe thrown in a magnificent arc, severing head from torso. A knife plunged with expert precision directly into the heart. A hammer gamely swung, pounding the corpses into a pile of unrecognizable mangled limbs. A buzzaw, a cleaver, the wonderous and fantastical torture devices in the cellar. So many tools of the trade, all of them perfect for silencing these things that made the noise that was so hard to listen to.

But in the end, as Pinkie Pie bleached the carpet and disposed of the remains and gathered the blood, her mind would always return to that single probing question.

Why don't I just get myself a pair of earplugs?