I don't own any of this! They are humans in this, but they still have their wings and horns.
Chapter One, Part One: Trouble
Spring had come to the Barony of Ponyville. New grass waved beyond the sheepfolds, and the flocks fairly ran to shears, eager to get rid of their woolly winter coats. The streams sang of melting snow, and high clouds grazed the pastures of the sky. Only an eagle troubled the springtime ease of pasture, brook, and sky. It rode the warm air seeking prey, and when its wings crossed the sun it cast a menacing shadow on the land.
Rainbow Dash saw the bird, but she had other troubles to contend with this morning. She fluttered her wings and looked down from her high perch on a tower of Castle Ponyville.
"Not that I don't want to do this, but the grown-ups aren't going to like this," she said.
"Dash," Rarity said. "Would you quit gawking and do something useful and comb you're mane for once?"
Dash looked at her mane, but decided it was best to just leave the comment alone. Rainbow turned around. The Adored & Honorable Rarity was bent over a catapult, her mane still in its place. She and Rainbow had wheeled the weapon around so that it faced the courtyard, and now Rarity struggled at the winch, a smile on her face as she slowly cranked down the throwing arm.
"Mistress," Dash said, stepping away from the parapet. "It's not that I don't wanna do this, but I don't think - respectfully - that this is such a good idea."
Dash was Rarity's maidservent and had to address her as "mistress, " even though she was a year older and nearly a thumb taller than the Baroness's daughter. Except for her weekly half-holiday, on Saturday afternoons, Dash spent the better part of every day caring for Rarity (because she was too lazy to do it herself). She dressed her mistress in the morning, served her at table, and tidied her chambers at night. She was also encouraged (in words of the Constitution for the Benevolent Employment of Men-at-Arms, Artisans, Husbandmen, and Domestic Servents) "to satisfy all the Whims and Requests of the Noble Person, expecting suchas may give rise to Treasons, Gross Offenses, etc." Rarity, unfortunately, was terribly prone to Whims.
"The trigger!" She said. "Hurry! My arms are breaking!"
Dash knelt beside the creaking engine of war and guided the iron catch of the trigger into a ring on the throwing arm. Rarity let go the winch, and the heavy beam caught the trigger with a terrible clank! Dash stepped away as the machine popped and groaned in frustration, like an old man trying to get up from his chair. Rarity brushed her hands on her snowy pinafore. "So," she said with a satisfied smile. "What do you think now?"
Dash glanced towards the parapet. "Maybe we could wait til later," Dash suggested. "But then no one would see!" Rarity said. "Come help me load it."
The ammunition steamed in a wicker basket at their feet. The girls had crept into the baronial laundry and collected the wet heap of underclothes while Mr. Fuller and his assistants sipped their morning tea. There were long bloomers with frilly gathers, balloonish drawers embroidered with the baronial crest, sleek slips, plain vests, and complex corsets with snapping straps. They had stopped to rest three times (because of Rarity) as they hauled the basket up the winding steps of the tower. "This is a madcap caper, Dash!" Rarity said, grasping a handle of the basket. "I'm such an imp! This will go down in history! On three, then. One! . . ."
Dash bent over the basket.
"Please to lift with your knees, mistress, " she advised.
"Two . . . !"
Dash gripped the handle.
"Two and a half . . . !"
Dash held her breath. One never knew how many fractions Rarity might count.
"Two and three quarters! . . . Three!"
They upended the soggy contents of the basket into the rope net at the end of the throwing arm. As the mass of underwear slowly settled - like an undercooked pudding turned out of its mold - Dash again glanced over the parapet. Lady Celestia had emerged from the castle and now strode across the rocky courtyard called the bailey, her progress attended by guards in crimson frocks and flat bronze helmets. Behind him came a crowd of ministers and nobles who gossiped and traded tablets of chewing gum, their elegant robes sweeping the stones. At the rear straggled a whiskered, unhappy-looking man in a chef's white blouse and hat, who held in his fist the two feet of a clacking, even unhappier-looking hen.
Major cliff hanger! Yay!