Somewhere on the western FSA-Caneighda border, a door was knocked that did not often receive knocks. The owner of the door, and of the whole cabin, answered the knock in her typical manner, with two barrels pointed at her guest and a growled-out “Wrong cabin. A. K. Yearling’s half a mile south of here.”

Normally, this produced a gratifying shriek and frantic scrambling. Today, it just got a calm “I’m here for you, Fizzlepop.”

Fizzlepop Berrytwist blinked as she saw through the haze of habit and registered just who was at her door. “Oh. Huh. Wasn’t expecting a god today.”

Sunset Shimmer rolled her eyes, then focused back at the barrels still pointing at her. “Is the shotgun really necessary?”

Fizzlepop raised her unscarred eyebrow. “Will it hurt you?”

“Harm, no. Hurt, yes.”

“Then it’s necessary.” Fizzlepop cracked her neck. “What do you want?”

“To confirm a suspicion.”

Fizzlepop pulled the trigger. Long practice kept it steady in her left hand, the stump of her right wrist supporting it as best it could. One thing she had to admit, magic made it a lot easier to open the door while she was holding her gun.

Sunset, to her credit, hadn’t even flinched. A field of golden light hovered an inch away from her face, the buckshot trapped in it like flies in amber. “You know, a normal shield would have bounced a lot of that back at you.”

Fizzlepop glared at her, tilting her head to emphasize the bear-claw scars over her right eye. “Look, Shimmer, I’m not a patient woman. Not when someone’s trespassing on my land spouting vague bullshit. What do you actually want?”

“Your pony analogue led an invasion of my home nation in an alternate universe, and I wanted to see what you were doing,” Sunset said with a straight face.

“… What?”

Sunset gave a hint of a smirk. “I don’t like vague bullshit any more than you do, but sometimes it has its uses. Sorry for intruding.” With that, she vanished in a flare of golden light that probably should’ve been more blinding than it actually was.

“Well, that was different.” Fizzlepopf shrugged and shut the door. Again, easier with magic.

Atop her wire-spool coffee table sat… a right hand. A mechanical one, colored close to her skin, with a sleeve that went halfway up the forearm. Attached to it was a sticky note that glittered with gold ink. A thought brought the note up to where she could read it.

Thanks for your time.

“Huh.” A rare smile made its way across Fizzlepop’s mouth. “I should shoot gods in the face more often.”

Author's Notes:

The Storm King's analogue definitely existed at the time of the Saturation, but he'd never run into Fizzlepop. What did he do afterwards? We'll get to that...