Taking the Pledge

Once again, for folks who wanna get caught up, the previous installments in this series are 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, and 22. This, then is #23, and as usual, it's inspired by this week's Thursday Prompt over at Poetigress's place. This time, the phrase was "the bottle."

     "We need a controlling metaphor," Traveler said, and El 

Brujo's groan wasn't the only one I heard.

     We'd managed--or I guess I should say I'd managed--

to get out the front gate, down the ramp, and onto the street 

without my brain trying any more tricks to kill me, and then it 

was a quick slide down the hill to the Ramsays' place, the 

afternoon full of blue skies and fleecy clouds.  The Ramsays 

weren't home, of course: for all the years I'd been rolling 

around the neighborhood, I'd only ever seen them there about one 

day a month.

     Just as well, though.  Whenever they are home, 

Traveler feels he has to snarl and bark at everyone going by, 

and I know he wouldn't've let me undo the gate latch with a 

cautious look 'round and wheel myself, El Brujo and Serena into 

their yard if we hadn't been alone.  "Jefe and Honoria are 

already here," the doberman had said.

     Which had made Brujo blink.  "Honoria?"

     The crow herself had hopped around from the back of the 

garage, then, her larger brother behind her.  "Yes," she'd said,  

"What, you think I'm gonna stand by and let you tontos foul this 

whole thing up??"

Flashback

Our table of contents these days is as follows: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, and 21. This one, then, is the 22nd of our visits to the Neighborhood inspired by the Thursday Prompt over at Poetigress's place, slightly delayed due to Comic-Con. It's from July 21st, and the word was "broken."

     Rolling out of the house that afternoon, I felt like the 

villain in a spy movie, El Brujo draped across my lap looking as 

innocent as only a fluffy black cat can--not very, in other 

words--and Serena quivering against my chest, her claws little 

pinpricks through the thin material of my shirt.

     A line from some TV show popped into my head--"Where I come 

from, they hang a man for sheet stealing!  Or was that sheep?"--

and I flashed back to the absolute last place I wanted to be: 

the Newport Coast house as a seven-year-old, Mom and Dad and 

Lizzie and--

     The reaction froze me solid as usual, my hands locking onto 

the wheelchair rims, my fingers crooking into things more like 

claws.  I couldn't breathe, of course, or rather, I could 

breathe, but my lungs scraped the inside of my chest like rough-

cut balls of splintery wood, tiny jabs of pain slicing up and 

down me as fine as razor blades.

Change of Venue

So! After 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, and 20 comes #21, based on Poetigress's last Thursday Prompt, the words "the room."

     "So," El Brujo continued, "our second goal--"

     But I interrupted her.  "Sorry, Bru, but we can't--"

     "Can't??"  Jefe slapped a wing against my pillow case.  

"That's a word we don't use, 'Mano!"

     I rolled my eyes at him.  "Fine.  But--"

     "No 'buts,'" Honoria said.  She'd settled onto the sleeping 

bag at the end of the bed beside El Brujo, their respective 

feathers and fur sleek and black against the dark green.  "You 

gotta think positive you wanna get this lady!"

     "I know.  I just--"

     "No!"  Seena leaped from the bedpost to land in my lap, her 

little claws digging into my shirt front, her tail frizzing up 

behind her head, her beady black eyes fixed on mine.  "We will 

not allow any unhappy thoughts to cloud your brain, Mr. Augie!  

We will see you through to happiness no matter what forces 

attempt to prevent it!"

Competitive Nature

The first bunch of these, inspired by the Thursday Prompt over at Poetigress's place, are as follows: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18 and 19. Then comes #20, taken from the word "race."

     "Our first goal," El Brujo said, "is not to panic."  

     She'd settled herself once more all smooth and unruffled on 

the foot of the bed, her paws and tail tucked underneath her, 

the very image of feline contentment.  If you didn't know her, I 

mean: the slight tremor that kept twitching her whiskers told me 

quite clearly that she wasn't entirely comfortable with the 

squirrel perched on the bedpost.

     Serena's tail was twitching, too, but then it always does 

that.  And the butterflies in my stomach were so quickly 

evolving into hornets, I couldn't help but sputter a laugh.  

"Don't see that happening, Bru," I told her.

Allow Me to Introduce Myself

I've decided to give up this whole anonymity thing. I dunno why: just 'cause it felt weird, I guess, writing these things over here without ever acknowledging the other stuff that I do. So I'm Michael H. Payne, and my Hey, Your Nose is on Fire LiveJournal account will have most everything else you might want to know about me.

I think I'll keep this here, though, for the Neighborhood stuff and any more Pony stories I might put together. Mostly so I don't hafta copy and paste everything here to another site. I'm just lazy that way... :)

Mike

Grudging Acquiescence

First, you've got 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17 and 18, and then comes the nineteenth installment in the continuing story I'm fashioning around the Thurday Prompts from Poetigress. This one was the word "homemade."

     "And wasn't that cute?" I heard El Brujo say, 

startling me so violently, I nearly tipped my chair over 

backwards.  

     She was giving me her half-lidded look from the end of the 

bed.  I'd rolled right in, off-loaded Serena, sent her scampering 

out the window, and had apparently been so shaken up from running 

into Eric out in the hall that I hadn't even noticed the big black 

cat plopped like a meatloaf on the unzipped dark green sleeping 

bag I use as a bedspread.

     Her tail swayed gently behind her, scritch-scratching over 

the sleeping bag's surface.  "Are we becoming a home for wayward 

appetizers now, August??"

A Change of Plans

Now that I've got the Pony novel done, I've got a few Thursday Prompts from Poetigress to catch up on. This one, from June 23rd, was "caught," and it makes the 18th trip into the neighborhood. The previous 17 can be found under their respective numbers: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16 and 17.

     "Serena!" I hissed, rolling out of the elevator into the back 

part of the house and hoping the other residents were down having 

their sessions with the PTs.  'Cause, sure, regular human ears 

can't hear it when I talk animal talk, but I was pretty sure even 

a human eye couldn't miss the random moving bulge of the squirrel 

squirming around inside my jacket.  "Hold still!"

     "But the excitement, Mr. Augie!" she squeaked.  "The lovely 

smells of lovely food, the lovely coolness here inside after the 

sticky heat outside, the very texture of the air!  It is more than 

magical to think I'll be living in such conditions from now on!"

Half the Day is Night, Epilogue

Prologue ; Chapter 1 ; Chapter 2 ; Chapter 3 ; Chapter 4 ; Chapter 5

Chapter 6 ; Chapter 7 ; Chapter 8 ; Chapter 9 ; Chapter 10

Chapter 11 ; Chapter 12 ; Chapter 13 ; Chapter 14 ; Chapter 15

     "You see?" Luna asked, her gossamer diagram spinning above 

the center of her room, the spark in her voice making Celestia 

smile.  "It'll be just like what we were doing before except now 

we'd announce the dawn and dusk there in the center of the 

courtyard where as many ponies as possible can see it instead of 

each of us going back to her throne to make it happen."  She 

grinned with an eagerness Celestia hadn't seen in her for a 

long, long time.  "Whaddaya think, Sunny?"

     Celestia cocked her head.  "I think my vacation did you 

more good than it did me."

     Luna laughed.  "I think you're right."  Her smile faded.  

"It's just...we owe them so much, all those ponies, and we 

can't...I mean, they can't...they don't--"  All her previous 

good humor disappeared, and Celestia's shoulders tightened.  

Could it finally be time?

Half the Day is Night, Chapter 15

Prologue ; Chapter 1 ; Chapter 2 ; Chapter 3 ; Chapter 4 ; Chapter 5

Chapter 6 ; Chapter 7 ; Chapter 8 ; Chapter 9 ; Chapter 10

Chapter 11 ; Chapter 12 ; Chapter 13 ; Chapter 14

     Completing her third circuit of the throne room without 

seeing Ory, Rarity felt a touch of panic.  After the awful and 

disturbing spectacle of Night Guard troops leading the weeping 

Lady Stargazer into custody, if Ory had vanished as well--

     Of course, she couldn't show how distraught she was, not 

with a fair percentage of Canterlot's elite buzzing around the 

refreshment tables like bees ready to strike.  She had to smile 

sadly, shake her head, and project a confidence she didn't quite 

feel: "Yes, it's just so dreadful!  When Minister Applejack 

presented Princess Luna and the rest of us with the evidence 

against Lady Stargazer this afternoon, well!  I could hardly 

believe my ears!  It will all be read tomorrow morning in open 

court, of course, but oh!  Such a shock!"

     Exhausted upon leaving one particularly unhappy group of 

unicorns in evening dress, she was on the verge of tears when 

Applejack sidled up to her and whispered, "Yer smoothing more 

ruffled manes tonight, sugar cube, than the rest of us put 

together, but I can see it's getting to you.  So you turn on in 

any time you need to." 

Half the Day is Night, Chapter 14

Prologue ; Chapter 1 ; Chapter 2 ; Chapter 3 ; Chapter 4 ; Chapter 5

Chapter 6 ; Chapter 7 ; Chapter 8 ; Chapter 9 ; Chapter 10

Chapter 11 ; Chapter 12 ; Chapter 13

     Shuffling a deck of cards always took most of Pinkie's 

concentration, but it was still one of her favorite things to 

do.  She'd loved it, in fact, ever since her Uncle Abernathy had 

taught her how to do it after her cutie mark had appeared and 

the family farm had started getting more famous for its parties 

than for its rocks.

     Of course, Pinkie had known even as a twinkie Pinkie that 

none of the ponies who'd come to live at the farm after her 

parents had started smiling and helping out with the parties 

were really related to her, but she'd loved them all so much, 

not a one had ever objected when she started calling them aunt 

and uncle and gramma and grampa and cousin.  

     She could still see Uncle Abernathy with his gap-toothed 

grin and his plaid vest flinging cards around with hoofs and 

teeth in ways she was sure even Twilight couldn't match.  And 

all the time he'd spent with her at that big table in the barn 

where he and the other uncles would play cards all night, 

whooping and laughing and drinking her dad's root beer!  Pinkie 

had practiced and practiced and practiced like nothing else 

she'd ever worked on before, and after a few months, she could 

shuffle cards and deal them out as easily as any of her unicorn 

uncles could.

Half the Day is Night, Chapter 13

Prologue ; Chapter 1 ; Chapter 2 ; Chapter 3 ; Chapter 4 ; Chapter 5

Chapter 6 ; Chapter 7 ; Chapter 8 ; Chapter 9 ; Chapter 10

Chapter 11 ; Chapter 12

     "Anything for the princess," Lace Brocade was saying, the 

ruffles around the edges of her black frock coat just exactly 

the right shade of ecru to contrast with the bright red of her 

hair and hide.  "And your designs!"  She kissed her right front 

hoof and waved it at the ceiling.  "An absolute pleasure to work 

from!  If you have any further need of the House of Brocade, 

don't hesitate to call!"

     It took every ounce of Rarity's self-control not to fall at 

the fashionista's hoofs and start kissing them.  Lace Brocade!  

Praising her designs!

     But instead Rarity took a breath and said, "This has been 

the single most fulfilling experience of my professional life so 

far, Ms. Brocade!  I can't thank you enough for--"

     "Oh, now, really, Rarity!"  The slender unicorn gave her a 

smile.  "Certainly you'll be calling me Lace from now on."