Oh look, it's some sort of horse-drawn contrivance with a bunch of instruments on it.
Almost like some sort of...
Band Wagon.
(Actually, I tried submitting something a few days ago, but my browser eated it before I could post it. Shame.)---------------------------------------------------------------------
Shutterbug's Journal
Date: ...Not since I got here. 
Dear Diary,
I got yelled at for my most
gracious and
adroit depiction of a violent encounter between a titan and a darkbolt across the walls of the Royal Office. The Princess made it clear to me that she did not understand why I would choose to depict the same encounter over several illustrations, when I could have used the space for something else.
Mon dieu, Diary, do these people even know what a Graphite Novel
is? Despite what those foals at the Academy will tell you, you cannot tell an entire story in a single illustration! Honestly, if they think a picture is worth a thousand words, then they should count themselves blessed--
blessed, I say!--that my Art offers a much more amiable exchange rate.
Though, that this court of discourteous courtiers continues to decry my most dextrous designs as diabolical is no great surprise. The Princess is kind enough, but rather... shall we say, in deference to that kindness,
bourgeois? And I'll speak not unkindly of Strongbeard and Loudwhisper, for that dashing pair of stallion and mare will surely lead us to a most
glorious and
inspiring display of bloodshed ere the seasons turn. But, though they may indeed
motivate art, I somehow doubt that they can truly
appreciate it.
Likewise with Langgud, the little firebrand. If ever there was a willing jester for our court of castaways, Langgud is it, and I find myself growing fond of him despite myself. Oh, but he cannot even hold a
candle to the
true Jackanapes of Exiletown; Mobius is a pegasus who straps a wooden horn to his head and claims to be a unicorn, and all the while is digging tunnels. Digging, mind you, being a vocation that he considers more fitting for a "lesser" pony, such as my most gracious and humble self. If he is aware of his self-parody, then I bow to his superior display of postmodernism, but somehow I feel he plays his role completely straight, and sets himself up as an art piece all unwitting. It's quite glorious to behold, really.
One thing that I would rather
not behold, however, is Solstice. To put words to wits, our resident doctor is quite terrifying. Though, precisely
why he is so terrifying is anybody's guess, and I might be tempted to figure that out were I not so alarmed by the man... oh, who am I kidding, I'm going to do that anyway. An Artist without curiosity is no Artist at all, I say; it is my cross to bear, and so I shall endeavor to find out more about this frightfully interesting personage.
In truth, diary, there are quite a few others whom I either should write about now, or should learn more about and write about
later, but for now, I must defer. I see a rough wall, a blank canvas, a story hiding
just beneath its surface, just
waiting to be released. The game is ahoof! The muse is upon me!
Until later,
Shutterbug
Author
Topic: A Pony's Hell (Community Fort) (Read 13349 times)