Detective Pony – Episode 6, The Fight

Detective Pony – Episode 6, The Fight

[Music: “Turkish March”
remixed with floaty synth sounds] Chapter Six, The Fight [Music: “Turkish March” continues] The Pony Pals rode their ponies with the kind of solemnity usually reserved for soldiers en route to battle. The cat weighed heavily in all their minds. Acorn was afraid of it. Pam felt a burning hatred towards it. Anna secretly hoped that it could answer her
questions about what had happened to her in that twenty minutes
during which she had been dead. Pawnee wanted to learn new cocktail recipes
from it. She had a serious problem. “Where should we start looking for the cat?”
Pam asked, munching on the pheasant that she had just
plucked from the sky mid-flight. “Acorn was staring in the direction of Pony
Pal Trail,” said Anna, somehow still unaware of how fucking stupid
“Pony Pal Trail” sounds. “Let’s start there,” Pawnee extravasated.
“It could be a clue.” The Pony Pals galloped across the field. They turned down the three magic beans that a mysterious man standing
in a field offered them in exchange for their immortal souls. It was probably a wise decision. “Look for local politicians in the snow,”
said Pawnee, secretly hoping to find her mother
and settle the question of her true paternity once and for all. Anna and Acorn took the lead. Anna looked straight, but she was
actually bisexual. Pawnee knew that the anti-regulatory libertarian Ron Swanson politically leaned to the right. And Pam, as she was known to do, left inflammatory manifestos nailed
to every tree she passed. After a while Pam barbarically yawped, “I see some bullshit over here
to advance the plot!” Anna turned Acorn around and
looked to where Pam pointed. Small tracks in the snow crackled
with intense violet majyks. To Anna, they looked like the marks she had
seen in her dreams last night. Her robot fist clenched. Pawnee dismounted to get a closer
look at the tracks. She pulled out her PKE meter; its readings were off the charts. This adventure had gone off the rails. Pawnee was off the wagon. “These are very fiendish tracks,”
the town said. “But they have Eldritch runes. A cat’s track is so god damned evil
that no runes can bind its strength. A leopard made these tracks; fleet and nimble-footed, with coat completely
covered by dark spots! And those tracks over there are of a lion, head held high and furious for hunger, so
that the air itself seems to be shaking. And those tracks are from a she-wolf,
ravenously lean, seemingly laden with such endless cravings
that she had made many live in misery! By nature, she is so depraved and vicious
that her greedy appetite is never filled: the more she feeds, the hungrier she grows.” Pawnee swung back up on Lil’ Sebastian. “But there shall be no Greyhound born between
Feltro and Feltro,” she said. “Only another fucking cat.” Anna took the lead again. When they reached the three birches,
Acorn stopped. He knew that it was his time to leave. And, surprisingly, he realized
that he was ready to. He glanced down. Page 43, Acorn thought to
himself. A prime number. Is it fitting or ironic that a life full of
multiplicity end with something indivisible? “It’s just as the ancient prophesy foretold!”
said Anna excitedly. “Where the three birches rise up, there
shall He descend,” said Pam. “You know Acorn is not long for this world,
Anna. We were wrong about the cat. He’s not here for us. He’s still a son
of a fuck, but we can’t interfere with this.” “There could be a clue,” Pawnee burbled. “Let’s see what really happens beyond
the veil; on the Other Side of the Other Side.” Acorn sniffed for another minute, then he
raised his head. He turned toward a trail that started behind
the three birch trees. Minos sat in the upper branches
of one of the trees, shitting silently and solemnly
onto the forest floor below. “Acorn needs to leave with his
feline psychopomp, Anna. We all knew that his reckoning would come
one day,” Pawnee said quietly. “I’m sorry.” Anna nodded sadly. All three girls dismounted in silence. Anna closed her eyes and
dropped Acorn’s reins. The cat began to come down from its perch, hopping from branch to branch,
leaving a tiny kitty shit on each. It landed lightly in the snow and began to
saunter towards Acorn, but Anna stepped into its path. She knelt and looked the cat right in its
god damned eyes. “You are an evil fucking thing,”
Anna whispered. “I now understand who you are, and what you must do, but I swear I will never, never forgive you. I warn you: judge fairly, for even the eternal Judge
is not free from my judgment. Yes, I too have a secret. There are wheels within wheels in the town
of Wiggins, and fires within fires. Now go.” She stood. The cat sauntered between her legs
and jumped onto Acorn’s back. Minos rode Acorn down the long and winding
path into the Unknown. Now, at the end of Acorn’s lifelong journey, He found himself deep in a silent wood, The slate-grey sky foreboding, dense, and
stormy. An evil fucking cat kept scheming brood Upon his back, a burden unremitting. As Acorn cantered on, he understood Their destination would be one befitting An unrepentant sinner such as he. But then that cat of darkness started shitting. And now it seemed that every shrub and tree Was naught but cat shit sown in shitty earth; A shitty island in a shitty sea. The cat shit on, and laughed
with gleeful mirth At Acorn’s clear disgust at such a sight. And now, like an inverted fecal birth, They neared the source of this unholy blight
– A guano gate, upon which words appeared In script that burnèd red with fiery light: Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. “Derivative,” said Acorn, “and cliché.” “I’d say ‘Dantesque,’” the cat replied, “but we’re Not in this place to sightsee.”
Acorn neighed, “The suffix ‘–esque’ implies a likeness, not A phrase that’s stolen wholesale
– which conveys The writer’s laziness, like they forgot Allusion must be more than blatant theft.” Caught up in meta-referential thoughts, The pony failed to notice they had left The realm of life, and entered that of death. Of light and joy, of love and mirth bereft, This cloudy and adumbral land impressed Upon its visitor an eerie calm, As if some cosmic power held Its breath. In Gilead there’s not a drop of balm, Nor respite nor nepenthe to be found; The shepherd’s absent from
King David’s psalm, For in the river AEnon He was drowned. Towards other rivers now sped Acorn on, Which through this murky landscape
curled and wound: Cocytus, Lethe, Styx, and Phlegethon. ‘Twas Acheron, though, they now drew near, And Acorn knew he’d seen his final dawn. Grim Charon waited at his marshy pier, But Acorn whinnied, “Fuck that noise,”
and leapt Into the waters, biting back his fear. Against the rotting waves the pony schlepped, Amidst a thousand thousand slimy souls That howled or gnashed their teeth
or prayed or wept. The river’s morbid currents sucked and pulled, But our determined Acorn stayed in stride: His iron hooves struck out and beat the cold And damnèd spirits right between their eyes. The wraiths shrank back,
and in their swirling blood, As black as sin, was Acorn re-baptized. At last, his hooves did touch the fetid mud Of that dread river’s other, darker bank, Where blew a constant miasmatic scud Of misery, from which all pure souls shrank. The pony plodded onward towards his fate, The wretched water dripping from his flanks. It seemed that nothing now
could break his gait, That from his course he never could be budged. Despite his rider’s grim, oppressive weight, The steadfast Acorn merely onward trudged, Prepared to have his heavy sins be judged. “You can stop here, Acorn,” said the cat. “What part of Hades’ lair is this that
you / Have brought me to, you—” “No, we’re done with the terza rima now.
You don’t have to talk in iambics anymore.” “That’s a relief,” said Acorn, relishing
the dactyl. Acorn glanced around at their stopping place. The slimy banks of the Acheron had long since
transitioned into a forest of dead, white trees, through which the pony
and the cat had been walking for what felt like either minutes,
hours, or decades. But now Acorn and the god damned cat stood
in a small clearing, filled with cold, flat light
that filtered down from some unseen source
in the uniformly cloud-covered sky. The ground beneath Acorn’s hooves was grey
and marshy, and seemed somehow ephemeral, as if it was not entirely there, as if there was something else just below
its surface, nearly visible … An oppressive mist hung in the sky and over
the ground, sending cold tendrils to lick at Acorn’s
fetlocks. Silence, stillness. “So is this where it happens?” Acorn asked.
“This is where I’m judged by you?” “Well, by me and my two co-arbiters,”
Minos said as he leapt off Acorn’s back and sashayed to a broad, low tree stump near
the middle of the clearing. He jumped onto the white stump, sat, and curled
his tail around himself demurely. “Yes,” said Acorn, “You are referring to your brother Rhadamanthus, and Aeacus, the former king of Aegina. The three of you judge the souls of the dead and decide which realm of the underworld they
shall inhabit.” “Right. Exactly,” said the cat. “You didn’t have to explain all of that
to me, since I obviously know it already.” “I know,” said Acorn. “But this part
of the plot’s important. And I wanted to make it all explicit for people
who don’t know every fucking detail of Greek mythology by heart.” “Fine, whatever. The point is, Acorn, the other judges will
be joining us shortly. And then your soul shall be laid bare. For I have known your sins already, known them all — the sins that fixed you
in that formulated phrase. And when you are formulated, sprawling on a pin, when you are pinned and wriggling on my wall, then how will you begin to spit out all the butt-ends
of your days and ways?” “And how should you presume?”
Acorn shot back. Minos shook his tiny cat head. “Acorn, that is not what you meant at all;
that is not it, at all.” The cat began licking one adorable white paw, and glanced slyly at the defiant pony from
the corners of his bottomless eyes. “…So tell me, has it been worth it, after
all? Has it been worth while?” “I think we should go back,” said Pam. “It’s the safe thing to do. Acorn has gone to be judged for his sins,
and that godawful cat left with him.” “I agree with Pam,” said Pawnee. She put the severed head of the rapper
Snoop Dogg back into her saddlebag. “We should go back to Wiggins, even though that’s still a dumb
name for a town.” “I thought the Pony Pals didn’t give up!”
said Anna. Sparks began to fly from her mechanical arm, and the other Pony Pals heard a
horrifying grinding; whether from the arm or from the tortured
swarm of brain-gears inside Anna’s head, they were unsure. “We’re not giving up,” said Pawnee. “We just don’t think that we can rescue
Acorn’s soul now that it has been reaped by
that fucking cat.” “Anna, it’s two against one,”
said Pam proudly. She had only recently learned to count, and showed off this new skill at every opportunity. Anna was conflicted. She knew that Pawnee was right; Acorn’s soul was irredeemable and now irretrievable. She also knew the true nature of that fiend
posing as a cat. There could be no revenge taken on such a
creature, and if she provoked it, it might well come back to the plane of the
mortals and keep fucking with the Pony Pals out of pure spite. Finally, Anna knew that if she went into the
underworld, she would never be able to return to this realm. She’d been yanked back from death once, and now the Other Side had a magnetic pull
on her soul, trying to drag it back to where it rightfully should be. Her next death, she knew, would be final. But Anna fucking loved Acorn. “Then you two can go back,”
said Anna angrily. “I’m going to go into that good night,
and I’m sure as fuck not going gentle.” She put out her hand, beckoning for the only
two friends she had left in this world to come with her. “Burn and rave with me,” she whispered. “Catch and sing the sun in flight. Rage, rage against the dying of the light; both Acorn’s and your own.” “You can’t go fucking Orpheus on our asses
now!” yelled Pawnee. She had only recently learned
basic Greek mythology, and showed off this new knowledge
at every opportunity. Anna put her hands on her hips. “Oh, yes I can!” she told them. “You can’t make me go back.” “Well, looks like somebody’s being
a sassy Susan,” Pam said. “Look, we want to try to destroy that fucking
cat too, but if we follow Acorn, there’s no guarantee that any of us will
come back. Least of all Acorn!” “It’s his time, Anna,” Pawnee said. She touched Anna’s hand gently, and couldn’t
help but shudder at the unnatural coldness. She grew more concerned when she realized that Anna’s metal hand
hadn’t been the one she touched. She pulled out her emergency margarita kit
and fixed herself a strong one. Anna was undeterred. “I’m saving Acorn’s life, god damn it.
Even if it means sacrificing my own.” She glared at her two friends. “If you wouldn’t do the same
for your pony, then you don’t fucking deserve
to be called a Pony Pal.” She spat in the snow at her feet. (Pawnee could have sworn that she saw the
saliva glow slightly. Was it radiation from the
uranium-powered arm? Ectoplasm left over from Anna’s
brush with death? The light of pure, burning rage and love? Or was Pawnee just sloshed?) Anna turned her back on her friends both
literally and metaphorically and began to walk away. Away from all that she had ever known, and towards that which could not be known. [Music: “Turkish March”
remixed with floaty synth sounds] [Credits Narrator]
Detective Pony was originally written by Jeanne Betancourt. The first two pages were altered
by Andrew Hussie, pretending to be Dirk Strider. The rest of the pages were altered
by sonnetstuck, also pretending to be Dirk Strider. The book is read by Duckface as
yet another person pretending to be Dirk Strider, and Naked Bee, as Jeanne Betancort,
a fourth character who may or may not be Dirk Strider. This recording was instigated, perpetrated,
and assembled by Naked Bee. [crunch] [ttthwwwip]

19 thoughts on “Detective Pony – Episode 6, The Fight

  1. I am 100000% convinced the american truck simulator footage is a reference to the podcast that also takes place in ATS.

  2. Now that we've reached 2020 I'm not so sure of Tom Selleck's chances at winning the election. But it's certainly a nice thought.

  3. Ok but the real question is: was there a fog machine or was someone vaping behind the scenes to create the mist in the forest?
    Either way – fantastic.

  4. "No, we're done with the terza rima now, you don't have to talk in iambics anymore."
    "That's a relief!" said Acorn, relishing the dactyl.

    god i love detective pony so much

  5. I love that u still managed to incorporate the intro pages somehow into the episodes! As someone who actually went ahead and made my own Detective Pony book, it fills me with glee.

  6. hussie being the weird guy is great
    the fist clenching by cropping is even better
    Oh god the change in hands and toys depicting people

  7. there's nothing more i can say that i haven't already said, this is amazing. AMAZING. i LOVE the switch to dirk's gloved hand when they enter the realm of death, this is SO good i love EVERYTHING about this HOLY FUCK.

  8. every week is a gift, thank you for another installment of this masterpiece

    i like the TRUCKS clip and the incorporation of jane’s logo in the river of souls

  9. I love how well you interpret the symbolism in the original work into this medium, and also the new symbolism that's added! The river of souls and the colors of the electricity and spit… I especially loved the shift between the "original" work and Dirk's, I've been excited for you to get to that part!

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