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Organised by
RogerDodger
Word limit
400–750
Robin Hoof and Her Merry Mares
Robin Hoof liked to have the feather in her hat placed a certain way. After all, though it was important to give the poor ponies bits, it was also important to look good doing it. And the hat had to be perfect! Unfortunately this was not the right color. Where was a phoenix when you needed one?
“My merry mares! Where are you?”
“We’re right here, Robin!” A pink pony said in a singsong voice and bounced next to her. “Wait! Are we mares that are supposed to be merry or are we supposed to be disguised as men, but we’re actually mares, therefore we’re mare-y men? I think I’m already the first one, but I guess I can be the second one too, right? Unless we actually marry mares because I don’t know if Friar Buck will—”
“It don’t matter none, Pinkie,” an orange pony said. She dropped a bucket of apples next to them, and started to eat. Robin was grateful for the interruption. Pinkie was definitely a merry mare. Almost too merry; she always seemed to be laughing up a storm.
“Are you gathering us for another job? Are we gonna plunder some thunder?”
“Pinkie, dear! What are you talking about? What thunder?” Robin asked.
“Well, you know, one of my pegasus friends said that King Richherd ordered the weather ponies to prepare a thunderstorm. I think they’re trying to drown us out of Whitetail Forest.”
“Oh heavens, that sounds awful. I must make new rain boots. These are, unfortunately, last season.”
“Robin!” the orange pony yelled.
“Yes, yes, you’re absolutely right, Little Jack. By the way, how did you get your name again?”
“Well, my big brother’s called Big Mac and he called me little so—”
“Oh, right, yes, okay.”
“Robin, what about the plan? What do we do next?”
Robin paused, and her eyes brightly flashed.
“Idea!”
“This is. The. Worst. Possible. Thing!”
They had been captured. She was sentenced to the gallows. A noose hung on her neck, and Little Jack and Pinkie were rotting away somewhere in the dungeons.
“Robin Hoof.” The Sherriff of Trottingham stood erect, a staff in her hooves, her purple forehead creasing as she scrutinized the mare before her. “You have been charged with crimes against the kingdom. Do you have anything to say?”
“Oh, my wonderful Maid Mareian! I only regret that I did not tell you I loved you!”
There was a quiet “eep!” and with a quick glance, Robin saw her; her beautiful bright butterfly! She stood next to King Filthy Richherd, his cow nobles standing behind him, their eyes shooting arrows at Robin.
“I. Love. You. Too. Robin.” Robin, though lip-reading, made out what Maid Mareian had whispered back. Even when her lover was on the brink of death, the poor dear was still too shy to proclaim her love. “Watch. For. The. Skies. Huh?”
There was a rumble above.
“The kingdom is under attack! Protect your king!” The Sherriff of Trottingham yelled, and she grabbed King Richherd and teleported him away.
The rest of the kingdom was in a panic. A storm was raining down. Lightning flashes were everywhere. One bolt cut through Robin’s noose, and there was a laugh in the sky.
It was the hat she noticed first. Black. Slick. Sleek. Bold. It spoke volumes! Who needed a phoenix feather when you could have that!
A masked pegasus mare landed next to her with a “thump!”
“So, Robin Hoof, I’ve heard what you’ve done around here. Giving bits to the poor. Helping random ponies. That’s quite generous of you.”
“Well, I must do what I can for the less fortunate. After all, in my heart though I’m stealing from other ponies, I know I’m doing the right thing.”
“I like your style.”
“Did I mention I’m a fashion designer as well? I like yours as well, darling.”
“Um, that’s not quite what I meant, but, uh, anyways, you look like you need a hoof.”
“Yes, that would be quite nice. My faithful merry mares have been captured.”
“Alright. Let’s go save them. By the way, how would you and your marey mares or whatever like to partner up with me? I kinda like the group thing.”
“You’ll help the poor and unfortunate, right?"
“Of course.”
“Well, why not?”
“Okay!" she yelled. "Cool.”
“By the way, darling, what is your name? I never quite caught that.”
“I’m Mare Do Well. Nice to meet ya!”
“My merry mares! Where are you?”
“We’re right here, Robin!” A pink pony said in a singsong voice and bounced next to her. “Wait! Are we mares that are supposed to be merry or are we supposed to be disguised as men, but we’re actually mares, therefore we’re mare-y men? I think I’m already the first one, but I guess I can be the second one too, right? Unless we actually marry mares because I don’t know if Friar Buck will—”
“It don’t matter none, Pinkie,” an orange pony said. She dropped a bucket of apples next to them, and started to eat. Robin was grateful for the interruption. Pinkie was definitely a merry mare. Almost too merry; she always seemed to be laughing up a storm.
“Are you gathering us for another job? Are we gonna plunder some thunder?”
“Pinkie, dear! What are you talking about? What thunder?” Robin asked.
“Well, you know, one of my pegasus friends said that King Richherd ordered the weather ponies to prepare a thunderstorm. I think they’re trying to drown us out of Whitetail Forest.”
“Oh heavens, that sounds awful. I must make new rain boots. These are, unfortunately, last season.”
“Robin!” the orange pony yelled.
“Yes, yes, you’re absolutely right, Little Jack. By the way, how did you get your name again?”
“Well, my big brother’s called Big Mac and he called me little so—”
“Oh, right, yes, okay.”
“Robin, what about the plan? What do we do next?”
Robin paused, and her eyes brightly flashed.
“Idea!”
“This is. The. Worst. Possible. Thing!”
They had been captured. She was sentenced to the gallows. A noose hung on her neck, and Little Jack and Pinkie were rotting away somewhere in the dungeons.
“Robin Hoof.” The Sherriff of Trottingham stood erect, a staff in her hooves, her purple forehead creasing as she scrutinized the mare before her. “You have been charged with crimes against the kingdom. Do you have anything to say?”
“Oh, my wonderful Maid Mareian! I only regret that I did not tell you I loved you!”
There was a quiet “eep!” and with a quick glance, Robin saw her; her beautiful bright butterfly! She stood next to King Filthy Richherd, his cow nobles standing behind him, their eyes shooting arrows at Robin.
“I. Love. You. Too. Robin.” Robin, though lip-reading, made out what Maid Mareian had whispered back. Even when her lover was on the brink of death, the poor dear was still too shy to proclaim her love. “Watch. For. The. Skies. Huh?”
There was a rumble above.
“The kingdom is under attack! Protect your king!” The Sherriff of Trottingham yelled, and she grabbed King Richherd and teleported him away.
The rest of the kingdom was in a panic. A storm was raining down. Lightning flashes were everywhere. One bolt cut through Robin’s noose, and there was a laugh in the sky.
It was the hat she noticed first. Black. Slick. Sleek. Bold. It spoke volumes! Who needed a phoenix feather when you could have that!
A masked pegasus mare landed next to her with a “thump!”
“So, Robin Hoof, I’ve heard what you’ve done around here. Giving bits to the poor. Helping random ponies. That’s quite generous of you.”
“Well, I must do what I can for the less fortunate. After all, in my heart though I’m stealing from other ponies, I know I’m doing the right thing.”
“I like your style.”
“Did I mention I’m a fashion designer as well? I like yours as well, darling.”
“Um, that’s not quite what I meant, but, uh, anyways, you look like you need a hoof.”
“Yes, that would be quite nice. My faithful merry mares have been captured.”
“Alright. Let’s go save them. By the way, how would you and your marey mares or whatever like to partner up with me? I kinda like the group thing.”
“You’ll help the poor and unfortunate, right?"
“Of course.”
“Well, why not?”
“Okay!" she yelled. "Cool.”
“By the way, darling, what is your name? I never quite caught that.”
“I’m Mare Do Well. Nice to meet ya!”