While Ponies and Toads Celebrate (Fleetfoot) Sept 27, 2015 4:42:57 GMT -6
Post by Deleted on Sept 27, 2015 4:42:57 GMT -6
Synth Pop lay flat on the flannel pattern interior of an unzipped sleeping bag she outstretched on a small, flat boulder. She looked out over Saddle Lake, just northeast from Ponyville, and from an initial expression of calm whimsy - the corners of her mouth just slightly lifted - a smile rose and widened in the charcoal dark of her face and the sparkling midnight blue above in the sky and below the hill reflected in the water. Her head and eyes scanned from left to right, her focus on the other side of the lake half a mile away. A thread of shimmering amber wrapped around the water's edge, going all the way around the lake. Behind her, about fifty yards away, the bonfires crackled as stringsong and singsong drifted through the pines to her ears at an intimate whisper.
It was the night of one of Ponyville's many events, the September Sunset Celebration. She wasn't sure of the origins beyond that it was a tradition meant to celebrate to last warm nights of the year. Most of Ponyville would set up camp around the shores of Saddle Lake early in the afternoon, and the ponies would grill spiced vegetables and potatoes while others enjoyed the water, potentially getting a great view as the fliers of the town enjoyed the cool, wide, stress-free airspace. She found out only after arriving that Ponyville had scheduled the Wonderbolts themselves to do fast, thrilling routines just above the surface of the water (and some swimmers' or rafters' heads. Synth heard cheering in her dreams, deep in her afternoon sleep.
Synth Pop wiggled on her legs, settling her body into the thick material a bit more. In the distances, she spotted pairs of dark wings flapping among the reeds, a group of Bat Ponies finding the last large dragonflies and juicy fireflies of the year. Around and in front of her, the Bats' competition croaked and splashed, and she let herself just listen to their conversation to find the layers. A bullfrog, perhaps near the mossy pine to her left, let out a deep and rubbery groan. Was there a reply? Perhaps. A deep and squishy croak from a bush to her right seemed to answer. The communication was truly simple; perhaps they were celebrating too, applauding friends' intoxications like the ponies in the clearing far back. Still, she continued to smile, no more dressed than the toads.