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Organised by
RogerDodger
Word limit
400–750
Peachy Pie and Misty Moon Keep the Realm Safe Until Dinnertime
“We can’t go in the basement,” Misty Moon said, “’cause that’s where the monsters are.”
She said it quite assuredly and with a little flick of a nod. For children rarely have doubts about such things, and they need not dally on maybes and what-ifs. So Peachy Pie did not ask about the door again, at least not yet. Of course, the quickest way to make sure a child remembers something is to tell her to forget it.
With a shrug, Peachy Pie bump-stumbled her way across the floor, tripping and slipping on the train of her long princess gown. It was, naturally, a very impressive garment, as befit the generous ruler of her realm. But with a sparkle-glint to her eye, she did note that even good princesses required a dungeon. Perhaps she would broach the subject again later.
Misty Moon, her most trusted advisor, led her back to the playroom. They had acquired enough sustenance in the form of applesauce and carrot sticks to tide them over until a proper feast could be arranged, after all, and the pretty prancing procession proceeded back to their base of operations. They still needed to plot their campaign against the marauding diamond dogs.
“What shall we do about the invaders?” Peachy said, removing the dress and, unfortunately, the wings with it. Her conical cap hid the fact that she also lacked a horn, but off it went, as she needed to don her most resplendent battle armor, crafted from the finest cardboard.
Misty had little more than old towels to build her own suit of armor. Her guest got to use the choice equipment; if decorum did not prevail while playing princesses, then when would it? So with threadbare breastplate and frayed bracers, she appeared quite the terrible tatterdemalion. No matter. Prowess on the battlefield had the last word, so she clambered and climbed over their pillow bulwarks strewn with blankets. Everypony knew that blankets protected one from monsters. When pulled up over the head, they formed an infinitely impenetrable barrier. What better material for a fortress?
Peachy Pie had agreed that if she got the better armor, Misty surely deserved the better weapon. “I say we charge ’em head-on!” Misty declared, brandishing her broom-lance. “Take no prisoners!”
“If we have no prisoners, how are we going to make them confess?” Peachy asked in her haughtiest tone. A princess out of her regalia was still a princess.
“You’re on about that dungeon thing again?” Misty said with a sigh.
“Fine,” Peachy said with a hunch of her shoulders. She leapt over the moat with her lopsided ladle-mace, and once more unto the breach, dear friends. They could both hear the clash of metal blade against metal blade in the distance. Or perhaps it was merely Misty’s mother mixing up something in the kitchen.
Whatever the source, they threw the whole kit and kaboodle of their armory against the diamond dogs and efficiently dispatched the dastardly degenerates, save one. Misty heaved a great sigh and shook her head. “Please tell me you didn’t.”
Peachy had known Misty for several months, and they’d played together frequently. They’d been to every room in the house except the basement. And Misty always gave the same excuse: “There’s monsters down there.” She never sounded worried about it, so how bad could they be? She’d only stomp her hoof and roll her eyes the same way Peachy’s mother would when repeatedly asked for some candy, annoyed at being pestered.
“What’s so secret about the basement?” Peachy said.
“Nothing,” Misty uttered with a great deal of breath and slouching; Peachy could imagine clouds of fog streaming out with it. “Fine. We’ll intergate your prisoner.”
“Interrogate,” Peachy corrected.
Misty only folded her forehooves. “You won’t even take a blanket?” she asked. Peachy shook her head, like a resolute ruler should.
So Peachy Pie flung open the door, flicked on the light, and flounced down the staircase, bumble-trundling about in her unwieldy armor to the bottom.
“Ooh, there’s some cool stuff down here!” she said.
Misty appeared at her side. She didn’t see what was so interesting. Neither did the monsters.
“Misty!” her mother called. “Peachy’s mother came by looking for her. Has she gone home yet?”
“No,” Misty answered with a sheepish hang of her head, her fangs only now fading away.
Her mother scowled at her. “You didn’t even save me any, did you? And now we’ll have to move again.”
Curiously, children are right about blankets.
She said it quite assuredly and with a little flick of a nod. For children rarely have doubts about such things, and they need not dally on maybes and what-ifs. So Peachy Pie did not ask about the door again, at least not yet. Of course, the quickest way to make sure a child remembers something is to tell her to forget it.
With a shrug, Peachy Pie bump-stumbled her way across the floor, tripping and slipping on the train of her long princess gown. It was, naturally, a very impressive garment, as befit the generous ruler of her realm. But with a sparkle-glint to her eye, she did note that even good princesses required a dungeon. Perhaps she would broach the subject again later.
Misty Moon, her most trusted advisor, led her back to the playroom. They had acquired enough sustenance in the form of applesauce and carrot sticks to tide them over until a proper feast could be arranged, after all, and the pretty prancing procession proceeded back to their base of operations. They still needed to plot their campaign against the marauding diamond dogs.
“What shall we do about the invaders?” Peachy said, removing the dress and, unfortunately, the wings with it. Her conical cap hid the fact that she also lacked a horn, but off it went, as she needed to don her most resplendent battle armor, crafted from the finest cardboard.
Misty had little more than old towels to build her own suit of armor. Her guest got to use the choice equipment; if decorum did not prevail while playing princesses, then when would it? So with threadbare breastplate and frayed bracers, she appeared quite the terrible tatterdemalion. No matter. Prowess on the battlefield had the last word, so she clambered and climbed over their pillow bulwarks strewn with blankets. Everypony knew that blankets protected one from monsters. When pulled up over the head, they formed an infinitely impenetrable barrier. What better material for a fortress?
Peachy Pie had agreed that if she got the better armor, Misty surely deserved the better weapon. “I say we charge ’em head-on!” Misty declared, brandishing her broom-lance. “Take no prisoners!”
“If we have no prisoners, how are we going to make them confess?” Peachy asked in her haughtiest tone. A princess out of her regalia was still a princess.
“You’re on about that dungeon thing again?” Misty said with a sigh.
“Fine,” Peachy said with a hunch of her shoulders. She leapt over the moat with her lopsided ladle-mace, and once more unto the breach, dear friends. They could both hear the clash of metal blade against metal blade in the distance. Or perhaps it was merely Misty’s mother mixing up something in the kitchen.
Whatever the source, they threw the whole kit and kaboodle of their armory against the diamond dogs and efficiently dispatched the dastardly degenerates, save one. Misty heaved a great sigh and shook her head. “Please tell me you didn’t.”
Peachy had known Misty for several months, and they’d played together frequently. They’d been to every room in the house except the basement. And Misty always gave the same excuse: “There’s monsters down there.” She never sounded worried about it, so how bad could they be? She’d only stomp her hoof and roll her eyes the same way Peachy’s mother would when repeatedly asked for some candy, annoyed at being pestered.
“What’s so secret about the basement?” Peachy said.
“Nothing,” Misty uttered with a great deal of breath and slouching; Peachy could imagine clouds of fog streaming out with it. “Fine. We’ll intergate your prisoner.”
“Interrogate,” Peachy corrected.
Misty only folded her forehooves. “You won’t even take a blanket?” she asked. Peachy shook her head, like a resolute ruler should.
So Peachy Pie flung open the door, flicked on the light, and flounced down the staircase, bumble-trundling about in her unwieldy armor to the bottom.
“Ooh, there’s some cool stuff down here!” she said.
Misty appeared at her side. She didn’t see what was so interesting. Neither did the monsters.
“Misty!” her mother called. “Peachy’s mother came by looking for her. Has she gone home yet?”
“No,” Misty answered with a sheepish hang of her head, her fangs only now fading away.
Her mother scowled at her. “You didn’t even save me any, did you? And now we’ll have to move again.”
Curiously, children are right about blankets.