Freebie Mondays: My Little Domerin – Episode 4: Act 2

I promised my twitch chat I would take Domerin, the grumpy elf main character from the Aruvalia Chronicles, and turn him into a pony if they helped me pay for my replacement computer. I never thought we’d reach that goal – but of course we did. Because my twitch chat continues to be the most generous community out there.

For more details on the project, check the intro. (There are pictures of my characters converted into ponies there as well.)

This story is meant to take place in the same world as “My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,” though it’s unlikely any of the characters from the show will appear in the story. I have attempted to adopt the style of storytelling used by the show (including an episodic format and a ‘season’ instead of chapters in a novel). And some of the ponies that appear were created by donators from my chat. VoDs of the writing sessions are available on my youtube channel!

I hope you enjoy this crazy, silly little romp!
. . .

The Funnel Cake council evidently met inside ‘the back room’ of the warehouse that served as their clubhouse. If Crescent narrowed his eyes to blur the edges of his vision, he could almost imagine they had stepped into someone’s basement, but that was really the best assessment he could grant the space.

In truth, a rickety wall had been erected with crates left over from whatever function this place originally served. Several posters had been taped to the top crates to create the illusion of straight walls and decorations, but mostly it just made Crescent feel as though he had stepped into a carnival funhouse.

He wasn’t sure if the lighting was dim out of design, or if the Funnel Cakes had simply failed to replace several burnt out bulbs in the lamps that hung high over head. After careful consideration, he decided it was a combination of the two, as tables had very clearly been pushed beneath the lamps that still lit.

There were three tables in all. And each was occupied by three ponies crammed side by side into the available space. They hissed at each other whenever one of them shifted and caused another to spill beyond the confines of the makeshift podium, but Crescent pretended not to notice.

The floor was made of poured concrete, but it had obviously been swept clean. The ponies that made up the council were all dressed identically in the same jackets with the same decals as the ponies that had stopped them outside. And two additional Funnel Cakes had been chosen to stand guard outside the makeshift door to the space. Whether their job was to prevent Crescent and the royal twins from escaping or to prevent anyone else from interrupting the proceedings was anyone’s guess. But Crescent had a sinking suspicion neither goal was going to be fulfilled because it sounded like both of the guards had stepped to the side to begin a card game.

He would have giggled if he didn’t think that would drastically hurt his chances of successfully navigating this situation.

“The honorable council of Funnel Cakes calls this meeting to order,” one of the ponies sitting beneath one of the bright lamps declared and smacked their hoof three times on the table in front of them.

The rest of the ‘council’ cleared their throats and gazed expectantly at the royal twins. The two of them glanced at each other, perhaps silently debating who should speak for their side. Then Silverbell swept forward. She tossed her head slightly so that her golden mane would dance across her slim shoulders, and it made her look shockingly graceful.

“Honorable members of the Funnel Cake Council,” she declared formally then bowed her head for a fraction of a second, “we come to you today with a humble request that you allow us to assist in the planning of your anniversary celebration. We have ideas that will make the event truly spectacular.”

“Don’t lie,” another of the Funnel Cakes sneered, this time from the far side of the right-most table. “We know that you’re trying to steal one of the key pieces of our parade right out from under our noses.”

The entire council sniffed in unison. Crescent wondered if it was a move they practiced or if it happened by sheer chance. He wasn’t sure which was more amusing.

“We are not trying to steal Rupert,” Valerian insisted, no longer able to resist charging forward to speak. “First of all, he is capable of deciding for himself what he wants to do. And second of all, we just need to borrow him for a short amount of time.”

“The anniversary isn’t today,” Silverbell added, her voice silky smooth. She cast her brother a sharp look before grinning and fluttering her eyelashes at the head of the Funnel Cake Council. “By the time you’re ready to commence with the celebrations, Rupert will be back in your care and entirely prepared to serve his role.”

“What about the practice?” a council member demanded from the middle of the left-most table. “If we don’t get everything right today, the true procession is bound to be a total disaster.”

The princess gritted her teeth for a moment, though she hid it well. Crescent only noticed because the angle at which he stood in relation to her highlighted the lines of tension beneath the brightness of the central light.

“He is only pulling the chariot,” she insisted after a moment. “Perhaps Valerian could serve in his stead just for today.” She jabbed a hoof at her brother who promptly glared at her, silently demanding to know why he should have to serve the unwanted purpose.

Silverbell lowered her hoof casually but, at the last possible moment, diverted it so that it smacked into Valerian’s ankle. The prince just barely managed to stifle an exclamation of surprise and pain before he forced an unsteady smile to his lips and said, “Yes, of course. Silverbell is right. I will happily fill in for Rupert at today’s practice.”

“Surely your royal mother will want you back at the palace well before we are able to finish ironing out all the arrangements,” the head of the council sniffed. “Why, there are so many details, we expect it to take until well after midnight before all is in readiness.”

A murmur of agreement passed along all of the tables.

Valerian frowned. “Isn’t your anniversary three days from now? Why all the rush?”

This question resulted in a myriad of answers that burst forth from every member of the council at once so that the words merged into an indecipherable cacophony.  But Crescent was fairly sure he had figured out what was going on here.

The royal twins made admirable diplomats – Silverbell especially. They knew how to read a room and respond in a way that would best suit their audience. Crescent believed the princess could have had all of the Funnel Cakes lapping water out of a bowl at her feet by now if the matter hadn’t been so desperately urgent.

That was the main trouble. The royal twins were trying to solve a real problem and the Funnel Cakes were playing a game.

Under different circumstances, Crescent might have been happy to stand back and see how things played out. He guessed that the antics of the Funnel Cakes were normally harmless fun, which was probably why the royal children spent so much time with them.

But if they didn’t solve this problem in the next few hours, Domerin was going to lose his mind. And who knew what caution he’d throw to the wind if this dragged on.

Besides, this was too tantalizing an opportunity to resist, especially since the worst thing that could possibly happen would be the Funnel Cakes catching wind of the fact that the royal twins were expressing real urgency.

With a grace that he had only acquired over long years of practice, Crescent lifted the front portion of his body and tossed his head in such a way that it threw back the hood currently concealing his face.

As he anticipated, the revelation of his true identity produced a gasp from the gathered council that quickly stunned them into silence.

Crescent didn’t know exactly what role he played here in this future Aruvalia, but he could guess based on everything said so far that he was well-known. Otherwise the royal children wouldn’t have suggested hiding his face when he left the palace.

He cast the council an amused but also gently chiding look before he said, “Now see here. No one knows how to create a more spectacular party than me. I’ve certainly attended enough of them in my time, haven’t I? And you simply cannot have your dress rehearsal three days before the big event. There are far too many things that could go wrong. What if someone breaks a hoof? Or buys a better outfit? You don’t want to have to account for any last minute height adjustments on the morning of the event, do you?”

He paused just long enough to breathe, which allowed the first round of his suggestions to sink in. But before anyone could muster their thoughts to reply, he swept on with. “Then there’s the equipment. Who knows what weather changes are going to affect this chariot in the three days it’s sitting around waiting to do its job. Why, if the humidity shifts, as its wont to do, it could cause cracks in the finish. Or worse, split a critical portion of the mechanics such as a wheel.”

Crescent began pacing lightly back and forth in front of the council tables as he listed all of the details they had failed to consider.

“Then there’s the fact that you could be using these last three days to far more spectacular effect. Why, what if all of today’s efforts went into the decorations? You can’t spare any expense for an anniversary. Everything has to be right. What about the table cloths? The napkins? The center pieces? The grand fireworks display for the finale?”

The faces of the royal twins transformed with horror at the last suggestion, and Crescent realized he had probably strayed one step too far.

But his speech had the desired effect; the Funnel Cake Council was in a tizzy.

“Did anyone even order table cloths?” someone from the right table demanded.

“Forget tablecloths,” the leader of the council hissed and swiped their hoof across their table. “Did we even know fireworks were an option?”

“I think we’ve got an extra crate of them out back-” someone started, but they were cut off by several sharp hisses of, “Not in front of the royals!”

Crescent allowed the conversation to continue for an extra moment while he carefully schooled his expression. Then he cleared his throat and said, “My friends, I can see that there is much left to do and only the shortest amount of time to accomplish it in. Won’t you please leave this with me? I will make sure you have the most spectacular party you could ever possibly imagine.”

With silence restored to the room, the council of Funnel Cakes exchanged not so subtle glances. Then the pony at the center once again batted the table with their hoof three times and declared, “The council is in agreement. We will hire the royal family as our party planner. But you’d better not disappoint,” he added, “or we shall have to declare you official nemeses.”

“You won’t be disappointed,” Silverbell soothed as she shouldered both Crescent and her brother toward the makeshift door.

Crescent had the presence of mind to shrug back into his cloak by the time they stepped beyond the cordoned off space. But that didn’t prevent him from catching the dark looks the princess shot in his direction.

“It’s a stopgap,” she muttered. “It creates a ton of problems for later-“

“Problems you’ll adeptly fix once you’re no longer in a crisis, dear,” Crescent soothed. “I saw how you worked that room. You can put on whatever party is easiest for them and they’ll adore you forever.”

“Maybe,” Silverbell relented, clearly pleased with his praise. “But we’re not out of the woods yet.”

“We still have to convince Peter to participate,” Valerian agreed. “They’re going to expect it even more now. And Peter is… Well, let’s just say he can be set in his ways.”

The emphasis the prince put on the words screamed stubborn, but Crescent wasn’t worried. In fact, he grinned.

“Don’t worry,” he soothed. “Domerin is already on his way over there. And I have yet to meet a wall that didn’t eventually crumble in the face of his determination.”

There was no out-stubborning that man, after all. It was one of the things Crescent adored about him.

*   *   *

Domerin found it increasingly difficult not to mutter under his breath as he followed the crown prince through the back allies of Aruvalia’s capital city to the home of the man they evidently needed to persuade to celebrate the official anniversary of the Funnel Cakes. He had barely slept off the exhaustion of the strike against Silvergarden in his time, and he had not expected to be dealing with childish pranks in order to restore the city to itself.

Even the sight of Silvergarden whole and undamaged did nothing to assuage his anxieties because there had obviously been enough time between the two events to simply rebuild. There was no evidence here that his mission would be successful outside of some form of long-term recovery, and he wasn’t even sure he could trust what he was experiencing.

This could be a different future entirely from the one that awaited him if he didn’t figure out how to move backwards instead of forwards through the time stream. And all of this was so far beyond his bailiwick, it was hard to stay focused on the present moment.

“So you see,” the prince concluded, jolting Domerin back to the moment and proving his point in one fell swoop, “they’re more of a club than a gang. And they actually do a lot of community events, that’s why we all kind of put up with the rest. But they can get a little carried away sometimes.”

“A little,” Domerin murmured, mostly so he wouldn’t say something far less kind.

He had spent the entire confrontation back at the Funnel Cake ‘headquarters’ barely choking back a rebuke about the dire nature of the affairs that brought him here. Announcing that he was a time traveler to such a large audience and trying to make clear that Aruvalia’s fate was in a delicate state of flux would only generate a great deal of panic, causing far more problems than it would solve.

Still, he wished he could shake these children and make them see the risks posed by their foolish antics. Part of him believed that would make his problems evaporate – and he wanted nothing more than an easy answer at the moment.

But easy answers rarely presented themselves on the battlefield. And this was a form of battlefield, even if it didn’t look like any he’d ever had to traverse before. So he held his tongue as he and the prince mounted a small set of stairs outside a cozy home tucked between two larger buildings nestled just beyond Silvergarden’s central district. He forced his legs and tail to remain still while he waited for the door to open, and he just barely resisted the urge to repeat the knock louder and more forcefully.

He felt as if he was about to explode when the door finally slid open a crack and a small face bearing a pair of bright purple eyes appeared in the opening.

This could not possibly be Peter. The size of the pony was far too small to match the meager descriptions that had been offered since Domerin’s arrival in the midst of this chaos. Yet he had no idea who else could possibly greet them.

“Rainbow Heart?” Dormal exclaimed, evidently familiar with the pony that waited beyond the door. “Is that you?”

Whether or not the prince’s surprise was genuine, it evidently delighted the young pony. She threw open the door and stepped into the threshold to flash the crown prince the brightest smile Domerin had ever seen.

“Of course it’s me!” Rainbow Heart declared. “Who else would it be? It’s game day, isn’t it?”

Now that Domerin could see the young pony without the door in the way, he couldn’t help but smile. Her mane and tail were a bright shade of sky blue that reminded him of a sunny, cloudless sky, but each was streaked with a bright lock of white that matched the fur covering her body. Her hooves were tipped lightly with a hint of ice blue – and a brightly colored rainbow heart adorned her flank.

Based on her age, Domerin guessed her cutie mark was fairly new. In fact, the way she parked in the doorway so that she stood mostly in profile made him think she hadn’t yet grown tired of showing it off. So when her eyes strayed in his direction, perhaps trying to determine whose face was concealed by the shadows of his cloak hood, he offered her a quick smile and said, “That’s a very lovely cutie mark you have.”

It was a good guess; the young pony beamed and wriggled her flank as if to make the heart dance. “I’m sure every pony thinks their cutie mark is the best, but I really like mine,” she declared and lifted her chin.

“I like it too,” Domerin replied. Despite his poor mood, he found the young pony’s joy more than a little infectious. “It’s a clear sign of the love you share with your community.”

Domerin got the impression from Rainbow Heart’s reaction to his statement, he had just paid her the highest possible compliment. Her eyes shone with inner light, and it looked for a moment like she was drifting on distant clouds. She even fluttered her white-feathered wings to express her delight.

Then Dormal cleared his throat gently and said, “We really do need to speak to Peter if he’s around Rainbow Heart. We don’t mean to interrupt the games, but this is urgent.”

Rainbow Heart snorted as if she was trying to think of an excuse to send them away. But then she sighed and said, “He’s in the living room. I left him with Rupert.” And she stepped out of the doorway to grant them access to the house.

Domerin had thousands of questions he didn’t dare ask. Who was this girl that the crown prince was so familiar with her? And how, for that matter, had the royal children gotten involved with a gang of would-be street thugs and pranksters? What was his future self doing if that was the kind of crowd he allowed to interact with the royal children on a regular basis?

What were the hidden aspects of this situation? There must be things he couldn’t see, couldn’t possibly know without breaking the potential to create this future. But without those details, he simply had to assume that he had gotten lax in his older age.

Maybe that was the best argument for not knowing the future. Maybe believing the future would sort itself out had caused him to ignore the most pertinent details about brewing trouble.

He would have to correct that when he came back through this timeline the slow way.

For now, he held his tongue as they followed the young Rainbow Heart through a cozy dining room and into a brightly lit living room. A small hearth set into one wall contained a small fire that, at a singular glance, proved to be fake. Bookshelves lined two of the walls and a small TV was set into the third. Domerin noted that a large old-fashioned radio had been given a place of prominence on one of the bookshelves. But when he saw the wrinkles that adorned the pony seated on the armchair in the center of the room, it made perfect sense.

The pony that must be Peter could only be considered venerable. His cream-colored coat was both lined and weathered with the mark of his years, and a pair of thick glasses sat on his nose to allow him to see the game board in front of him.

Still, despite his obvious longevity, his hoof did not shake as he inched a game piece across the board and tapped the side of the table expectantly.

The pony sitting across from him quickly counted out a number of game tokens and shuffled them across the table.

“Rupert?” Dormal called as they entered the room, and Domerin fixed his eyes on the elusive pony they had traversed the city to find.

Odd was the first word that came to mind. Domerin instantly felt guilty for labeling anyone he had just met that way – but he couldn’t shake the description once it settled within his brain.

Rupert’s coat was primarily a dark shade of crimson, but his head and shoulders were as white as Rainbow Heart’s fur. His mane was short-cropped and green, as was his tail. But his eyes were the oddest thing of all – Domerin couldn’t stop staring at them.

They seemed empty, completely devoid of anything remotely resembling life.

“Ah, Prince Dormal,” Rupert exclaimed, and their lips did not move when they spoke. Their voice seemed to issue from a speaker set somewhere near the base of their head – it even flickered slightly as if to indicate radio static.

An odd red light flickered through Rupert’s eyes as the words issued from the throat speaker, and Domerin blinked rapidly several times to make certain he wasn’t seeing things.

“This is what we need to fix our… little problem?” he exclaimed, catching himself only at the end of the surprised exclamation so that he barely avoided revealing his secret.

The royal children had brought them into the center of town to retrieve a robot?

“This is Rupert,” Dormal agreed with a warm smile that suggested he found nothing at all about this situation remotely odd. “And Rupert, this is the person we told you about. The one that was going to need your assistance with an important task?”

The prince tilted his head and spoke in a tone that suggested he had repeated these words many times.

The odd light flickered in Rupert’s eyes before he pawed the carpeted floor lightly. “My apologies, Prince Dormal,” the mechanical voice flowed again from the speaker – though it in no way sounded remotely contrite. “When the Funnel Cakes asked me to visit with Mister Greenwood, I neglected to check the afternoon’s schedule. I did not expect to be so long, but that is no excuse for missing a pre-designated meeting.”

“I’m sorry,” Domerin interrupted, still not quite able to get past the fact that an artificial creation was conversing with him. “I don’t mean to be rude but… Rupert is a robot?” He hoped his voice silently demanded to know why the prince had neglected to mention that.

“I am an artificial pony,” Rupert agreed, and his voice gave no indication it was possible for him to be offended by the distinction. “I was designed to mimic the behavior of organic ponies, though I admit that I have been, as yet, unable to master the intricacies of emotions which I am incapable of experiencing.”

“Rupert is special,” Dormal murmured in an undertone. “I can’t tell you much about his creation, but he’s capable of performing hundreds if not thousands of calculations in seconds. He’s the only one who can make the minute adjustments you need in order to complete your mission.”

“And the queen didn’t know?” Domerin murmured, keeping his voice low.

“That she would need the assistance? Not when you departed,” Dormal agreed. Then he took a half-step forward to indicate that the conversation would have to end there for now and grinned down at the older pony. “How are you doing today, my fine friend? Have you won many games?”

“All of them,” the older pony declared, then rasped a chuckle through his aged throat.

“No!” Rainbow Heart protested and fixed the older pony with a glare. “I won the second game because you cheated.”

“I never cheat,” the older pony sniffed, but the slight grin that quirked his lips upward suggested otherwise.

“You got Rupert to switch the pieces when you thought I wasn’t looking,” Rainbow Heart insisted.

Domerin cleared his throat to interrupt the argument.

“Oh…” the older pony murmured, evidently just realizing there was a newcomer to the gathering. “Hello there. My name is Greeter Peenwood.”

“That’s Peter Greenwood,” Dormal corrected with an exasperated look in Domerin’s direction.

The chuckle that issued from the older pony’s throat suggested that the mistake had probably been intentional. “What can I do for you this fine day?” Peter added and folded his hooves expectantly on the table in front of him.

“I’m afraid we’ve come to fetch Rupert back to the palace,” Dormal admitted, which earned more of a pout from Rainbow Heart than it garnered any reaction from Peter himself.

“Go on then,” the older pony grumbled. “I’ve not been keeping him here. I’ve already said no to this ridiculous Funnel Cake shindig numerous times. I shan’t be saying yes if asked another time.”

Domerin arched an eyebrow within the shadows of his hood. If this old pony didn’t want anything to do with this anniversary party, why were they dancing on glass to achieve their stated goal.

What was really going on here?

“Come now,” Dormal tutted and clicked his tongue. “You have to be there, Peter. You practically invented the Funnel Cakes all on your own.”

“That’s right, I did!” the older pony grumbled. “And look what they’ve become now! Why, they’re just silly little pranksters. Back in my day, we got up to the real shit. We were truly wild. I want nothing to do with this lukewarm version of the Funnel Cakes.”

Domerin couldn’t help wondering how much of this speech was just hot air, but he knew better than to question his elders. Especially such a venerable earth pony as this one. He turned instead to Rupert.

“Did the Funnel Cakes ask you to stay until you could convince Peter to change his mind?” he asked.

“Why, yes,” Rupert admitted. “He promised he would attend the party if I could beat him at a game. But thus far, I have been unsuccessful.”

“Because you don’t say no when he asks you to cheat,” Rainbow Heart insisted with another intense pout.

“I am programmed to do what is asked of me,” Rupert admitted, and Domerin at last understood the problem.

The artificial pony couldn’t distinguish between who it should listen to and what commands it should disobey. But he hardly had time to solve that problem today. He’d have to opt for solving a simpler one.

He cleared his throat. “It’s a bit of a shame,” he mused without directing the words at any of the ponies in the room. “I’ve heard that this year’s anniversary party is going to be a big one. The other half of the royal family is over there right now contributing to the efforts. If someone wanted to prove they were a real prankster, I suppose they would try to crash the hell out of that party.”

“What’s that?” Peter demanded. “My ears are old and don’t hear as well as they used to.”

“He said this is a party worth crashing, Mister Greenwood,” Rainbow Heart replied at twice the volume and with a grin adorning her face.

“Hmm…” the older pony mused as he tilted his head to one side, causing his glasses to fall askew. “This bears further consideration.”

Domerin motioned to the prince and sidled toward the door. Dormal evidently took his meaning because he nodded once then wrapped a leg around Rupert’s neck as he attempted to turn him in the same direction.

“Since it seems the Funnel Cake’s plans are in flux, we should return to the palace,” the prince suggested in an undertone. “That’s the best way to figure out how to fit all of these activities into your schedule.”

Domerin’s hope was that by the time they returned to the palace, the Funnel Cakes would be distracted enough that he, Rupert and Crescent could slip back into the past without having to deal with the rest, but he had enough presence of mind not to bolt for it the second Dormal talked Rupert through the door.

They had almost reached the main road when a second group of figures darted from the shadows to rejoin their circle.

“I think we’ve handled the Funnel Cakes,” Crescent declared breathlessly.

“Oh?” Dormal replied and arched an eyebrow. “How’d you manage that?”

“He suggested fireworks,” Silverbell muttered, clearly less than pleased.

But Domerin grinned. “Why, that’s perfect,” he declared. “We suggested to Peter that he party crash. Fireworks will give him a grand opportunity.”

For a moment, the three royal children stared at each other, then they quickly dissolved into laughter.

“I am afraid I do not understand,” Rupert admitted as he glanced between all three of the heaving figures.

Dormal snapped out of it enough to wipe tears from the corner of one eye and pat Rupert on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, friend,” he reassured. “For now, we’d better get back to the palace before we get sidetracked again.”

“I’ll second that,” Domerin agreed as they melted back into the shadows and adopted a canter.