Tempest Poppins
by PresentPerfect
First published
Foal in need of help? Just burn a letter to Tempest Poppins: she'll show up to set things right.
Every foal knows the legend.
You write a letter for help.
You set it on fire.
And she will appear to right all of your wrongs.
With her violence. Sweet, sweet violence.
These are her stories.
Thanks to EGStudios93 for the perfect artwork!
A Spoonful of Punching
Tempest Poppins
by Present Perfect
Part 1: A Spoonful of Punching
Melon Bright stared up at the tall, purple mare staring back down at him and knew true fear. The scar over her eye made his knees shake. Her broken horn made him want to barf. She was so muscular, he figured she beat up the whole world every day before breakfast.
Also, she was wearing a frilly smock. Under black armor. With a wide-brimmed hat. And carrying an umbrella with a parrot head handle. Somehow, the incongruity was not enough to relieve his terror.
"You the one who wrote the letter?" she asked, in a voice that could crack mountains.
"W-what letter?" he croaked.
She reached her head back along her side, the hat flopping and fluttering with every movement. From a saddlebag that looked like it was made out of his grandma's ugly carpet, she produced a piece of paper. Well, more like a whole bunch of little scraps of paper that had been taped together into something rectangle-ish.
"And I quote." That she was holding the paper in her mouth didn't matter; her steely voice made him just want to pass out already and end the torment.
"'Dear Anypony, I don't want to get a cutie mark because everypony at school who doesn't have one that's dark and mean gets beat up. I don't want a mean cutie mark, but I also don't want to get my face turned into playground pudding like Bee Feeder said he'd do. Please help, sincerely, Melon Bright.'"
An intense, critical eye roved over him. "You are Melon Bright, right?"
All he could do was nod.
The mare sucked the letter into her mouth, chewed a few times, and swallowed.
"I'm Tempest Shadow. I'm here to help." She narrowed those soul-rending eyes. "Bring me to Beef Eater."
The largest pony in the entirety of Manehattan West Elementary, a gray earth colt, sat in a corner of the school's hallway. He laughed to himself as he tossed a hoofful bits up in the air and caught them. Said bits had minutes before been a filly's lunch money, and since there were more than two coins, Bee Feeder had to content himself with tossing and catching the coins instead of counting them.
He was jolted from his simple enjoyment by the approach of two ponies: one green and shrimpy, the other purple and...
Bee Feeder swallowed.
"Are you Beef Eater?" asked the statuesque mare, glaring down at him with an eye radiating hatred and the promise of an early demise should his answer displease its owner.
"Huh-huh-who wants to know?" he gasped, eyes flicking over to the shrimp. Steeling himself, he said, "I mean, y-yeah, that's me." He mentally applauded himself for only stuttering once that time.
"I hear you think you're tough stuff," the mare said, as though she did not believe the idea for an instant.
In a flash of misplaced hubris, Bee Feeder stood and puffed out his chest. "You bet! I'm the toughest pony in the fourth grade!" He smirked. "You wanna join my posse?"
The mare raised an eyebrow. "Posse?"
Bee Feeder put both hooves in his mouth and blew. At piercing whistle, nearly a dozen little ponies, all of them meaner and uglier than the last, slunk forth out of the hallway shadows. They grinned wickedly, or stumped over to Bee Feeder like whipped dogs, ready to do their master's bidding. Their cutie marks were morbid, ranging from Bee Feeder's own angry bee to knives, skulls, explosions, and those funny symbols they put in comic books when they don't want to print the swears.
"This is my posse," Bee Feeder said, leaning confidently against the wall.
"Are these they?" the mare asked the colt next to her. He, quite gingerly, nodded.
The mare cracked her neck and smiled. "Good, you're all in one place. Thanks in advance for not making me find you all."
"Uh," said Bee Feeder, and that was all the time he had to speak before he became the signatory of one sound beating of his life from one Tempest Q. Shadow, Esq., D.B.A.
Melon Bright edged away from the carnage as foals cried out for mommies who didn't love them. But as he gazed upon the brutality unmatched in his lifetime, the memories of a hundred beatings of his own flashed through his mind.
These ponies had tripped him. They had stolen his lunch money. They had ground his face in the dirt. He'd had his flank drawn on with permanent markers, he'd been force-fed worms, he'd even had to enter the fillies' room unaccompanied, lest his favorite cards be chopped to bits. They had been flushed regardless.
It had taken him ages to find that booster pack.
Now that this one mare was single-hoofedly laying into a dozen ponies half her age, he realized, things would be different. He could rest easy at night, knowing that, whatever cutie mark he got, it wouldn't lead to either becoming a bully or remaining their victim. The blood and bruises were his seal for a bright, shining future.
"Thank you, Tempest Shadow," he whispered. A single tear tracked down his cheek. His cards were avenged at last.
Author's Notes:
Points if you can guess what "D.B.A." stands for. No, it's not "Doing Business As".
Sister, Suffer Yet
Tempest Poppins
by Present Perfect
Part 2: Sister, Suffer Yet
"Sorry I couldn't get here sooner," Tempest said, making landfall amidst the Cutie Mark Crusaders. She folded her umbrella. "Had some business with a dream serpent and an erupting volcano."
"Tempest!" the three fillies cried, crowding around her and hugging her legs. "You came!"
"Yes, yes." Tempest gently shooed them away. "Now. Your letter wasn't very clear." She dug from her carpet-saddlebags a sheet of paper smeared with tears, crayon and probably lipstick. "What's the situation?"
"Oh, Tempest, it's awful!" Apple Bloom shouted. "Diamond Tiara has gone back to her old ways!"
"We thought she was our friend!" Sweetie Belle added. "Silver Spoon, too!"
"But she's been bullying Apple Bloom and me about being poor!" Scootaloo sniffled, wiping at her face. "She's absolutely the worst!"
Tempest narrowed her eyes, gazing off across Ponyville. "I know what must be done. Come with me."
It didn't take them long to arrive at the Rich estate. It was, after all, the largest, most opulent manor in the plebeian farm town of Ponyville. The whole time, the Crusaders peppered Tempest with repeated affirmations about how awful Diamond Tiara was being, which she ignored, along with the stares of the townsponies.
A sign at the gate asked visitors to please ring in. Tempest ignored it and, head down, muscled the gate open with no small amount of squealing and bending metal. The CMCs followed behind, stunned into silence.
When they reached the front door, a frantic Randolph the Butler attempted to ask them their business, until Tempest backed him up against the door frame.
"Where's Tiara?" she hissed.
A shaky, knobbly hoof pointed into the house. "Th-the boardroom, ma'am. Straight ahead. C-can't miss it."
Tempest glowered at him until he was but a quivering wreck of a pony balled up on the front stoop.
"Thank you," she growled. "And have a nice day."
The four ponies stalked down the hallway, turning in at the first door on the left. Before them was a stately room dressed in warm hardwoods and soft carpeting. Antique bronze light fixtures kept the gloom away, while plush chairs and small bookshelves gave the room a welcoming, homey atmosphere.
In the middle, sprawled across the arms of an expensive-looking stuffed maroon chair, was Diamond Tiara. She was busy filing her hooves while pointedly ignoring the angry, purple mare stomping toward her.
"That's her, Tempest!" said Apple Bloom. "She said me an' mah family should just eat dirt like the pigs!"
"Pigs are an inferior species!" added Sweetie Belle helpfully.
Scootaloo pointed accusingly at her. "And she said I don't have a mom because of buyer's remorse! Kick her butt, Tempest!"
Tempest marched right up to the armchair and stuck her face in Diamond Tiara's guff.
"Is that true?" she hissed.
Diamond blew casually on her hoof, admiring the shimmer along the edge. "I lash out at other ponies because my mother is a controlling bitch who loves my father's money more than she loves me."
Tempest reeled back, her eyes flashing an angry, firey red. She snorted smoke.
"Take me to her."
Diamond smiled. "Oh, Randolph!"
A few minutes later, as Diamond continued working on her hooficure, she was greeted to some muffled sounds from upstairs: some bellowed accusations, followed by screeching denials. Then some thumping. And some more thumping. And the Cutie Mark Crusaders cheering and chanting something or other.
She supposed it was all very crass and brutal.
A little while later, Silver Spoon trotted into the boardroom.
"Is it over?" she asked.
Diamond Tiara blew on her hoof. She sniffed and nodded.
"We're free," she whispered.
Author's Notes:
This chapter has the worst title, most likely because "Sister Suffragette" is not a song most people think of when they think of Mary Poppins. But I think the pun was worth it. :V
Supercalifragilisticexpiyouaredeadnow
Tempest Poppins
by Present Perfect
Part 3: Supercalifragilisticexpiyouaredeadnow
"Purple Pen!"
Purple Pen jumped, her glasses falling onto the book she had been reading. Principal Princess Twilight Sparkle's disapproving stare was unmistakable even without them.
Pen had been so sure the Princess wouldn't find this hiding spot. But here they were, once again, tormentor and tormented, locked in mental combat.
Falling out of the tree onto her knees, Pen sobbed, "Please don't make me go back to school, Princessipal Twilight! Please, please, please, I hate it!"
"Now, now," Twilight said, spreading a soft, comforting wing over Pen's back, "there's no need to cry. You're at the School of Friendship, Purple Pen. You should be making friends, not spending all your time hiding away from other ponies just to read books!"
Twilight's laugh quickly turned sour. "Oh my god, I sound just like my mom. I mean Celestia."
Pen squinted up at Twilight through her tears. "But the other students don't like me! They make fun of me for talking about the stuff I read about!"
"Hmm." Twilight tapped a hoof against her chin. "I can think of a few friendship lessons that would help the other students learn to be better friends with their introverted peers."
Pen stared at her, aghast. "D-don't make me the focus! I'll never hear the end of it!"
"Come, come," Twilight said, levitating Pen's glasses over and pushing her with her wing, "you'll learn far more about friendship from interacting with other ponies than you will from reading a book. I should know!"
Pen shoved her glasses onto her face and stepped back outside of Twilight's wing. "I'm sorry, Principess Twilight," she said lowly, "but you leave me no choice."
With a spark of fuchsia magic, Pen produced a scrolled, tied with a blue ribbon, from her hiding place in the tree. Grunting, she cast a spell on it, and it disintegrated.
"Uh," said Twilight Sparkle, the Princess of Friendship. "What?"
"Come on, come on!" Pen danced on her hooftips. "Where is she?"
They both turned their eyes skyward as a sound like a train whistle grew steadily louder. From somewhere above them, a pony was parachuting in, for lack of a better term, from nowhere, holding an umbrella in one hoof and a pair of saddlebags in the other.
"--aaaaaAAAAAAAAH!" shouted Tempest Shadow as she hit the tarmac in front of Twilight in a superhero landing.
"Tempest!" Twilight cried, smiling. "It's so good to see you! What brings you here?"
Tempest drew herself up to her full height -- which, it must be stated, was quite a bit more than even this dinkiest of alicorns -- and stared down her nose at Twilight.
"I got a letter."
Her eyes flicked over to Purple Pen. Twilight's did the same.
"A letter, you say?" Twilight gave a nervous chuckle. "What kind of letter?"
"'Dear Princess Help Pony,'" Tempest intoned, her gaze locked on Twilight, "'I hate being at the School of Friendship because everypony makes fun of me and Principal Twilight won't never let me just sit and read quietly when I want to. Please help, signed, Purple Pen.'" Tempest's eyes bulged.
"Uh," said Twilight Princess. "Are you... Princess Help Pony?"
"I am now."
Twilight took a step back. "And... how exactly do you intend to help... pony?"
Purple Pen grinned. "Ooh, is it with violence? I heard Princess Help Pony always helps with violence!" Her tail wagged.
"Yeah." Tempest cracked all four hoof-knuckles. "Violence sounds good."
"B-but," butted Twilight, as her butt abutted the tree, "she'll be much better off down the line if she puts her books down and learns the value of friendship!" Even she had to admit it sounded like a lame excuse.
Tempest hella flexed. She could have bench pressed Equestria. Twilight didn't know whether to be frightened or turned on.
"Do you miss reading as much as you used to?" Tempest brought her face right up next to Twilight's. Twilight squeezed her eyes shut.
"I totally do," she whispered.
"All right, then." Tempest breathed hotly onto Twilight's face.
"This friendship thing was a mistake," said Twilight.
Author's Notes:
Not even Princess Twilight Sparkle is immune to punchings. Can you tell I was just naming foals by whatever was laying around? :V
Major thanks to famous author King of Beggars for the idea for this chapter, including the final line. :)
Chim-Chim-Che-Wrecked
Tempest Poppins
by Present Perfect
Part 4: Chim-Chim-Che-Wrecked
Dear Canterklaas,
All I want for Hearth's Warming this year is for my mommy and daddy to love each other again.
Sometimes, Mommy and Daddy fight, and it makes me really scared, but then they make up and everything's better. Last Hearts and Hooves Day, she told him she never wanted to see him again. She packed her little blue suitcase and said she was going to live with grandma. I thought that sounded fun (grandma always makes raspberry drop cookies when I come visit), but then mommy didn't come back.
Daddy says he and mommy are getting a "different force". I don't know what that is, but I wish they would take it back to the store. Mommy only comes over to pack more stuff in her suitcase, and just after Nightmare Night, she had some moving ponies come and take dressers and bookcases and the mattress. Daddy sleeps on a cot now.
I love my daddy, but he isn't good at cooking broccoli casserole like mommy is. I liked going out for take-out food for dinner every day at first, but I'm tired of it now.
I just want my mommy and daddy to stop fighting, and mommy to come home and stay with us, and tell me she loves me. I don't know what I did wrong, and I don't know why they don't love me anymore. (I promise I'll eat more peas if that helps.) Maybe if I tell you to give my toys to poor foals in need this year, it will make us a family again.
Please, please, please make us a family again.
Love,
Kettle Corn
Kettle sniffled as she put the letter in the fireplace. Usually, having a fire for Hearth's Warming meant fun times with her family. This year, it just made her sad. Their tree was scrawny and mostly bare. The fire was small and sickly, barely enough to burn her letter fully; that was the best way to make sure Canterklaas got letters.
"Kettle!" called her mother from the kitchen. "Would you come here a minute?"
Sighing, Kettle loped her way into the other room. Her mother had said she'd come home so they could spend some time together for Hearth's Warming Eve, but she'd just been boxing up books and yelling at her father the whole time. Kettle was glad her mother was at their house, but it still didn't feel like a home anymore. Her father was out getting dinner.
"Kettle." Her mother's blue eyes sparkled as she bent low, beckoning Kettle closer. "I wasn't sure whether I should do this now, but..." She sucked in a breath and gave Kettle a smile that made her stomach feel sick. "I want to give you your Hearth's Warming gift early."
That got Kettle's attention. Seeing her mother was one thing; early Hearth's Warming presents was rather another.
"What is it, Mommy?" she asked, rear legs prancing. "What is it, what is it?"
With a smile that didn't reach her eyes, her mother said, "You're going to come live with me and grandma now! Isn't that exciting?"
After a long pause where Kettle's prancing ceased and her ears gradually lowered, her mother added, "That way we can spend more time together! And... grandma said she'll make the cookies you love!"
An icy, poison feeling settled in Kettle's stomach. "But..." Her mouth was dry. "Is Daddy coming with us, too?"
Her mother's ears splayed. "No, honey. No." She gritted her teeth and all but growled, "I knew he was going to start putting ideas in your head."
Kettle's mother sat down, reaching out a leg to pull her daughter close. "Kettle, sweetie, the truth is..." She sighed. "Look, I know you love your dad, but he's really not good to be around. He's not as good with foals as I am. You'll get to come live with me, and I can raise you better! I promise."
"No!" Kettle shouted, pushing away from her mother. "I don't want to go away! I like it here! I want you to like it here too!" She began to cry. "I don't want you and daddy to stop loving each other! I don't want you to stop loving me!"
"Oh, sweetie." Her mother tried to hug her, but she backed away. "I won't stop loving you, I swear. I know change can be scary, but--"
The door opened with a tinkle of bells, and a stallion's voice cried, "I'm home!"
Kettle wiped at her snout and scrambled into the living room as her father dragged some heavy bags in behind him.
"S-see?" she cried, turning to her mother and pointing at her father. "He brought dinner home! We do need him!"
Her father scowled as her mother trotted into the living room. "What's this about not needing me? Key, are you filling our daughter's head with garbage again?"
Key Fob snorted. "No more than your garbage, Roadblock. And I thought you were getting pizza."
Roadblock rolled his eyes. "Pizza place was closed. Ling Shu's was open, though." He grinned at Kettle. "Who wants noodles?"
"Ugh!" Key Fob turned her back on him. "You know Cantoneighse doesn't agree with me! You're doing this on purpose, as usual!"
"Oh, come on, Key," Roadblock wheedled. "It's Hearth's Warming Eve, for crying out loud! Everything's closed except Cantoneighse!"
"You're just making excuses! You always do!"
"Excuses? Well, excuse me for not making restaurants be open on the biggest holiday of the year!"
"This is just like you!"
"Don't think I haven't forgotten that bit about not needing me. What've you been telling Kettle?"
Kettle Corn felt sick. She didn't make a sound, though tears streamed down her face. Her parents just kept shouting, louder and louder, and it was all her fault. There was nothing she could do to stop it.
"--irresponsible, narcissistic--"
"--your mother would--"
"SHUT UP."
Key Fob and Roadblock stopped shouting. They blinked at one another, then turned to their daughter. Kettle, shaking, her tears momentarily stemmed, pointed at the fireplace. All three of them turned to watch a large form, covered in soot, extricating itself from the extinguished fire.
"Whoof," said the shape, shaking itself, "they don't make chimneys like they used to."
"C-Canterklaas?" Kettle Corn squeaked. Judging by the lacey frock, wide-brimmed hat and broken horn, this probably was not Canterklaas, but she couldn't think of anything else to say. Her parents stared, open-mouthed.
"Sorry, kid," said the mare, shaking the last of the soot out of her hat and replacing it on her head. "Not him. But I did get your letter."
She turned a baleful gaze on Key Fob and Roadblock, who shrank away as though she might bite.
"Wh-who are you?" asked Roadblock, swiftly regaining his courage. "And what are you doing in my house?"
"I'm Tempest Shadow," said the mare, pulling herself up to her full, very impressive height. "And I'm here to fix what you broke." She pointedly looked at Roadblock, Key Fob and Kettle Corn in turn.
Key Fob's eyebrows shifted down. "Now wait a minute, who are you to break in here and try and tell us how to run our lives? I've half a mind to call the--"
She was cut off as lightning blasted out of Tempest's broken horn, swirling around the room, crashing into furniture, overturning packed boxes and knocking knickknacks off shelves. While her parents huddled together, Kettle Corn watched the ball of magic with amazement. At least, until it hit the tree and set it on fire. All three members of the family shrieked, and Kettle's mouth hung open in dismay.
"My card," said Tempest lowly. To Kettle, she whispered, "I'll fix the tree in a minute, promise."
"W-we'll get back together!" sobbed Roadblock, clinging to his soon-to-be-ex-wife.
"We'll do it for Kettle!" shouted Key Fob, in tears. "She deserves to be happy, right?"
"NO!"
Tempest stomped, knocking over a cabinet in the kitchen with the crash of shattering antiques. In the blink of an eye, she was nose-to-nose-to-nose with both cowering parents.
"If you two have actual, irreconcilable differences," she hissed, "then forcing you back together is just going to put you back into the same old cycle of recriminations, disharmony and breakup. I'm not here to fix relationships, I'm here to make sure a special little filly doesn't have to be sad on Hearth's Warming."
They all turned to look at Kettle Corn, who was watching the scene with a look of equal parts sadness, confusion and awe. She turned away from their stares.
"Do you have any idea what this divorce is doing to your daughter?" Tempest said, rising. "Why haven't you been talking to her?"
"M-my parents split when I was nine," said Key Fob lamely. "I got through it. I guess I never thought that Kettle might... have trouble."
"Good for you," said Tempest icily. Her eyes flicked over to Roadblock, who cleared his throat.
"I've been kind of... distracted."
One elegantly plucked eyebrow arched. A cold sweat ran through Roadblock's body as Tempest asked, "Distracted?"
"Y-y'know..." He swallowed. "Everything... It's making me feel like I failed, as a husband and a father. It reminds me of when I was dating Key and all my college buddies said she was out of my league."
Key Fob snorted. "They were right."
Tempest shot her a glare, and she wilted.
"Suck it up, buttercup," said Tempest. "You're the adult, you don't get to play the victim here. And you--" she hadn't taken her eyes off Key Fob-- "don't get to assume that your daughter is the same cold-hearted bitch you are.
"Starting now, you two include your daughter in the discussion about your households. You will be open and honest with her, because since neither of you is willing to talk to her, she is blaming herself for your divorce!"
The two ponies stopped their shaking, giving each other dejected looks. Ears back, they both gazed at the ground and listened intently to Tempest's words as she turned to Kettle Corn.
"There is no magic that will fix your parents' broken marriage," she said, not unkindly, though Kettle's ears drooped. Tempest reached down and lifted her chin with a hoof. "Instead, you have to help them be better ponies. In return, they will help you cope with the changes going on in your life. Because none of this is pleasant, and it certainly isn't fair, it just is."
Kettle smiled at Tempest, then at her parents, who, hesitantly, returned it. Then they smiled at each other, an unspoken relief washing over them that maybe, just maybe, despite all the pain and heartache, everything would turn out just f--
"AND ANOTHER THING!" Tempest roared, shocking them out of their moment. "If I ever catch wind that either of you have so much as sniffed a desire to turn your daughter's love and loyalty against your ex-spouse, I will personally introduce you to the flavor of your own dock. Do I make myself clear?"
"Y-yes, ma'am," said Roadblock.
Key Fob fainted.
Tempest regarded them with a look that could curdle milk.
"Kettle, I'm counting on you to tattle if anything goes wrong."
She turned her milk-curdling stare on the Hearth's Warming Tree, which shuddered, righted itself, and grew several feet taller. It filled out, not just with lusher pine needles, but with a full array of ornaments, baubles, tinsel, fake icicles, and proper Hearth's Warming Lights. The living room was positively aglow with holiday spirit.
Tempest gave Kettle a knowing grin. And then, laying a hoofsie aside of her nose, she left by the front door.
Because chimneys are just not made for going back up.
Author's Notes:
I hope this chapter did not dredge up any painful memories for any readers. D: I just wanted to show that the beatdowns do not always have to be physical. (Though Twilight's was, trust me.)
Trivia: This chapter originally starred Cozy Glow in the "filly I am going to be unnecessarily mean to" role, but then she showed up in a second episode, and I figured I should maaaybe not make this too dated. Thanks to Starlight Glimmer for "Canterklaas".
I Love to Laugh
Tempest Poppins
by Present Perfect
Part 5: I Love to Laugh
Clean Sweep gawped at the massive, muscular mare who had appeared on her doorstep. She now understood why her butler had been unwilling to inform her of who had rung, opting instead to run screaming into the servants' quarters and lock the door behind him.
"May I come in?" asked the mare, her face stony and unyielding.
Clean Sweep gulped and remembered her manners. "P-please do..."
The mare hung her hat on the stand. Her expression never wavered.
"My name is Tempest Shadow. You must be Clean Sweep."
Clean nodded.
"Shall we begin?"
Slowly, Clean's apprehension gave way to a budding hope. "L-let's. My room's this way."
She led the mare through the house, up the sweeping central staircase to the second floor, and into the room at the end of the upper hallway.
"After you, madame," she said, possessing enough wherewithal at last to sound appropriately snooty.
"What a lovely house you have," said Tempest, trotting inside. "Large. Uncluttered."
Clean's ears drooped. Tempest merely looked at her, anticipating.
"I..." Clean Sweep looked away.
It takes a tremendous deal of effort for a little filly to gather confidence when faced with an intimidating adult. What Clean pulled off in that moment was nothing short of miraculous.
She lifted her head, straightened her shoulders, and looked Tempest right in the eyes. Then, in her most imperious voice, she said, "In my letter, I specifically asked for somepony who is practically perfect in every way."
Ephemeral confidence waning, she asked, "A-are you practically perfect in every way?" The last few words came out in a mumble.
Tempest leaned down until she was literally nose to nose with the cowering filly.
"Bitch, I'm flawless. Let's do this shit."
"More tea, Duchess Everworthy?"
"Delighted," said Tempest in her totally normal voice, waving the pony doll's forelimbs exaggeratedly. "And these scones are ever so wonderful."
"Oh yes," said Clean Sweep, aka Princess Poundcake. "Another scone for you, General Hightower?"
"I would love nothing more than another scone," said Tempest on her own behalf.
The scone passed to her and she took a huge bite out of it. It was lemon poppyseed. Tears of joy streamed down her face.
"I fucking love tea parties," she said, spraying crumbs everywhere.
Author's Notes:
Tea parties are the fucking shit.
Epilogue: Step i' Time on Your Face
Tempest Poppins
by Present Perfect
Epilogue: Step i' Time on Your Face
The city: Baltimare. A more wretched hive of scum and villainy you'll only find long ago, in a galaxy far, far away.
Downtown, the streets are filled with traffic. Ponies walk the sidewalks, heads down, knowing better than to make eye contact with any of their neighbors, lest they invite trouble. The buildings around them rise into a sky mottled grey with smoke from dockside factories. The buildings, designed by famed architect Art Deco on one of his even more famous cocaine benders, reach for the clouds like grasping claws.
From the Red Admiral Theater, smack-dab in the middle of Fillydelphia Street, pours an unending stream of new ponies into this milieu, to the dismay of all and sundry. In the midst of this equine river is a little family: mother, father, son. Middle-class, wearing long coats, in a hurry.
The father herds them toward a cab, but a pony in a black business suit hops in, ignoring his protestations. In a heartbeat, the cab is gone. He swears under his breath and tries to hail another cab, but they dash by, heedless, even as he steps into the road.
His son holds a map of the city in his magic, nose buried within. As the family meanders down the sidewalk, he protests: they're going the wrong way. His father chastises him for making them look like tourists. This is exactly why they don't go downtown more often, the mother grouses. A streetwalker approaches them, and as the father hastily guides his oblivious son away, they move from the dim and gloomy streets to the dark and dangerous alleys.
The father insists he knows where they are.
The alley is sparsely populated; only shabby itinerants and pairs of shady ne'er-do-wells spend any amount of time there. The father refuses a vagrant who asks for just a couple of bits. Just a couple, dude. Are you deaf?
The vagrant sits back down on his pallet of refuse.
The father rounds the corner and is knocked cold with a sap.
Two stallions bare down on mother and son. She can only gape in mute horror as they brandish knives.
"Do the kid a favor," quips the one who hit her husband, pushing the knife toward her face. "Don't scream!"
He takes her purse. His associate riffles through the unconscious father's pockets. They flee together into the night.
She screams.
On a rooftop nearby, a black shape watches.
Later, on a different roof, the two crooks count their ill-gotten gains: a pouch with bits, the mare's pearl necklace, her purse.
"Hey, not bad!" crows the lead crook, holding up a plastic rectangle in his magic. "Equestrian Express card! Don't leave home without it." The other thug smirks, and they share a laugh.
It's short-lived.
"Hey, let's beat it, dude," says the weedier crook. "I don't like it up here."
"What are you, scared o' heights?"
The weedy crook shakes his head. "I dunno, man, after what happened to Chocolate Gob..."
His associate waves a knife casually at his face. "Hey look, dude, Chocolate Gob got ripped and took a walk off a roof, huh?" He shrugs. "No big loss."
"That ain't what I heard at all." The weedy stallion begins to shake. His voice dips low, as though what he is about to say might summon dark forces down upon them both.
"I heard that the Shadow got 'im."
The other crook snorts. "The Shadow? Aw, dude, gimme a break, will ya?"
"Five stories, straight down." His shaking intensifies. "There was no blood in the body!"
"No shit, it's all over the pavement."
Behind the thugs, a shape drops down into the mist. It wears a wide-brimmed hat and holds an umbrella. The crooks do not see it.
The nervous one stands. "I'm gettin' outta here, dude," he declares, having successfully rattled himself. The collar of his coat is snatched in the other's magic.
"Hey, shut up, dude, listen to me." He pulls his cowardly accomplice close. "There ain't. No. Shadow."
The second stallion licks his lips, unable to face the accusation in his associate's eyes. "Yeah, well, you shouldn'ta turned the knife on that kid, dude." His protestations are as shaky as he is. "You shouldn'ta turned the knife--"
"Hey!" The unicorn tosses his companion to the ground and holds up the bit purse, jingling it. "You want your cut of this money or not? Now shut up. Shut. Up!"
He shuts up.
There is a long, silent moment wherein the thugs collectively realize they are not alone. They look up. The shadowy figure stands over them. Her umbrella snaps open. The crooks scrabble at the rooftop gravel, breaking into a run.
The figure with the umbrella glides down to their level. They turn and launch their knives in a spray of magic; both hit home, and the figure staggers and falls over backward. The two stallions share a look, an unspoken hope that maybe, just maybe, they have killed the Shadow, though neither is willing to voice the idea. They inch backward.
The shadowed figure rises from the mist like a vampire from its coffin. It looses a blast of lightning at the skinny thug, tossing him through a nearby wooden service door. He is down for the count.
The other stallion makes a run for it, but is tripped up by the end of the umbrella. The parrot cane head squawks in satisfaction.
The stallion struggles as the umbrella drags him through the gravel, but to no avail. He is lifted to his hooves, moved to the edge of the roof, and held up by two powerful hooves as his back legs dangle over the pavement two stories below.
"Don't kill me, dude!" he shrieks, voice breaking. "Don't kill me!"
"I'm not going to kill you," growls the shadowy mare. "I want you to do me a favor." Her breathing is slow and steady, compared to his, which is shallow, fevered. "I want you to tell all your friends about me."
The command breaks the criminal's mind. All he can do is cry, "What are you?"
The mare yanks his face right up to her own.
She shouts, "I'm Tempest Poppins, y'all!"
"Is he cool?" the thug mumbles, fainting in Tempest's grip.
She headbutts him for good measure.
"Yeah," she says, letting him slide from her grasp to land in the dumpster below. "He's cool."
The End
Author's Notes:
And the silliness comes to an end. :D Thank you for reading.
I of course had to write this after finding out that Emily Blunt, voice of Tempest Shadow from the My Little Pony Movie, would be playing Mary Poppins in the upcoming movie. But that's not the only movie reference in this chapter! Points if you can spot both. (No, Star Wars doesn't count.)
I could not have done this without help from some very unfortunate wonderful people: kits, Shrink Laureate, Jake the Army Guy, OleGrayMane, Starlight Glimmer and Corejo. I am so grateful you were all willing to put up with my crap. :V Until next time!