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Organised by
RogerDodger
Word limit
400–750
Method Acting
With the evening sun gleaming off her plumage, the phoenix soars over her territory. Almost time to roost for the night, so she lands on a lower branch of an isolated stand of trees. She chose this place carefully.
This group of oaks has died, and they stand far enough from the forest that if she accidentally burns them down, the fire won’t spread. Not that it would harm her.
The lower branches. Most phoenixes want to perch up high, out of reach, with a clear view of anything approaching. But she likes the low branches, where she can watch the ponies.
Empty dirt fields extend far in every direction. At least she assumed that originally, but those rocks poking up everywhere aren’t in the way, like most farms. These ponies want them there.
The two gray ones noticed her here a week ago. She heard them talking and flew down to listen. They had some rocks shoved together, and while they weren’t looking, she tried what she always did when confronted with something new: burn it.
Except the rocks didn’t burn. They glowed red and softened, then some silvery and golden bits dripped out on the ground. The ponies yelled at her, so she hopped back up to the treetop, where phoenixes should perch. She didn’t mean—but she couldn’t say “sorry” with a beak.
So she waits, on her dead trees. If a male phoenix happens by, she can set the whole thing ablaze to catch his attention, maybe raise a nest of chicks. It won’t hurt the ponies, and then they’ll be rid of her.
But… down below, in the dusk. The gray ponies smile up at her, then they spread out some straw and old paper. “Chirr?” she asks, but they don’t answer, just smile. One of them prods the wad of debris forward before they back off.
The phoenix watches. She spreads her wings to retreat up the tree, like last time, but they don’t move. They keep smiling. After a few minutes, she drops down one branch, then another. Still, they smile.
She blinks at the dry fuel, then ignites her feathers and sets the little pile smoldering. A thin wisp of smoke and glowing ash rises to her, and she breathes it in. It tastes good. But she flutters back up a branch.
What? They… push a crucible of rocks toward her. They got mad last time, but… they’re smiling. “It’s okay,” they say. So she starts up her flame again, and the silver and gold bits run out of the rocks together, collecting in the bottom of the bowl. They don’t yell at her.
The phoenix stretches out her wings to soak up the morning sun, and like the last three days, the two gray ponies come out and gaze up at her. They don’t have any rocks today. Instead… another pony. A pink one.
“There,” they say to the newcomer as they point, “that’s the one.”
“Awk?” the phoenix asks, but they don’t answer. They smile as usual, but the pink one doesn’t.
“Can you please come down?” she says. No. Phoenixes don’t like the ground. Dirt can smother flames.
The pink one points at her, too, and yet another pony arrives, this one light blue, and… flying!
The phoenix retreats into the thicker branches—they can’t reach her here, and she won’t have to hurt them! She doesn’t want to hurt… Rainbow? Is that her name? H-how does she know that? How does she know?
Rainbow keeps her distance. Good. She doesn’t want to hurt Rainbow. The pony doesn’t smile, though—she frowns like the pink one, and her ears droop.
“Please,” Rainbow says. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kept bugging you.”
Rainbow says another word, and the phoenix tries to repeat it. “Cwi?” She can’t pronounce it with a beak.
“I won’t ever ask you to let me try being a griffon again. I understand why it’s dangerous now. But you didn’t have to risk showing me, not like this. Please.” Some water leaks from her eyes, and that doesn’t make sense! Is she attacking…?
For the first time she can remember, the phoenix feels cold, and not from the water. Her body shakes, and she huddles against the trunk. The sight of that pony… One word steals her mind, one word that she must say, but why? She squeezes her eyes shut and speaks it for all to hear, as best she can: “Revert.”
And a purple glow surrounds her.
This group of oaks has died, and they stand far enough from the forest that if she accidentally burns them down, the fire won’t spread. Not that it would harm her.
The lower branches. Most phoenixes want to perch up high, out of reach, with a clear view of anything approaching. But she likes the low branches, where she can watch the ponies.
Empty dirt fields extend far in every direction. At least she assumed that originally, but those rocks poking up everywhere aren’t in the way, like most farms. These ponies want them there.
The two gray ones noticed her here a week ago. She heard them talking and flew down to listen. They had some rocks shoved together, and while they weren’t looking, she tried what she always did when confronted with something new: burn it.
Except the rocks didn’t burn. They glowed red and softened, then some silvery and golden bits dripped out on the ground. The ponies yelled at her, so she hopped back up to the treetop, where phoenixes should perch. She didn’t mean—but she couldn’t say “sorry” with a beak.
So she waits, on her dead trees. If a male phoenix happens by, she can set the whole thing ablaze to catch his attention, maybe raise a nest of chicks. It won’t hurt the ponies, and then they’ll be rid of her.
But… down below, in the dusk. The gray ponies smile up at her, then they spread out some straw and old paper. “Chirr?” she asks, but they don’t answer, just smile. One of them prods the wad of debris forward before they back off.
The phoenix watches. She spreads her wings to retreat up the tree, like last time, but they don’t move. They keep smiling. After a few minutes, she drops down one branch, then another. Still, they smile.
She blinks at the dry fuel, then ignites her feathers and sets the little pile smoldering. A thin wisp of smoke and glowing ash rises to her, and she breathes it in. It tastes good. But she flutters back up a branch.
What? They… push a crucible of rocks toward her. They got mad last time, but… they’re smiling. “It’s okay,” they say. So she starts up her flame again, and the silver and gold bits run out of the rocks together, collecting in the bottom of the bowl. They don’t yell at her.
The phoenix stretches out her wings to soak up the morning sun, and like the last three days, the two gray ponies come out and gaze up at her. They don’t have any rocks today. Instead… another pony. A pink one.
“There,” they say to the newcomer as they point, “that’s the one.”
“Awk?” the phoenix asks, but they don’t answer. They smile as usual, but the pink one doesn’t.
“Can you please come down?” she says. No. Phoenixes don’t like the ground. Dirt can smother flames.
The pink one points at her, too, and yet another pony arrives, this one light blue, and… flying!
The phoenix retreats into the thicker branches—they can’t reach her here, and she won’t have to hurt them! She doesn’t want to hurt… Rainbow? Is that her name? H-how does she know that? How does she know?
Rainbow keeps her distance. Good. She doesn’t want to hurt Rainbow. The pony doesn’t smile, though—she frowns like the pink one, and her ears droop.
“Please,” Rainbow says. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kept bugging you.”
Rainbow says another word, and the phoenix tries to repeat it. “Cwi?” She can’t pronounce it with a beak.
“I won’t ever ask you to let me try being a griffon again. I understand why it’s dangerous now. But you didn’t have to risk showing me, not like this. Please.” Some water leaks from her eyes, and that doesn’t make sense! Is she attacking…?
For the first time she can remember, the phoenix feels cold, and not from the water. Her body shakes, and she huddles against the trunk. The sight of that pony… One word steals her mind, one word that she must say, but why? She squeezes her eyes shut and speaks it for all to hear, as best she can: “Revert.”
And a purple glow surrounds her.